A/N: I'm attributing the tardiness of this chapter to a) James Potter tendencies, b) a week's holiday, and c) the fact that in the last two months I've had about eleven days of working internet. Chapter title is from the song 'I Love You So' by the Walters.
January 7th, 1976
While his mates settled into comfortable seats near the fire, James got his things together and prepared to go see McGonagall. He wasn't sure what he ought to expect; what more did he need to learn? Would it just be revision-type stuff? What could opponents know that he didn't?
"Stop looking nervous, it puts me off," Sirius barked, draping his legs over the armrest of the couch. "It's unnatural."
"Cheers," James said, giving Ludo Bagman a thumbs-up. Most of the Quidditch team huddled around the radio, listening to an apparent 'insider' give hints as to the changes in the team line-ups for this year's season. Word had it Petrie was going to transfer to Kenmare, and that they were going to make Parkin captain for Wigtown, seniority be damned. Bagman had taken to miming this for him. James kept one eye on his erratic gestures and the other trained on his mates.
"Sirius is right," Peter said, looking up from his homework, frowning. "If you're nervous, then the rest of us should be terrified for you. And I'm not terrified. So now I'm worried that I'm mad."
"You don't have to worry about that, Wormy," said Sirius. "I can assure you that you're mad."
"Ha ha," said Peter crossly.
"Ha, ha, ha ha ha," Remus said dryly, writing something on his notes. "Sirius, have you considered a career in comedy?" James ran his fingers through his hair.
"Well, none of you lot have to worry," he said. "You're not meant to be terrified, Pete, you're not the one doing it."
"I can't believe McGonagall's making you nervous," Sirius said. He laid back and began gnawing on a liquorice wand. His homework lay abandoned on the floor.
"You're mental if she doesn't make you nervous," James said, ruffling his hair. "I just don't want to fuck it up too much." Sirius snorted.
"You're the best at Transfiguration in our year. You'll be fine." James leaned against the sofa, curling his fingers against his scalp. He was the best at Transfiguration in their year, Sirius was right, and if it had been about beating some chap from their year he wouldn't've worried a bit. It was the approved spells thing. He'd stewed on it overnight, and even bothered to flick open a textbook. Approved spells wouldn't only be British spells when he got to the later rounds, he realised. There were spells that were common in places like Japan that he'd never heard of. Eleven-year-olds in Ghana confidently transfigured things with tools he couldn't even picture. He didn't want to get his arse whipped by an eleven-year-old. Not that they were allowed to compete, but it was the principle of the thing.
And so, for the first time in his life, James actually felt like he had a bit to learn.
That was daunting.
"Yeah, I'll be fine," he said to Sirius, smiling jauntily, and clapped him on the shoulder. Sirius stretched out the liquorice wand, narrowing his eyes. "I'm off, then."
"Good luck!" said Peter. Remus raised a hand in farewell. Sirius gave him the two-fingered salute. James returned it cheerfully, and left the common room.
The corridors were busier than he expected. He said hello to a couple of familiar faces. People traipsed back and forth from the library or huddled in alcoves. One lot were even duelling. A small crowd gathered, and a look-out was posted down the end of the hallway, small and skinny.
"Use Jelly-Legs!" James shouted at the duellers, and both boys cast the spell at the same time. They promptly fell over. James laughed heartily and continued on his way. He went down a few flights of stairs and hurried past the Defence classroom, hoping he wouldn't be late. He didn't reckon she'd appreciate tardiness so much when it was one-on-one. And it would make him a bit of a prick to keep her waiting. In a normal lesson, there were other people for her to teach, and it was a laugh for him to come in fifteen minutes after it started with some ridiculous excuse. This was different.
He stopped at the side door of the classroom and steeled himself, rolling his shoulders back and forth. Then he knocked. The door opened at once, and Professor McGonagall looked at him.
"Mr Potter," she said. "You're on time." He gave her a lopsided smile.
"I reckon I need every minute," he said easily, but it was an admission. She raised her eyebrows.
