A/N: A late night post for a chapter finished late at night. Literally finished less than an hour ago. Sorry about the wait.
November 6th, 1975
They ate just outside the library on a stone bench, for the first time in Florence Diggory's life, that Dorcas was aware of. Florence Diggory was the sort of girl who was surrounded at meals on a regular day, flanked by a small army as she moved from class to class, boys trying to make her laugh and younger girls asking her advice and offering gossip in return. Flo Diggory preached in the girls' bathroom on the fourth floor, the sink her pulpit, and crowds watched her reflection sermonise. Dorcas had only joined once or twice, but she had not the appetite to compete for standing room in the tiny space. Even now, she didn't make the cut to sit next to Flo, but she got to sit next to Cynthia, which was…well, not the same as sitting next to Flo. Cynthia and Florence crossed their ankles and bit into pieces of buttered toast. Crumbs stuck to the corners of Cynthia's lips. Florence ate slowly, and only took tiny bites. They'd never eaten together before, or at least, if they had, Dorcas had never cared to note the size of her bites before. Was it a long-entrenched habit, or formed by the past few days?
"Could I have some more juice, please, Dorcas?" Florence asked gently. Dorcas' heart leapt at being addressed directly. Her tongue turned fat and clumsy. She reached down and grabbed her bottle off the floor. She'd filled it with orange juice shortly before leaving Ravenclaw Tower to meet them (at Cynthia's request).
"Sure," she said shakily, and passed it over. Florence put her lips to the mouth of the bottle, the same mouth Dorcas drunk from and sipped. Dorcas ground the heels of her shoes into the floor.
"Mm," Florence said, and dabbed at her mouth with a singular slim finger. "Thanks." She passed it back. Dorcas took it carefully, her hand less than an inch from Flo's. Not that it mattered. She returned the bottle to its spot by her feet. It was all so…normal. How was she so normal? How had she slept so soundly the night before? Dorcas' heart had turned concave and her throat was a hollow log. She would've slept better on the rocky outcrops by the lake, with the howling, icy winds rolling in off the water and all.
Cynthia finished her toast, and scratched the crumbs from the corner of her lips. Brown flecks fell onto her skirt. She brushed them off. Florence took another tiny bite of bread, and grimaced. Dorcas inhaled sharply. The toast had been her idea. Did she have an aversion to it? It was regular breakfast food. Served every morning, whether it was Thursday or Sunday or Easter. You couldn't go wrong with toast. Could you?
"Dorcas," Florence started. Dorcas braced herself. Maybe she was allergic. Maybe it had killed her brother. Did she have a brother? Maybe she had twelve, and all of them had choked to death on toast. "I don't know if you know this story – I'm sorry, if you do, really, it's awful – but I'll tell it to you anyways, I have to."
Definitely the dead brother story. No question.
"Okay," Dorcas said, keeping her face still.
"So back in third year – at the start of the year – I had a crush. On Adrian Stebbins, would you believe it? No, he's lovely. Really. A gentleman," Florence said. Cynthia giggled, and shook her head.
"Oh, Flo, you aren't – it's the school's best-kept secret," Cynthia said, putting her hands over her mouth.
"Dorcas won't tell," Flo said confidently. "Will you, Dorcas?"
"No," she said quickly. Was this real? When had they ever been friends? Was it some sort of elaborate prank on Flo and Cynthia's behalf? It was the sort of thing people liked to do. Pretend to be friends with someone, for the sole sake of laughing at them, because why would they ever actually be friends? What an idiot. What a fool. And how did this relate to toast? And the dozen dead Diggory brothers?
"So, third year. Adrian Stebbins. With the big glasses and the bowl cut and – he was just different to Branton. He liked me, too." From anyone else, it might've been arrogant, especially with the accompanying hair toss, but her eyes crinkled and her dimples dimpled and her cheeks pinked. "Anyways, we liked each other, and Branton was going on and on about how he'd kissed people and if I wanted to kiss anyone, well, I ought to have just said the word. Now, don't get me wrong – Branton's nice, of course, really, he means no harm, I just – mm. Anyhow, he was going on about this at breakfast, and I just got so annoyed – my temper was short back then, please don't think poorly of me now – and I left my seat and marched down to Adrian Stebbins and asked him to come for a walk with me. He did, and so we went out into the Entrance Hall, it was empty, and then-"
"-they kissed," Cynthia concluded gleefully. "And she'd been in such a hurry that she still had toast crumbs stuck to her lipgloss, and then he said-"
"'Mm, tasty. Or, should I say, toasty?'" Florence recalled. She and Cynthia looked at each other, and dissolved into giggles.
No dead Diggory brothers. Dorcas stared at them. So Flo had kissed Adrian in third year. She'd had toast on her lips. Cynthia's whole body trembled furiously, and she buried her head in Flo's shoulder.
"The moral of the story is to brush your lips off before you kiss anyone," Florence told her cheerfully, wrapping an arm around Cynthia's neck.
"Right," Dorcas said. As if she was going to be kissing anyone anytime soon. Her head spun. She touched her fingers to her temple. The way those two were laughing, it was as if the days before had never happened at all. Happiness came so easily to them, even in the face of the Hospital Wing and random fits. Dorcas gulped down her juice. If it had been her, she would've stopped at nothing to find out what had happened, and why, and whose fault it was, and what branch of magic it belonged to, and if there were long-term effects. Flo had scarcely mentioned that it had even happened.
They finished their breakfast and headed into the library. It wasn't exceptionally crowded, but there were certainly more people than Dorcas would've imagined. A group of fourth years from her house took up a whole table, and clusters of older students scattered about. Cynthia shut the door behind them. It closed heavily. Eyes raised from books and fixed on Flo, then widened and cued whispers. Florence smoothed her hair down.
"Let's go sit by that tapestry with the little dog," she said, smiling, teeth glimmering white between her pink, crumb-less lips. Adrian. It didn't matter, not at all, but Adrian? She needed to focus on her studies, and making sure that Flo wasn't irrevocably scarred from the night before – but Adrian?
A small, circular table nestled in a little alcove decorated with a large, richly-coloured tapestry denoting the adventures of a crup. According to Professor Oddpick, the tapestry's creator had been a Ravenclaw. Professor Oddpick was an odd man, the head of Ravenclaw and the Astronomy Professor, though he often deployed Professor Flitwick as a sort of deputy. All agreed that it was only a matter of time until Professor Flitwick had enough seniority to outweigh his rumoured ancestry in the eyes of the Board of Governors and to take the position from Professor Oddpick, who seemed to eagerly await that day as much as the rest of them. He had celebrated his eightieth birthday last year, and given a lengthy speech on how the customs of youth often eluded him and how he wanted nothing more than to spend out the rest of his days in an observatory in Iceland.
With that in mind, she retrieved the homework he'd assigned them from her bag. Cynthia and Flo did the same.
"Oh, I hate these," Cynthia said. "What was that book we used last time?"
"I'll do it," Flo said, pulling out her wand.
"No!" Dorcas blurted out. Flo fixed her with an odd look. Her heart swooped heavily. "I'll do it. Just with, um, everything yesterday."
"Oh. Right. Thanks, Dorcas."
"It's okay."
They told her the book's title and briefly described its looks to her, and she summoned it easily, the text whizzing over a group of Slytherin boys' heads. Cynthia caught it, and consulted the table of contents. All three of them studiously scribbled notes, breaking only to ask the others a question or skim through a passage from the text. The book that Cynthia and Flo favoured put everything quite simply, and truthfully, Dorcas wasn't sure it exactly addressed what the questions Professor Oddpick posed required them to. Nevertheless, Cynthia copied them in word-for-word. Dorcas' jaw tightened. She didn't examine the book any further.
Eyes bored into the back of her head, and her cheeks, though swiftly disappeared whenever she looked around. It felt like an itch on the inside of her skull. Just out of reach. She clenched her jaw so hard her teeth ached. 'Ganymede, or III, is the third moon of Jupiter. Ganymede is named for Zeus' young male lover, who also appears in the stars as Aquarius, one of the twelve zodiac signs.' Her skull itched again. She whipped her head around. The younger students appeared engrossed in their work. The older students were actually likely engrossed in their work. Alone of the packs, the Slytherin boys seemed the most off-task. If she had been stupid enough to gamble, she would've bet on them.
Snotty Avery's eyes darted to and fro, and Rosier either enjoyed wasting ink or was desperately trying to look busy. Heat twirled in her wrists and tensed in her shoulders.
"They're looking at us," she whispered.
"Hm?" Flo didn't look up.
"Who?" Cynthia asked, not lifting her eyes from the shoddy textbook either. "Will Corner?" Dorcas blinked.
"No," she said. Will Corner sat with some of the other older boys, paying them no mind. Avery glanced in Dorcas' direction again. What do you want? Flo's none of your business, you don't even know her, keep out of it. Dorcas hardly knew her either, though, and had dragged her into this mess by the stupid perfume thing. Her cheeks warmed. "Slytherins. Avery and Roiser."
"Oh," Flo said, flipping a page. Cynthia twisted her lips, and craned her neck slightly. Dorcas followed her line of sight all the way to Will. Really?
"They're not just looking," Dorcas insisted. "It's – they've got this look in their eyes."
"They can't see up our skirts from all the way over there, don't worry," Cynthia said. "Ugh, couldn't they have given the moons normal names?"
"They sound like the Blacks," Flo agreed, smiling. The corners of her soft, sweet pink lips turned up, and her eyes crinkled. It wasn't a smile anything like the ones on those stupid models in the silly little magazines people left lying around in the dormitory; it was true and real and bright, brighter than a thousand stars, than the thick canopy of the Milky Way swirling far above them, glimpsed only on the best of nights.
How could she have been so careless with something so beautiful? She was working with advanced magic, she ought to have taken more precautions, to not think about anything she really… If she'd thought about the consequences for a fraction of a second, nothing might've happened. Although, looking at them now, nobody would think anything had happened. No, Flo and Cynthia were more than happy to pretend the afternoon had been spent normally, doing whatever it was they normally did. But it hadn't. And people were looking. Even with a prefect badge, Dorcas had never had so many eyes on her as she had done in the past twenty-four hours.
Rosier whispered something in Avery's ear. He laughed loudly. Madam Pince glared at them from her desk. Padgett sat by Avery, and smirked into his book. Snape was next to Rosier, and tapped his fingers on the desk, before murmuring something else. Her throat closed up.
"I mean it," she said. "It's not right; Something's wrong." The girls ignored her. She pressed her hands to her face and inhaled deeply. Rosier said something. Avery frowned. Tilted his head to one side. Asked a question – she couldn't know for sure, but he did, she could feel it.
And what happened the last time you felt something?
The thought winded her. Only yesterday afternoon, she'd leaned into the realm of her feelings, rather than fact. And where had that taken her?
"Are you okay?" Flo asked warily, setting her quill down. Flo. Flo, who had collapsed, all because Dorcas thought she knew something. She looked gorgeous, of course, but she was pale. Paler than usual.
And why's that?
"I'm okay," Dorcas relented. "Jumpy, is all."
November 6th, 1975
Mary took a seat on the end of the second row, which was as close to the front of the room as anyone dared to sit in History of Magic. Lily slid into the chair beside her, joined by Marlene, and then Alisha. The boys chose seats up the back, though unusually, they weren't talking loudly or shooting jinxes at one another. Potter held a piece of parchment in his hands, and Lupin leaned over his shoulder, pointing to something. Was it homework? Mary hadn't realised they had any.
She took her textbook out at the same time as Lily, and flipped open to the chapter they'd been working on. Her eyes raked over the spidery black letters, reading nothing. The desks were relics of years long past, each individual, made from dark wood and slanted, so you had to be mindful that your things didn't slide off and land in your lap. By her inkpot, 'TED 1964' had been etched into the desk. Eleven years ago. Magic had been as far off to Mary as the moon. But they had landed on the moon since then, and a woman with a tall pointed hat and emerald green robes had arrived on the Macdonald's doorstep. She wondered whatever happened to Ted.
Professor Binns swept through the chalkboard. Mary's heart skipped a beat. Even after years of seeing it happen three times a week, it still seemed beyond unnatural.
"Good day," he said drolly. "We are focusing on the Medieval Assembly of European Wizards. Open page two-hundred and seven. In 1289…" Her pulse returned to normal, or even a little slower. 'A History of Magic' lacked a single picture; the sole embellishment took the form of the chapter titles being bolded, centred, and a little larger than the rest of the text. Some had long since given up on bringing their books to class. Had Mary not chosen a seat near the front during the first lesson of first year and had the position unofficially assigned to her since the age of eleven, she might have left the dusty tome at the bottom of her trunk too. But she couldn't be so rebellious right under Professor Binns' nose. It just seemed disrespectful.
Lily tapped the feather of her quill against her cheek, noting something down every so often. Marlene put her head down on the desk. Alisha leaned over and tapped Mary's desk. Mary blinked. Alisha retrieved several bottles of nail polish from her bag, and grinned, before holding each one up for inspection. Navy blue, pale green, lavender purple, neon orange, bright pink. Mary lifted her quill into the air when she spun a seafoam shade around, and Alisha nodded. 'Thanks,' she mouthed. After stashing the other bottles back in her bag, she carefully began to paint the nail of her left thumb.
The words washed over her. She spent several minutes trying to scratch the back of her ankle without bending down and using her fingers and thereby letting the whole class know she had a faulty, bad, scratchy ankle and making them all watch her. The back of her shoe could only provide so much relief. Some students fell entirely into a stupor; others fidgeted. Mary's eyes flitted between them all, quickly moving on whenever they showed signs of potentially being able to recognise that she was looking. Lauren Clarke from Slytherin sat in the second row too, but on the other side of the classroom, alongside one of her blonde friends, and sketched little cartoons on the corners of their notes (which did exist, though they didn't seem super-duper thorough) Augusta and the other girls from Slytherin took a spot in the middle row, and whispered amongst themselves, pointing at magazines and letters under their desks. Augusta's dark hair fell straight and neat, tied back in a slick ponytail. A comb would just glide through. There were no awkward bobbles or hints of knots. Her uniform was creaseless. She could've been an adult; had Mary and her mother run into Augusta Gamp in public, Mrs. Macdonald would've referred to Augusta as 'lady', not 'girl' (Mary was always a girl, a girl with untameable hair and knobbly knees and a slouch).
Then again, it seemed like everyone was teetering the line between 'girl' and 'lady' or 'boy' and 'man'. Only Mary was being left behind, maybe with Peter Pettigrew for company.
Peter sat up back with Potter and Lupin and Black, and they were still focused on a bit of parchment. What could be so interesting about it? Snape was right there, in their line of sight, and they hadn't insulted him in front of the whole class once.
"Did you jinx the boys?" Mary whispered to Lily. Lily squinted.
"…Noo…" she said slowly. "Should I have? What's Potter done now?"
"Nothing," Mary said.
"Nothing? What do you mean, 'nothing'?"
"I mean nothing. Look at them."
"I didn't even realise they'd showed up to class. When they're here, you usually know about it." Both girls turned around in their seats, looking back at them. Potter wrote something down, and Black gave Peter a thumbs-up. Mary wondered if whatever had happened to poor Flo Diggory was contagious.
"What the fuck?" Marlene whispered, turning around too.
"It's a Christmas miracle," Lily said. "I know it's still November, but I'll take it whenever it comes."
"That's not right," Marlene said, shaking her head.