"I do wish you would take that attitude with every lesson," she said. "Come in." He stepped inside and she closed the door behind him. The classroom floor was cleared of its usual desks and chairs. Only McGonagall's desk and the blackboards remained, as well as a table he hadn't seen in there before. On it sat three leather-bound books – one maroon, one forest green, and one an aged yellow. Each had titles etched deeply into the cover – the maroon one was English, the forest green one was probably Latin, and the yellow one was something runic.
"Was I meant to bring my books along?" he asked.
"If you didn't bring them, then you obviously feel you don't need them," said McGonagall. She withdrew her wand and brandished it. On the far side of the room, a mouse squeaked and flew into the air. She flicked her wand towards herself, and the mouse hurtled at her. At the last moment, she pointed her wand. The mouse transformed into a matchbox. She caught it in her left hand, and set it on the table.
"You should've been a seeker, Professor," James told her. The corners of her lips twitched.
"I could have been," she said, "but I prefer chasing. As you would understand."
"I'd get bored as a seeker," James said, "I need to be in the middle of things." She smiled knowingly.
"Would you take this outside and untransfigure it? I can't stand mice in my classroom," she said.
"Yeah. Easy." He strolled up to her desk, one hand in his pocket, and grabbed the matchbox. He left the classroom by the main door and crossed the walkway into the courtyard.
Untransfiguration was, weirdly enough, considered more difficult than transfiguring something in the first place. James found that weird. When you transfigured an object or a creature or whatever, you had to concentrate hard, keeping the exact look of the object you wanted it to be at the forefront of your mind, while remembering the formulas and making sure you didn't put too much or too little energy into it, and balancing and substituting the magical energy of the object itself, and its weight and its vsciousness and all the rest. It was that sort of thing that limited a lot of transfiguration to non-magical items – matches into needles, kittens into kitten-patterned teacups. You couldn't pluck magical energy from nowhere when performing a transfigurative spell – it had to come from yourself, which was draining, frankly. But all of that was way more complicated than untransfiguration. All you had to do was return everything to its normal state. Reverse the equations. Work backwards. Too easy.
But when he hadn't been the one to perform the original transfiguration, it was a little harder.
He held the matchbox in his left hand and pointed his wand at it with his right.
"C'mon," he said. Reparifarge wasn't working because the transfiguration was complete. None of the generic counter-spells had any luck. That was the other thing that made Transfiguration a hard subject to most people (not him) – there were a lot of spells to remember. Other people worried about remembering the due dates for their essays, but James didn't see how that would help them in class. Okay, they might avoid a detention, but if he used that space to remember the specific untransfigurations for different objects, wasn't he the smart one?
"Can I just Vanish you?" he asked. The matchbox looked at him accusingly. He ran his fingers through his hair. Generally, he didn't like vanishing things that were living, breathing creatures. Parchment? No problem. Someone's dessert? Hilarious. But not an animal, unless he planned to conjure them back. He wondered, in the case of the mouse-matchbox, if he vanished it, would it return to its normal state? If he conjured a mouse afterwards, would it be that mouse, or some random mouse? There were different theories about what happened when something was vanished – did it die, or turn into non-being (what was the difference?), or did it fall into some sort of unconsciousness to be roused upon later conjuration? None of the people who'd volunteered to be vanished had never come back to explain it. Did conjuring a creature just create a new being? No wonder it was so bloody difficult. Regardless, he didn't want to just send it off into the abyss. Not when he was holding it in his hand.
Merlin's beard, he was being soft. James was glad his mates weren't with him. He drummed his wand against his knee, thinking. Mouse to matchbox. Easy. So easy he'd left behind the counter-spell in first year. He knew that he knew it. It was just a matter of pulling it out of his brain. He sat down on a bench and took himself back to first year. Meeting Sirius, meeting Peter, meeting Remus. Really believing that Remus was off to see his sick mum and concocting a plan to steal potions from St Mungo's to send to her so that she'd get better. Running to the library under his cloak (so nobody thought they were little know-it-alls) and eagerly searching through books to find a new jinx to use on Snape. Yanking Lily's hair when she sat in front of him in Charms just so she'd turn round and ask, "What, Potter?" in that exasperated tone she always took with him, and he'd have an excuse to say hello.