"Do you think it might maybe be something to do with Florence?" Mary asked. Lily looked at her, and frowned.
"I didn't think of that," she murmured. Her red brows furrowed, and she pushed her textbook into the very corner of her desk. Mary slid her thumb into the corner of her mouth, and bit lightly on the nail. What were they writing? Not notes on the class. It was more likely for aliens to march into Hogwarts than for James Potter to be taking notes in History. A potions recipe? But only Black was any good at Potions, of all of them, and he still tried to bribe Lily into selling her essays. It was by far too school-ish for them. A list, maybe. But of what? Enemy Slytherins? That was too easy: anyone with a green and silver tie was a foe. Girls they thought were hot? She crunched down on her nail. That was more likely.
"Or maybe they're ranking us," she said quietly. Marlene sighed.
"You know, probably," she said.
"Or maybe they care about Florence," Lily said. Marlene raised her eyebrows. Lily rolled her eyes. "Okay, no, but I'd like to believe that, honestly. I mean, Potter seemed - concerned, yesterday."
"Everyone was concerned," Marlene said. "It's Flo. You think they would've cared if it were Mary?" A lump caught in Mary's throat. They wouldn't have, would they?
"Of course they would've; more, even. She's a Gryffindor," Lily said, and Mary flushed red, heart surging with gratefulness. Lily would've looked for her, and that meant more in the world than whatever Potter and Black would or wouldn't have thought.
Or, it ought to have meant more.
She wanted it to mean more.
"That's not what I meant," Marlene said.
"Provide better context next time," Lily retorted.
"Don't get all funny."
"I'm not, but the way you said it -"
"Well, what do you think, Mary? Was I being mean?" Mary blinked. She pinched her thumbnail between her front teeth, and tugged.
"Um," she said, looking between them. Marlene stuck her head forward. Lily pressed her forefinger to the spot between her eyebrows.
"There you have it," Marlene said. "Mary doesn't mind."
"She didn't say that." Mary shifted in her seat and plopped her nail back in her mouth. Now that they had broken the dam wall, chatter bubbled up in other corners of the room, braver than before. Professor Binns, for his part, continued his well-rehearsed lecture. Did he ever change it? Did he ever slip up and misplace a word and hope that they didn't notice? The good side to nobody ever listening to you was that nobody ever heard your mistakes.
Maybe Professor Binns liked that nobody listened to him. His job didn't seem to depend on students liking his class, or passing it, and so he could get up every day, talk about what he liked, without fear of judgement, without need for conversation, and then go off and do whatever it was that he liked to do. It wasn't as if anyone ever went to see him outside of class hours.
It actually sounded kind of nice, as far as a simple life went. Well, a simple afterlife. Better than burning in hell, for certain.
"How would they be doing it, though? What would the criteria be? Looks, personality - both? Would they be weighted?" Lily wondered aloud.
"Jeez, for someone who doesn't think that's what they're doing and doesn't care about their opinions, you're putting a lot of thought into it."
"I still think it's about Flo, and I don't care, I'm just - considering."
"Well, I'm sure you're at the top of James' list."
"Ha ha. No, I'd think I'm too shrewish for him, and isn't he seeing someone?"
"She's twelve or something, she's not developed enough looks or personality to be ranked on."
"It's weird," Lily agreed. A twelve-year-old can get a boyfriend easier than I can. And an attractive one, too. An older one. Mary tore off another white strip of her nail with her teeth. Her eyes weighed heavily in their sockets. The classroom was windowless, and the candles in the chandelier flickered miserably, fumbling with the dwindling light.
"I think Black would be a legs guy," Alisha said, cutting through Mary's daze. "He'd give her another point there." Mary didn't like to lay her head on her desk during class, and so propped herself up with her hands on her cheeks, switching out her thumb to the corner of her pinky nail.
"I hate this," Lily said. "There's no way they're ranking people."
"Are you defending Potter?" Marlene asked.
"No! I don't know what goes on in his saggy little brain, but I don't want to demean myself to think like him, or try to."
At last, Professor Binns dismissed them, and floated back through the blackboard without a backwards glance. Mary gathered up her things and swept them into her bag, doing her best to stifle a yawn. By the time Marlene and Lily packed up, the boys were gone. The class drifted out. They stepped into the corridor and Mary blinked sleepily, eyes adjusting to the light.
"Evans," someone said, a voice Mary didn't recognise, crisp and cautious, polished like the silverware in some fancy house. They paused. Augusta Gamp slid up beside them, smiling thinly.
"Augusta," Lily said, tone even. "Hi. Your necklace - it's gorgeous."
"Oh, thank you," Augusta Gamp said, fingering the delicate silver chain. "My grandmother gave it to me. Grandmother Gamp, that is. Her sister is married to Arcturus Black."
"That's so sweet," Lily said. Marlene scoffed lightly, and pulled a face at Mary, who pushed her lips into an unsure smile.
"Mmm. Now, please excuse me - I don't make a habit of doing this - but, well, History of Magic is dreadfully dull."
"Do you think so?" Lily asked innocently. Augusta's smile didn't falter, but she squinted her eyes. Lily's smile broadened. "I just love hearing all about wizardkind's history. It's quite a contrast to what I learned at my junior school - you know, the places that muggle children go to learn? The origins of the Statute of Secrecy, the policies of ignoring muggles in conflict - hearing the justification is fascinating. I think we'd all do much better if we paid the subject more mind."
"Yes," Augusta said, voice clipped. "What I wanted to ask is, I heard you discussing Potter and Black and their - gang - ranking people. Girls. Is it true?" Lily stopped, and laughed nervously.
"Well," she started.
"Yes," Marlene cut in. "It's true." Lily's head snapped around. Mary looked at her, puzzled. They didn't know that. It had been an idea. A suggestion. They wouldn't really do that, probably, maybe - would they? They would.
"Marlene -"
"Oh. Hm. Thanks for clearing that up," Augusta said. She scrunched her nose at each of them in a condescending smile, and turned on her heel and left.
"But it's not true," Mary said, fidgeting. "Is it?"
"It's not," Lily said, louder. "It's not true. Marlene, what the hell? It's one thing to talk about it just us - it was History, it's boring - but do you not think she's going to spread that?"
"She can go for it," Marlene said bitterly. "Fuck 'em. They're up to something anyways, maybe they'll tell us what it is if people start getting it wrong."
"Why do you care what they're doing? They're always up to something, we should be glad of the break that it doesn't involve us."
"Well maybe they shouldn't be such arseholes all the time if they don't want people to talk shit about them!" Mary felt very, very lost. Had something happened in Herbology yesterday? But it had been Marlene that had said she was going to work with Black that lesson. It didn't make any sense. She hugged herself tightly.
"I'm going to go pretend to lunch," Alisha interrupted, flipping them a wave. "I'll see you in Potions."
"Bye," they chorused, and she left the three of them alone outside the classroom. Once Alisha exited earshot, Lily rounded on Marlene with alarming ferocity. Mary stumbled in her haste to retreat a few steps.
"We're going to the bathroom," Lily announced, her face inches from Marlene's. Marlene snorted.
"What's Flo raving on about today?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest. Flo Diggory held audiences in the bathroom on that floor like she was the Queen, and nobody with any sense went in there to pee.
"She won't be there. Madam Pomfrey told her to take a few days' rest from her legion of adoring fans. Everybody else will think she's in there, however, so we'll have complete privacy. Come on." Lily grabbed Marlene's wrist firmly and took Mary's too. Mary followed her, jogging to keep up, as they turned down a couple of corridors before arriving. Lily hit the door open with her knee, and for the first time in five years - barring yesterday - the bathroom was only half-full, mostly with younger girls trying very hard to act busy. Nobody seemed to need the facilities.
Lily hitched herself on the sink, but it took a few goes, because she refused to let go of Marlene or Mary's hand.
"I'm not a flight risk, calm yourself," Marlene said. "I don't know why you think taking a piss with me will change anything either."
"Don't be thick," Lily commanded, crossing her ankles. Mary leaned against the cool tiles by a roll of paper towels. Her cheeks burned as an army of third years scanned her up and down before leaving. After five minutes, the crowd had filtered out, save for two first years, who whispered furiously among themselves, hovering by the last stall.
"Do you know Florence Diggory?" one of them finally squeaked, sending her friend a panicked glance as soon as she finished the question. Her friend gave her an encouraging nod. She turned her gaze back to them and grimaced hopefully.
"She's not going to be in here today," Lily told her gently. The little girl's eyes widened.
"Oh. Thanks! Sorry." She and her friend scrambled out of the bathroom. The door banged shut.
Finally, Lily let go. Mary rubbed her wrist. Marlene strode over to one of the stalls, flipped the toilet lid down, and sat. Mary screwed up her nose.
"That's, um, a little bit gross, I think," she said. "And you're kind of far away."
Marlene shrugged. "Nobody's used these in decades for anything other than watching Flo or smoking during class. I can hear you just fine."
"Seems like you're hiding," Lily said.
"I like having the option of locking myself in here so I don't have to look at you," Marlene replied, fiddling in her pocket. She withdrew a somewhat squashed packet of cigarettes. Lily groaned.
"Not in here. I like my lungs."
"As Mary dear pointed out, I'm far away. It won't come near you."
"What will people think if I come out of a bathroom that smells like cigarettes?"
"What do people think of Remus Lupin living in a drug den?"
"He does not, his parents -"
"I meant his dorm room."
"Oh. Well, that's fair, sort of, but it's not as if people care so much about what he does. He's got nothing to prove."
"D'you want sauce with that chip on your shoulder?"
"Marlene!" Lily said, mouth wide, but then she laughed, shaking her head. At once, she launched off the sink. Marlene slammed the stall door but didn't lock it in time, and Lily burst through. Mary's head spun but she followed, uncertain. Lily wrenched the cigarette packet from Marlene's grip. Marlene got to her feet, running into Mary.
"What? What?" Mary said, but laughter gurgled in her throat. Lily's eyes were wide and wild, and Marlene grabbed her round the waist, lifting her feet off the ground. Lily kicked, holding the packet high above her head. Marlene hit her back against the stall's wall and lost her grip. Lily dropped, reaching for Mary - Mary grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up just before her bum hit the ground. In the commotion, the packet fell to the floor. Marlene dived, but headbutted Mary's legs. Mary cried out, and fell back. Her spine slammed into the other wall, and she crumpled - landing on the packet.
"Mary!" Marlene exclaimed, gasping. Lily was quicker. She shoved her hand around Mary's tangled, rumpled robes and snatched the packet back. She kicked the toilet lid up as she got to her feet. Her hand hovered over the bowl.
"No," Marlene said slowly. Or maybe everything was moving slowly. "You're unhinged."
"Do it," Mary said simply. Marlene turned her head, mouth forming an 'o'. The water splashed, and Lily's hand smacked the flush.
"By Merlin, you have an opinion on something," Marlene said, staring at Mary. The water gurgled and the pipes sloshed, and then she realised. The world returned to normal. "Lily!"
"You would've died at twenty-one," Lily said, sticking her chin out.
"Bullshit," Marlene said. Lily fixed her with a steely glare. For a moment. And then she laughed again.
"A little bit bullshit," she acknowledged, grinning. "You okay, Mary?" She offered her hand and Mary took it, clambering to her feet.
"Confused," she said, shaking out her robes. Marlene put the lid of the toilet down once more and climbed onto it, sitting on the tank. Lily waved her wand and muttered a spell, and the more obvious dirt on the floor vanished. She then rearranged her robes and sat down, sliding her back along the wall. Mary did not sit. Her mother had never let up about how unsanitary bathrooms were, and though she knew, logically, that these bathrooms were cleaned by magic stronger than any chemicals used in the public parks, she couldn't do it.
"Sirius Black," Lily said solemnly, looking up at Marlene. "Halloween." It was only a few days earlier, but to Mary, it could've been years, what with Florence and the lockdown and all of it, really. The mention made her lips tingle like they were coated in remnants of an Elfwine Kiss once more.
"Sirius Black, Halloween," Marlene repeated.
"Sirius Black," Mary said uncertainly, frowning. "Halloween?" Lily looked at her, smiling, and shook her head. Mary returned a nail to her mouth. Sirius Black, Halloween. Who'd gone off with Marlene. And whatever happened, afterwards, Marlene had been in need of a drink.
"What happened?" Lily asked, voice firm, but not demanding - Mary recognised it as the way she talked to younger students when they'd been hurt, but didn't want to tell anyone about it in case they, too, got into trouble. Mary had always been one of those kids; she'd learned quickly as a child that if she had gotten hurt, she had obviously done something to deserve it. Always.
"Nothing," Marlene said, drawing her legs up, so her feet rested on the toilet lid. Lily raised her eyebrows. Marlene stared at the roof.
"You were gone awhile," Mary interjected quietly. "At the party."
The toilet stopped running. With none of them speaking, it was almost silent. It felt unnatural. Even in the library, there was the rustling of pages, scratching of quills, people fidgeting. The only place you could ever be alone, properly, was outside, and even then there was the sound of the wind and the birds and insects and a general hum of life. In the stretching absence of noise, Mary could hear her heart beating, and the slow breaths of the other two.
"Yeah, I was," Marlene said, after an age, or a minute. "But nothing happened."
"Nothing happened?" Lily asked.
"Nothing happened," Marlene confirmed. More silence. Mary leaned down and scratched the back of her ankle, sticking two fingers into her sock. Something needed to be said, to fill the gap, but nothing came to her. Every phrase fell back down into her throat. I hope Flo's okay. Can you believe the rain we're having? I think the N.E.W.T-level Care of Magical Creatures students are going to the Ilkley Zoo next week, that's near Leeds, isn't it?
"It bothers you," Lily said. Marlene exhaled.
"It doesn't bother me," she said. "I'm not into him, really." Mary wondered what would happen if she left. If she melted into the wall.
"But?"
"But?" Marlene shifted, and in doing so, her weight pressed against the flush. The pipes began to run again. The itch spread to Mary's calf, and she straightened up, digging her nails into the flesh. Soft hairs bent beneath her touch. She needed to shave. Gross. No wonder that twelve-year-old had gotten Potter, her legs probably didn't know how to grow hair yet. Lucky duck. "I took him at face, you know, at first, but...Merlin and Merwyn, it's Sirius. How do I know he wasn't just - having a laugh at me, you know? Seeing if I'd do it, for some sort of fucking - ego trip, or something. Because, he doesn't want me, but now he knows if he ever did - he could. Fuck. And I don't want him to think that, because it's not true."
Mary and Lily looked at her for a long time.
"I don't see why anyone bothers making Veritaserum," Lily said. "They should just try locking someone in Flo Diggory's bathroom."
November 6th, 1975
The Serpentine Corridor snaked through the Turris Magnus, curving in odd places. A constant hiss echoed through the pipes, and a constant breeze flung itself down the corridor, threatening to extinguish the torches lining the walls. If one looked out through the stained-glass windows, on the opposite side of the hall to the oak doors, they could spot nervous first years attempting to fly. Over the years, the Serpentine Corridor had hosted a number of eleven-year-olds gone rogue on a broomstick, after they crashed through a blue-stained glass depiction of a long-dead wizard. Perhaps it was this that instilled weariness in the fifth year Arithmancy students, and caused them to cling to the wall. Perhaps they were simply lazy teenagers who couldn't be bothered to support themselves as they stood, and so leaned against the wall. Hard to tell.