He'd liked her a lot. A laugh from her, even at his expense, had kept him giddy for a week. He wasn't like that now, not even with Lisbete. He guessed it was probably an eleven-year-old thing. Little James was still tucked away inside his chest somewhere, though, and fist-pumped the air if Lily talked to him. Habit, more than anything. A couple of years of going mental whenever she looked his way was bound to linger.
He shook his head and focused on the task at hand. The matchbox. It had already been a couple of minutes, and he didn't want McGonagall thinking he'd skived off. He groaned in frustration. So he could vanish something, but not untransfigure a stupid little box. He weighed up his options, and for a moment, wondered if McGonagall had planned it. Nah. She wasn't that devious. He ruffled his hair, swore under his breath, and headed back to the classroom. The door swung open when he knocked.
"Mr Potter?" McGonagall stood at one end of the table, hands clasped, looking expectant. He showed her his hand, the matchbox on his palm. Now he had to get the words out.
"I know how to do it," he said. "It's not that. I'm just a bit rusty on the incantation. You know, I haven't gone back to this sort of thing in years. It's not really been necessary." He felt like a right git. Next time, he'd bring his books, even if Sirius gave him shit for it. It was a future champion thing. Sirius wouldn't understand. Oh, that'd piss Sirius right off. James'd need to get a quick shield charm up after that one.
"I see," she said. He pressed his lips together in an embarrassed smile, and then goggled his eyes out and crossed them. "Potter, where do you suggest we begin your training?" she asked, apparently ignoring his face. He dropped the dumb expression and shrugged.
"I'm keen to learn new spells," he said. "Something French would be impressive. Or Chinese."
"We will start at the beginning," she said curtly. "As you have proven today, that is an area which you have overlooked. You do not want to be bested by someone using a first year spell." He scratched the back of his neck.
"Yeah. No. No I don't," he said.
"Good. We have only weeks until the first round, where the Hogwarts champion will be decided upon. Our primary focus shall be on reviewing lower-level spells and practising strategies you may use in the competition. Foreign spells," she continued, "will be largely unnecessary until and if you find yourself representing Hogwarts or the British Isles."
James pouted. He rather fancied changing a vase into a giant baguette or something in French.
"Right," he said. "Bummer."
She opened the maroon book. "This is the spell list for the curriculum used here at Hogwarts," she told him, running a finger down the middle of the page. "Please look at it, and with your wand, tap any spell you believe you could benefit from reviewing thrice." He went to the table and looked at the list. Some spells, as he moved his head, shimmered different colours – green and blue and yellow. He scratched his head.
"Professor," he said, "are you helping any of the others?"
"The others?" she asked him.
"Yeah," he said, pulling out his wand and tapping one spell. "You know, like my competition."
"It is my job as the senior Transfiguration professor at this school to ensure all students are adequately prepared for any Transfiguration-related activities they may partake in," said McGonagall. James sighed in disappointment.
"But I'm your favourite, right?" he asked, making himself sound very sad.
"Potter," she said.
"I must be," he continued. "You haven't expelled me yet." Her expression flickered. He squinted at her, bemused.
"I very much wish not to be forced to expel you, Mr Potter," she said. "I would appreciate it if you could make that happen. You have a great deal of potential, if you would only find some sensibility to accompany it."
James didn't know what to say to that, honestly. He tapped a couple more spells. They lit up red. Look, he knew he wasn't the sensible type – in his group, that was Remus. That's why Remus was a prefect and he wasn't. He turned the page, moving on to second year spells. He hadn't expected to be suspended last term. He was happy to take the consequence instead of Sirius and Peter, there was no question about that, and it had been fine, just like a holiday, really. It just meant that if he got suspended again – well, he had one more safe suspension up his sleeve, and then it was a bit off a galleon toss as to what happened. And he liked Hogwarts. Even with all the classes and homework and arseholes from Slytherin, he loved it.
"What do you reckon we try first?" he asked, stopping himself before he got all weird and introspective. "Should we go right back to first year to start? Do it in order, you know." He jabbed a finger at a spell.
Professor McGonagall gave him a rare smile. "Yes, Potter, I think we should."
January 8th, 1976
Lily slung the brown strap of her purse over her shoulder.