Remus and Amy alone represented Gryffindor in the class, but that wasn't unusual. Most of those glad in red and gold flocked to Care of Magical Creatures, and took either Muggle Studies or Divination to pick up the slack, keeping in mind the well-circulated advice that both of the latter were 'bludge subjects'. Arithmancy was not. Decidedly was not. It reminded Remus of the third 'r' his mother had always told him about – arithmetic. He supposed something about 'arith' denoted mathematics. It also seemed to denote an impossible workload and a burning hatred by ninety percent of people.
"Did you finish the homework?" Matilda Mortensen asked, wide-eyed. She held her books tightly to her chest, and the feather of a quill poked out of the pocket on the chest of her robes.
"Yes," Amy said flatly, from beside Remus. The stone was cool under his back, and a few stray hairs rose along his arms. Matilda's eyes flicked downwards. Amy returned to reading her latest purchase – a biography of a warlock from the 14th century. Remus sighed quietly, touched his prefect badge, and resigned himself.
"It was quite difficult, wasn't it?" he said tiredly. She nodded, lighting up.
"Yeah, I thought it was. I don't really get standard deviations. It's just all too confusing. And like, if something bad happens to me, won't I be more likely to have bad dreams after that, not just randomly based on the data?"
"I'd say so," Remus allowed.
"Yeah! Like…you'd think, right? But then the statistics don't always allow for that." She sighed dramatically.
"They don't."
"So it's like…how accurate is this anyway?"
"Yeah."
Their conversation was broken by the arrival of the Ravenclaw contingent. Even moreso than usual, they'd been clustered together, not breaking ranks, as if they feared whatever had happened to Florence happening to another one of their number. Whatever had happened to Florence? If the Ravenclaws knew, they were tight-lipped, for the well-oiled rumour mill of Hogwarts had not started spinning. Glen Vane led them today as he always did, hair slicked, smile polite and pleasant, but with a hint of purple beneath his eyes. His fellow prefect, Dorcas Meadowes stayed at the back of the line, a lone rebel, while the other three joined them by the door.
"Good afternoon," Glen said, hands clasped behind his back.
"Good afternoon," Remus replied.
"Hi, Glen," Matilda said shyly. Amy grunted acknowledgement. The conversation lulled. They adjusted books, fiddled with quills, fixed hair, and stared out the windows, looking for any sign of an out-of-control child. Someone's cat trotted past, holding what looked to be someone's rat in its mouth. Matilda turned away. "Ew."
The door to Classroom 7A opened. Professor Quinlan stepped out. He was a tall, thin man, completely bald, though he hid his bare round head beneath a stout summer sky blue square hat. His robes matched, trimmed with gold. His face narrowed significantly at its bottom, giving him a tiny chin and a wide forehead.
"Good afternoon, class," he said. "You may enter."
Only two rows of tables were in the classroom; each sat five across and one at each end, allowing them all to see the blackboard. Charts flanked the board, one listing the most powerful magical numbers, and the other noting common formulas. Snape slunk into the seat closest to the door, which was at the back corner of the classroom. The Ravenclaws headed for the front. Remus watched both prefects sit down, blinking slowly.
"Excuse me," Remus said to Amy, who ignored moved to the front and took the seat on Dorcas Meadowes' right. She didn't look up; she was busy retrieving her things from her bookbag. He did the same. He'd exchanged 'hello's with her before, at meetings, but never in the halls. He had never sat by her – or if he had, he'd paid too little attention to realise it was her. He did his best not to infringe on her working area, and cringed when his elbow swept too close to her inkwell. She remained engrossed in straightening her book. A piece of chalk began writing on the board, and Professor Quinlan sat at his desk and flicked through a thick tome. Remus ruled a line across his parchment to break last lesson's work from the new, and dated the top corner. Soon enough, Professor Quinlan spoke, and he spent the next twenty minutes furiously jotting down notes.
"And now, if you could please answer the questions on the board – they should be up in a moment – to the best of your ability. You will have until one-thirty, and we will spend the last ten minutes marking." On cue, the squeaking chalk halted returned to its place, and six neat questions were written on the blackboard. "Talk only quietly and stay on-topic, please. I'm marking the seventh years' work, you know how important that is."
The class did as they were told, unusual for a fifth year class, but usual for Arithmancy students. Remus pressed the knot between his brows, and started on the first question; they'd been assigned more work than he had hoped for. Rather inconvenient. He copied down the first question, and started jotting down his working. At the solving of the problem, he glanced up. Dorcas finished a large, pointy '3' and started on the corresponding equation. Remus frowned.
Whispers began to pierce through the shroud of scratching quills, starting at the back of the room and travelling forwards. At Remus' completion of the second question, Glen asked Tarush Varma something. It was time. Remus set his quill down, and paused. Nothing profound came to him. He didn't exactly have a repertoire of conversation starters. What would James say? Something stupid. Something stupid and ordinary and funny, not caring if he was annoying or unwanted.
"Erm," he started. And now that he had started to speak, he had to finish. Fuck. She didn't look up. What else was he going to say? His mind blanked. "You're very talented at Arithmancy."
Dorcas did look up then. Remus swallowed. Her eyes were sharp as swords. "You don't know that." Shit. His face turned to stone. His thoughts raced.
"Well, you're finishing the questions quickly."
"How do you know I'm right? I might have given the wrong answer for all of them." His tongue tangled in his throat. He looked wildly between his parchment and hers.
"Erm – well – we got the same answer for the first one…"
"So you're sure that you're right?" Okay, okay, this sort of thing happened to James. And he dealt with it. He still got what he wanted. Remus squared his shoulders. What would James do?
"Well, erm, I think so." But James could be an arse. Fuck. Dorcas looked him up and down, and went back to her work without another word. Remus pinched his nose. A puff of breath hung in his mouth. His ears crackled, threatening to pop. He let go. Exhaled. His chest remained tight. The questions on the board dangled before him, refusing to fade quietly into unimportance as they might've in History of Magic or Herbology. He answered two more, piercing the parchment once and leaving large blots of black ink.
At one point, Professor Quinlan cleared his throat loudly. In any other class, the noise level would have been considered practically silent. Nevertheless, all talking ceased. Someone turned a page. A chair squeaked forwards. Matilda crossed the room to Professor Quinlan's desk, and they discussed a question in hushed tones. Long after she returned to her seat, Glen Vane sighed, rubbed his face, and put his head down on the desk. Hard.
The class stopped breathing.
Even Professor Quinlan looked up.
"Glen." Tarush nudged him. "Glen. Glen. Glen?"
"Hm?" Glen lifted his head off the desk. "Oh. I'm fine, I'm fine. Sorry."
The class returned uneasily to their work. Excepting Remus. The clock indicated that only twenty minutes remained of class, which fit well with the amount of work left to do. Remus jotted down the final questions and resolved that they could wait for evening.
Evening. This evening. It came to him all at once.
"How is everything going in your house?" Remus whispered. Dorcas looked at him, face blank, and then looked back down at her work. He sighed through his nose. His insides curled up. Couldn't she just say something? Please? "Are you and Glen still up for patrolling tonight?" She looked up again, dark features tight.
"It's our job," she said. He scrunched up his face. Logically, it would be a good time to bow out of the conversation. The patrols were still fine. Good. Great, even. Prying was unnecessary.
"I just wanted to be sure," he said. Dorcas narrowed her eyes, and glanced back at the Slytherins. Remus looked over his shoulder. They scratched away at their parchment, though two girls shot him filthy glances when they noticed him. He looked back. She met his eyes. Her gaze burned. He blinked.
"Okay," she said, and broke her stare. Remus clenched his jaw.
He was devoutly thankful he'd never had his heart set on private investigation as a career.
November 6th, 1975
He partnered with Avery upon seeing that Lily had chosen one of her Gryffindor friends, and sorely regretted it. Severus had a hand for potion-making, but it was not enough to negate the idiocy of Warren Avery. At the conclusion of the lesson, Professor Slughorn fixed him with a stern eye.
"Do snatch up dear Lily, next time," he advised, under his breath. "She doesn't do so well either with the McKinnon girl."
"Yes, sir," Severus said, as if it was up to him alone.
He stomped down to the greenhouses and found himself incredibly relieved when it was revealed that they had the option of working alone today, although only he took it. The boys made jokes about the suggestions of the plant's shape, and the girls paid no mind to their trays at all, instead whispering furiously. Whatever it was, it spread like a disease. Augusta Gamp bought it in from the outside world, and as the rain lashed the glass panes of the roof, she spread it to Lauren Clarke and Chloe Dennings, who dutifully trudged to the other side of the greenhouse to spread the infection to their friends in Hufflepuff. The Hufflepuff girls couldn't help themselves, voices rising, talking animatedly, and soon the boys of their house joined them, faces furrowed in concern. It was lunacy. Luckily, nobody bought the virus to him - they left him alone. Which he liked. He didn't have time for that rubbish.
Without the hindrance of stupidity, his plants flourished, and he tended to them quicker than usual, leaving him with a good remainder of the lesson to watch his classmates perform their grotesque mimicry of rats in the 15th century. He ascertained from their expressions that it was hardly anything too serious, though the more dramatic girls seemed to think it so, pouting and widening their mouths. If some piece of school gossip is enough to make you act like that, you ought to off yourself already so you never have to face the big bad world. He pretended to need different soil, and swept past their table, ears pricked.
"I can't believe James would -"
"Potter?" Severus asked, before he could help himself. A tall, thin Hufflepuff girl nodded soberly.
"I know," she said, sounding miserable. "He seems so nice." Severus snorted. She frowned. He left without grabbing a single bag of dirt. Potter. What had he done now? Was it to do with that nine-year-old he was dating, the creep? What could he do that was unbelievable? Nothing was out of reach, out of character, for that swine. If it suited him to play the poncy pureblood, he would; and if it suited to be friend to all, hero of the downtrodden, he'd switch his hat. He was brave only in his arrogance; anybody else inhabiting his body would not be half so sure of themselves. He had nothing to offer besides a surname and a semi-famous father, and yet took to strutting about as if he had cured Splattergroit or syphilis (which was highly unlikely, given his complete stupidity). What could be considered so beyond the pale for Potter?
And could these little gossip rats bite and kill him?
Professor Sprout wrangled a larger plant with snapping teeth, unrelated to their lesson, and so he withdrew his notebook. Its cover had been repeatedly spelled back on, and pages stuck out haphazardly, some folded and others torn and all yellowed. He fingered the pages cautiously - they looked ripe to crumble under ferocity. His inky, slender letters covered the pages, every spare inch of space, with notes on potion-making, spell-crafting, anything interesting he'd ever heard in class, or in the hallways, or late at night by the fire in the common room. His hand scuttled through his bag, eventually finding a quill, and he added in the latest page - overrun with notes about Flo - and added to it.
The class still hummed after dismissal, and they left the greenhouse in dribbles, much like the confused spits of rain. Silently, Severus joined Rosier and Avery in their return to the castle, each of them avoiding the pooling puddles of sludge.
"The girls hate him," Avery said gleefully.
"Not for long," Rosier grumbled, flipping the hood of his robes over his head. "It's Potter, they'll forget in a week, and even if they don't, all the fittest girls that he ranked highest will be all over him."
"Ranked?" Severus asked, lifting the hem of his robes when they came to a place where there was no avoiding the soggy ground beneath. He tried very much to sound as though he didn't care. He didn't; he had no regard for what went through Potter's mind. He didn't care for schoolyard rumours, either. He was engaging in polite conversation. That was all.
"He and his mates made a list of every girl in our year, and made a list of them in order of how fit they are," Avery informed him, beaming. "I wanna know if Flo Diggory still made number one, or did her thing the other day wreck it?"
"Flo Diggory? She's good, but I wouldn't put her at the top," Rosier said idly, stepping onto the flagstones.
"Who's better-looking than Flo?" Avery demanded. Rosier coughed awkwardly.
"Well - on looks alone, let me be clear, I would never - not one of those - "
"Who?" Avery insisted. Rosier adjusted his hood.
"Well - Evans, I suppose."
Severus stopped dead, pulse frozen.
"Lily?" he demanded. The others had taken a few steps forward, continuing on their way, and only halted at the sound of his voice.
"I forgot you were fond of her," Rosier said shortly. Avery twisted his lips.
"I'm not," Severus said. "She's good at Potions. It's a shame she's muggle-born."
"Yeah," Rosier agreed. They stood in the corridor for a long moment, and then Severus excused himself, citing his next class. There were a great number of stairs and passageways involved in getting to the sixth floor, but none of that bothered him today. Lily took Ancient Runes. He had to warn her. Had to tell her what they were saying - Potter, making a list, checking it twice, a twisted Father Christmas, splitting them into 'hot' and 'not' rather than 'naughty' or 'nice. Lily hated that sought of things. Thought them - what was it? - chauvinistic pigs. He could imagine her pretty nose screwed up, reviled. Excitement propelled him up the final two sets of stairs.
Professor Fawley tended to earliness, and so the classroom was open when Severus arrived. He rushed through the door,eyes flicking from seat to seat - and then his face fell. No Lily. Not even a Macdonald. Not a Brown, either, though he hadn't expected that. The only proof that Gryffindor house hadn't been banned from taking Study of Ancient Runes came in the form of Peter Pettigrew. Severus recoiled. It seemed an astray hex had hit him - or maybe Potter's temper had gotten the better of him. Pettigrew was writing - or at least marking - the parchment in front of him. Admittedly, he was still in residence in the very back corner of the room, but he was writing. It didn't appear to be a list - perhaps he was drafting an apology letter. Potter had poor taste. If Severus had been forced to choose one of them to write an apology letter on his behalf, and there was absolutely no option of writing it himself or committing suicide, he would've chosen Lupin. For all that he was a strange, secretive little weirdo, he of the four of them was usually the only one to write in class. Potter and Black got top marks, but Severus would've laid every knut that they copied or bribed Lupin into doing it for them. They were dishonest thieves at heart.
No Lily. He scanned the room again, making sure. But how could he miss her, if she were there? He'd know her anywhere. In a crowd in Hogsmeade, a park in Cokeworth, in her Sunday best and her pyjamas, in the mine their fathers worked in, breaking their backs in their large dark grave, cheeks smeared with grease. He slunk to the back, resolving to move if she came in. Or maybe she'd come sit with him and they could talk better, without Professor Fawley's ears so close, but he doubted that.
A few seats were between him and Pettigrew, but none of them were occupied. Professor Fawley teetered around the blackboard, slow and precise with each rune he drew out in chalk. Severus pulled his books out and stacked them on his desk. Then he turned to Pettigrew. The parchment was not covered in thin, wobbly lines of writing, but instead seemed to be a drawing of sorts. A large square on the outside, and smaller ones within, sometimes forming triangles or circles instead. Pettigrew only now added lettering in the shapes.
"Learning your letters?" Severus asked. Not his best, but it would do. It wasn't worth wasting anything good on Pettigrew. The round-faced boy looked up, and stopped for a moment. Severus could see him running through his memory, hunting down clever phrases Potter and Black had used before.
"Learned to shower yet?" Pettigrew replied, finally.
"Learned originality?" Severus beat back. Pettigrew hesitated again. There was no quick back-and-forth with him; he left gaps, he took too long. If it had been a duel, Severus could have killed him already.
"Learned not to be a creep?"
"Learned not to be a tag-along?"