"I'm ready!" she called, spinning around. Mary scurried over to where Lily stood by the door of their dormitory.
"Me too," she said.
"Hang on!" Marlene got to her knees in front of her trunk, rummaging through it frantically. "I know it's in here somewhere!" she said. "I chucked it in. I must've chucked it in." She brushed her hair out of her face and threw another jumper onto the floor. Lily unbuttoned her purse and checked again that she had the coins she needed. Yesterday, they'd wandered through the Ravenclaw fundraiser stall and picked out what they wanted, bemoaning the fact that their purses were all the way in Gryffindor Tower, way too far to walk back and get; today, they were prepared, and were taking money with them.
"What are you looking for?" Mary asked mildly, standing on tip-toe to see into Marlene's trunk.
"Bloody – hang on – here!" Marlene triumphantly held up a tan, fringed cloak. "It goes with my bag, see."
"It looks good," Lily told her, and Marlene grinned. "Come on, let's go." The three of them linked arms. It made their travels down the stairs a little more difficult, but Lily didn't care. She felt better for the warmth in the crooks of her arms, for the fringes of Marlene's cloak brushing her shoulders, for the occasional brush of Mary's curly hair against her cheek. Long, empty corridors filled her throat with a kind of panic she'd never known before. Hogwarts was safe, she told herself. It had always been safe. When had she ever been in danger at Hogwarts?
Every day, said the tiny voice that fluttered round her heart. You're a muggle-born. There's a house where three-quarters of the population would happily see you dead. They would actively call for it. You've never been safe, not really. Her knees locked, and her feet planted themselves firmly on the stones. Terror trickled through her. It was only when Mary nearly tripped and Marlene laughed so hard her face turned the colour of Lily's hair (a deep brown-red reaching for wine and mahogany) that she could tear herself away. Mrs Simmons had been a muggle, alone and unexpectant. She couldn't have taken on a muggle attacker. Lily had her wand stowed in her bag and got good marks in Defence; there was somebody on either side of her; her attackers would be fellow teenagers, not fully-grown wizards (but in six months, Mulciber and Jugson and the like will be fully-grown wizards, graduated and ready to run out, trying to impress the Death Eaters and their leader).
Students swarmed around the Ravenclaw stalls, forking out bronze and silver coins into cupped hands and painted tins.
"Bugger, they better not be sold out," Marlene said crossly. She dragged them to a stall run by an older girl with a heart-shaped face. She sold colourful beaded necklaces of various lengths, some with silver or gold pendants. Marlene knew exactly what she wanted. She hung five over the ends of her fingers and then put a hand on her hip, surveying the stallholder.
"D'you really expect a sickle for five of these?" she asked. The older Ravenclaw blinked.
"Yes," she said. Marlene curled her lip and cocked her head to one side.
"Seriously? They're a bit shit." Mary sucked in her breath. Lily winced. The Ravenclaw's face reddened.
"Marlene," she whispered, elbowing her.
"If they're a bit shit, then why would you buy them?" the older Ravenclaw asked, looking rather pissed off. "Everyone else has taken them at the price I've listed."
"I'm not everyone," Marlene said. "I'll give you twenty knuts. Four each. Great price, more than they're worth."
The Ravenclaw scoffed. "No. A sickle. Take it or leave it." Lily looked up at the ceiling, wishing both that she knew how to disapparate and that it was possible to do so inside Hogwarts. Only Marlene McKinnon would haggle over nine knuts. She wouldn't even afford an a butterbeer if she got her way.
"No," Marlene said, tilting her chin upwards. "Twenty knuts. Take the money or take your necklaces."
The Ravenclaw girl snatched the necklaces off Marlene's fingers. "Thanks," she said coolly. Marlene threw her hands in the air.
"Are you kidding? This is for charity, isn't it? You've just lost twenty knuts that could've gone to charity. Saving kneazles, or whatever."
"It's for future Hogwarts students to be able to buy their school supplies," the Ravenclaw girl said, a very ugly look on her face. "You're the one trying to short them. Hopefully, your children won't need it someday."
"Oh, they won't, they'll be staying in a sock, thanks."
"Marlene!"