"At least I have friends." Pettigrew was quick, that time. Severus considered that. Then he delivered his best look of disbelief. Pettigrew's nostrils flared. "I do. You don't, you're not clean enough for the other Slytherins and Lily never talks to you now." Lily. Severus curled his lip.
"At least I'm not a sexist pig," he spat, though the words were foreign on his tongue, taken from the absent ginger. Pettigrew squinted, breathing through his mouth.
"What?" Pettigrew asked. Severus didn't dignify him with a response.
Pettigrew fumed through the rest of the lesson, a lesson in which Lily showed up five minutes late with a slightly blue Macdonald alongside, profusely apologising to Professor Fawley. They sat at the front and it was too late for Severus to swap seats, so he dutifully listened to the importance of the Spearhead of Kovel. Lily and Macdonald packed up quicker than he did and though he did his best to catch up, he lost their trail when a trick step caught him up. Pettigrew passed by just before he stood up once more, and laughed until Flo Diggory and her usual friend and a different, newer friend arrived on the scene, and promptly looked like he was about to wet himself. Severus scurried away.
The Slytherin common room teamed with life; homework was forgotten and people stood around in large groups, talking, mainly girls.
"Now me? I think ranking people based on their looks is awful. Utterly immoral," he heard Padgett decree to a flock of witches twirling their hair. Severus stashed his things in his trunk and ventured back up empty-handed. He approached nobody, but sat in a leather armchair and shut his eyes, pretending to doze off as he listened. It was vile, what Potter and his gang had done. People weren't always what they looked - Lily was a rare exception, beautiful and kind and smart and brave. Severus was the example. Whatever resemblance they shared, in their noses, in their hair, he wasn't his father. He wasn't his father. He refused to be. Potter was the example. Girls fawned over his good looks, but he used them to get away with being a complete arsehole in a way that Severus could never. Severus had to be clever, had to be careful in what he did and who to, and even then it was never enough. James was stupid and careless, and even then, people saw his handsomeness and forgot the rest.
When they had been younger, Severus had been set on breaking Potter's nose. Just once. Magic would heal it well, but there was something about a nose that made it tricky to get just right. It would always be slightly, slightly imperfect. Especially if a good hex was used. He'd never got the chance. These days, he wouldn't settle for a nose; he'd break Potter's whole face, forehead to chin, and see if he was handsome caked in blood and trapped in bruised, broken, battered flesh.
Or perhaps the gossip rats would sink their teeth into his muscular neck and the pustules would never quite fade. He wasn't sure what would be more satisfying; to watch the rest of the school drag him to the crucifix, or to hammer the nails in himself.
They emptied out for dinner, slithering up to the Great Hall, but he did not sit with them. It didn't matter tonight - people crossed the Hall in every place, gathering to swap pieces of information, names and their corresponding numbers, and to glance at the Gryffindor table. Severus followed the glances. Potter and his friends were absent. It smelt like guilt. Only the guilty run from the law. Further down, he found Lily, twisting spaghetti around her fork and listening to Chaise bleat on about something.
"Lily," he said. "Lily, I need to talk to you. Now." McKinnon scoffed. He ignored her pointedly. "Now," he repeated. She inhaled, and put her cutlery down.
"Alright," she said, standing. "I'll be back shortly."
"Okay," Macdonald squeaked, eyes wide, a tinge of blue clinging to her face. She looked like she might cry. Maybe they already knew – but surely Lily would be more angry, if that was the case. When she found out, she was going to be outraged. Perhaps she'd hex Potter to little pieces. Nobody could blame her. He took her by the hand, and she sighed – his stomach tingled – and he lead her over to one of the fireplaces. She folded her arms across her chest.
"Lily," he said. "I have to tell you something." His hands trembled; it physically hurt to keep the words in. She needed to know. Oh, she was going to lose it. He'd seen her angry before, and it was a thing of glory – her face blazed, her eyes crackled, alight like the flicking embers of a growing, raging forest fire.
"What is it?" she asked. Oh, she was going to hate Potter, loathe him more than she did already. Maybe they'd fight in the Great Hall, so everyone could see him get what was coming, what he deserved. Now they all knew he was absolutely vile, a rat, a cockroach, not worthy of scampering through a kitchen in Spinner's End.
"It's Potter!" he announced gleefully. "Potter and his friends. They're ranking girls. Just like you always say the worst of men do. It's disgusting – oh, when I heard, I knew you'd be so mad – but we all knew this was coming, it's Potter, of course he'd - "
"Where'd you hear that?" she asked, fixing him with an odd look. He shrugged.
"Herbology. Some girl cried over it," he recounted. Well, she hadn't cried in the class, but God, she probably had later. Stupid Hufflepuff girls and their delicate nerves. Lily wouldn't cry; no, she'd be mad, pissed, furious. He exhaled shakily, the thoughts catching in his chest. "I always knew they'd do something like this – no respect, they don't care about anything other than themselves. And Lupin, a prefect, to be joining in – maybe that's where he goes every month, off to ranking parties or something, maybe he has sex parties and then ranks all the people there -"
"It's not true," Lily said. Severus stopped dead, took a breath, and corrected himself.
"Well, I don't know for sure, but if they're that depraved, it's not so far-fetched that -"
"No," she said, firmer. "The ranking thing isn't true."
He blinked.
"Of course it's true," he said. "It's just like them."
"It's not true." Again. Again. What was wrong with her? Could she hear herself? It was Potter, James Potter, of course it was true. If it wasn't true, he'd be sitting at the table with his new first year girlfriend and Black would be smirking and Lupin would be fiddling with the prefect badge he so often desecrated and Pettigrew would be breathing through his mouth like a fucking child who hadn't grown up yet and they would not have a worry in the world, because Potter and Black, at least, were good-looking and whilever girls wanted to fuck them, they would not lose their position. Rosier was right.
"Are you defending them or something?" he demanded. Lily inhaled an offended laugh.
"Why would I defend them?" she asked, eyes wide, as if he had grown an extra head.
"It sounds like you are. Why do you want to believe they're innocent?"
"I don't. If it were true, Sev, I'd be grabbing a pitchfork too, but it isn't, and regardless of how much I dislike someone, I'm not going to begrudge them something they didn't do." Her words were hot, heated, sizzling like they were thrown from a fire. It nearly dizzied him. Nearly.
"It's something they're capable of doing, they could have done, they could be doing right now. That's the kind of people they are, Lily. Why are you making excuses for them?"
"You're capable of a lot of things too, Sev!" she said loudly, almost a yell. Almost a yell. At once, the fight died in him. It sank to the pit of his stomach like a stone. "But I don't hold your potential for bad against you. Rosier, and Avery, and Mulciber, and all of them, are capable of a lot of things, and I think they are foul, I think they are bigots, I think they are wretched, but I will not pin something on them that they did not do because I want to be the bigger person." He stared at her.
"You're meant to be angry at Potter, what have I even done? I was coming over here to tell you because it's disgusting, what he's doing, and you're having a go at me!" His face burned hot, and he hated himself, with every single fibre of his being, because why, why would he shout at Lily, pretty Lily, smart Lily, kind Lily? But he was.
"Go away, Sev," she hissed; her eyes were red. Oh, no. No, no, no. She turned on her heel and half-jogged to her table. He was going to be sick. He followed her.
"Lily -"
"Go away!" she shouted, whirling back around. Her ponytail fell loose, the hairtie hanging on by a thread of fire.
"Lily," he said, softer, this time, but she strode past him, breaking into a run, and left the Great Hall.
November 6th, 1975
"POTTER!" Lily slammed her fist against the dormitory door three times. Her hand stung. The common room, the stairwell, both were eerily silent with everyone at dinner. Correction: most people at dinner. She threw her fist into the door again. "JAMES POTTER!"
A tiny scramble came from the dormitory, and the door clicked open. She took a deep breath. Potter appeared on the other side, hair a mess, glasses askew. Behind him, three faces peered up at her; Remus worried, Peter curious, Black smirking. She swallowed the football in her throat and looked at Potter.
"Evans," he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," she snapped, and loathed the sound of the wetness in her voice. Pull yourself together. "Look -"
"You've been crying," he said, and it was a determined statement. Hot, angry tears welled in her eyes, blotched her cheeks. She rubbed them furiously.
"No, I haven't. Listen - "
"If it was that git, Snivellus - "
"NO!" she shouted, spitting fury. "No! No! Shut up! I am here to talk to you, because I am being fucking nice -" she jabbed her finger at his chest, "- and you, you are going to shut the fuck up, and listen to me, and not say a single word about Sev, okay? Not a word!" Her throat was raw. Potter stared at her.
"Okay," he said, softly, after a moment. She nodded, tears spilling over, and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stop them. The door clicked closed. Lily opened her eyes once more. For once in his life, Potter looked awkward. He'd changed into his pyjamas already, but he had his wand at hand, and his dark eyes were narrowed but not tired. She sighed.
"Come on." She went down the stairs and he followed, their footsteps loud in the rare silence of the tower. She flopped onto the red couch in prime position in front of the fire. He hesitated, eyeing the couch, and then sat in the adjacent armchair.
"What are you doing?" She had hoped, dearly, that it would come out as a sharp inquiry, but she still sounded like she was about to cry. She gritted her teeth, thought of Severus, tried to rekindle that fire in the pit of her belly. She was tired. Mary had been turned blue in Defence and settling the blonde's nerves was more than a day's work for anyone. She didn't begrudge it, but still.
"Sitting?" he tried. He was sort of perched in the seat, knees and feet together, hands in his lap, like a kid on his best behaviour. She'd never seen him look like that, except when mocking others. Even in the first week of his first year, he hadn't been frightened of a telling-off. Maybe it was because he received a lot from home, and therefore was used to it. Maybe it was because he received none at all, and therefore teachers' approval meant nothing, because his parents would always side with him. Maybe it was something else. She didn't know him well enough to pick it.
"I mean," she said, and gestured. "You were writing, all through History of Magic, and then you weren't at lunch, and then in Potions, and you missed dinner, and usually you're on the very pulse of Hogwarts, and -" she looked at him. His face was surprisingly impassive. He didn't try to interrupt. Weird. "Today, you weren't. You were acting odd."
He seemed to consider this, staring at his knees for a few long moments. She crossed her legs, and uncrossed them.
"I can't tell you," he said, and as she opened her mouth to speak, he looked up, and quickly continued, "-it's not something breaking the rules, honestly. But it's -" he threw his hands up, " - private? It's a side thing. A new one. We only came up with it last night, and it's a stroke of bloody genius, so we're working on it."
She raised her eyebrows. "A side project?"
"Swear on my broom," he said solemnly. "My mum's life." She snorted.
"Do you actually like your mum? Black uses that one all the time, and it usually means he's lying."
"I love my mum to bits," he said. She studied him. Potter was the sort of person who would laugh at his own joke. His lips didn't even quiver. She sat back on the couch, and laced her fingers together.
"I...while you've been…'side-project'ing...there's been a rumour going around. About you." She looked at the fire instead of him.
"Is it that I'm planning to leave school after O. and become the youngest-ever chaser and captain for the Wimbourne Wasps? It's not true, but if people are saying that, I don't see why you'd need to put a stop to it, you know? Let the people think what they want to think."
"It's not that."
"Oh." Her tears had mostly dried, now. "I'm not pregnant, am I?" Potter sounded deeply concerned.
"That's not what people are saying, but if you're worried, you should really take a test," she said, managing a weak smile. He opened his mouth, as if to say, 'ah', and then nodded thoughtfully, like it was useful advice. Lily took a deep, steadying breath, and collected it all in her head. "What they're saying is that you - and your friends, but honestly, I don't mean this harshly, but the rumour mill doesn't really care about Peter - have been making a list 'ranking' girls on their looks. And personalities, depending on who you speak to." In History of Magic, several rows in front of them, Lily could think that they'd probably just go for looks, even if she didn't want to admit it. She wasn't sure if she could say the same now. "People are really upset about it. Your name's quite muddy, at the minute."
He didn't say anything, for a while, and she picked at her tights, bit on her lips until her mouth tasted sweet, swallowed and swallowed and swallowed her dinner and tried not to think of Sev.
"It's not just the weather, is it? The mud?" He laughed, but it rang hollow. There was no attempt at defense, no insistent, incessant claim of its lack of validity.
"No," she said. He inhaled deeply, and blew it out.
"Why are you telling me?" he asked. "I would've found out sometime. Maybe with a punch to the face, but preferably one to the stomach. I like my nose." Part of her wanted to laugh. She didn't. She fixed her mouth straight. Her tears had dried sticky.
"I felt obliged," she said. "The person who started it won't tell you. I know she won't."
"Who?" His eyes were wide with curiosity, not anger, not even annoyance.
"Marlene."
"Oh." More silence. She clenched her jaw. I want to go to bed. I want a mug of hot chocolate, and to climb into bed, and not dream of anything. Not Flo, not Sev, not home. Not anything. "Why?" She stayed silent, waiting to see if he squirmed, but he didn't. He rolled the corner of his pyjama shirt, but not frenetically, not shakily. More like he'd never noticed it before, and never realised how nice it was to roll.
"Black," she said, and worried her lip, wondering how much to say, how much Black had spilled after the party. Potter's face was unreadable. Damnit. "On Halloween, they…"
"Yeah," he said, and she was thankful. "Why didn't you just talk to Remus about this?"
"Because I was angry, and, because – because –" she couldn't verbalise it. "I didn't want to shout at Remus."
"You aren't shouting at me, though."
"I intended to." And she had shouted, at the start, thumping her fist on his door.
"Go on, then," he said. She looked at him, puzzled. He leaned back in the armchair, eyebrows raised, the corners of his lips turned up. Smirking, almost. God. It made her want to shout.
"That's not fair," she said, unsure if it was more to herself or to him. He squinted one eye.
"Life isn't."
"I'm not going to shout at you," she said. He shrugged, as though he couldn't have cared less. He probably couldn't.
They drifted in silence a little longer, and she tried not to look at him, and never caught him looking at her. Finally, she did look, and he seemed on the verge of speaking.
"You're not going to ask me out again, are you?" she asked, mostly just to say something. He looked surprised, and a little bewildered. It made her feel like smiling in the morning, when she wasn't so tired.
"I – I wasn't planning on it," he said. Genuinely taken aback. Huh. "But, well," he continued, regaining his ease of manner, "if you're offering, I'm not going to say no, I just have one thing I need to –"
"Don't be a prick to her," Lily said. "I might just let those rumours circulate, if you are."
"I'm not," he said, frowning, a sharpness in his voice. "I'm trying not to be."
"Good," Lily said. "Basic human decency. Wow." She expected him to parry back with some sharp remark, something funny and slightly dodgy that would make her feel even more righteous. He didn't. He stared into the fire instead. She did too, and tried not to think of Severus.
"Er," he broke the silence, and she could hear his fingers tapping the buttons of his pyjamas, "d'you mind if I go back up to my room now? We were in the middle of something."
"Go," she said.
"Thanks," he said. She heard him lift from the armchair, felt him move closer to her, and then he turned, walked past her, and up the stairs, footsteps clear in the quiet. His dormitory door shut. She slid onto the floor, hugged her knees to her chest, and watched the flickering coals.
A/N: Hope y'all enjoyed! Check me out on twitter at hpexpandeduni or see my pinterest board for this fic here www. pinterest .com. au /finnellao /creature-comfort/