Lily pulled her away from the stall. Mary scurried along behind them. Lily dragged Marlene into the middle of the crowd and grabbed her by the shoulders.
"What the hell?" Lily demanded. Why are you being such a bitch? She wanted to ask. She wanted to scream. She wanted to buy what was on her list and then curl up in the corner and pray that none of the teachers asked her questions because she really, really couldn't think about the properties of 'Z' right now, thanks. She let go of Marlene and rubbed her eyes. Marlene threw her hands in the air.
"She was ripping me off!" Marlene shouted. Lily groaned in frustration, gnashing her teeth.
"Who cares? It's nine knuts! Get over yourself! If you want to get about pissing people off, go hang out with Potter and his crew, because I'm not having it!" Marlene opened her mouth to speak, and Lily just couldn't do it anymore. Her strings were pulled taut. She felt like she was about to snap in half. She turned on her heel and blindly ran in the direction of the stairs, blinking her eyes as to stop the hot tears from falling. She was being stupid. Marlene was just being Marlene and being a dick. It was nothing serious. But everything made her want to shout or cry. Everything was so stupid. Pointless. Two weeks ago, her neighbour had been murdered on the street, and one of her friends since infant school had been left without a mother. Now she was expected to do magic tricks and care that someone was overcharging for some chunky beads on a bit of string. She would've paid a million pounds for an ugly necklace if it meant Mrs Simmons would be found a little shaken, but okay.
Lily wanted badly to kick something.
"Lily?" the male voice broke through her stream of thoughts. She had reached the last stall before the stairs. Glen stood at his table, brows furrowed. Quickly, she pulled herself together, as best she could manage.
"Glen," she chirped, smiling, feeling like she was manipulating a puppet. Here, pull this string, make it smile. Her face was stiff. "Hi. I feel like I've barely seen you since we got back. How were your holidays?" She could tell she was showing too many teeth; they felt cold and naked. She closed her lips. Here she was, asking Glen about the holidays, as though it were any old January day. What if he returned the question? Would she say, 'oh, yes, it was good to see my parents again, and my neighbour, until she was murdered and left her children without a mother. Oh, and I was the last person to see her! The police came over for a chat. But, you know, the mince pies my mother got for us were lovely.'
He smiled in an odd, glum way. "They were fine, thank you. I missed you at my New Year's party." She hadn't missed him. She didn't remember ringing in the New Year. She supposed she'd been asleep, or crying into her pillow, or slamming her palm into the taps in the shower, wishing for more hot water. She bit her lip.
"Thanks for inviting me. It's only that Kent is a bit of a way from Cheshire, when you have to do it the muggle way."
"Oh," said Glen. "How far is it? It'd be, what, fifteen minutes by floo? I don't like to floo that far at once, personally."
Lily smiled, genuinely this time. For a twinging moment, she was glad she'd grown up as a muggle. Until she remembered all the rest of it. "Try five hours."
Glen blinked.
She swallowed, and stepped closer to his stall, taking the place of a Hufflepuff boy. "How's it going?" she asked softly, fingering the study timetables laid out. It was a good idea, really. They were on her list of things to buy.
"Well, thank you," he said, puffing up proudly. "Raising plenty of money, which is just what we want. I didn't think it would be as successful as it is, but there you go. I couldn't have asked for better during my first year running it."
"I'm glad it's doing so well," she said. "Can I help?" She reached into her purse and produced the appropriate amount of money. He scooped them up and dropped them in his tin.
"There you are," he said, handing her a timetable. "Not that you'll need it, of course."
"I do," Lily said. "I'd be rubbish at everything if I didn't study."
"I don't believe that," he said. He met her eyes, and there was a lightness between them. And then he dashed it with a frown. "Cheshire," he murmured, to himself more than anything.
"What about Cheshire?" she asked, the easiness of a moment ago rapidly fading. He took a deep breath. Her teeth gnawed at her lip.
"You weren't near those attacks, were you?" he asked. She froze. Her heart sunk. Please let it be, she thought. She didn't want to say 'yes' and then have to deal with some barrel of sympathies and being watched like a hawk in the name of concern. She didn't want to say 'no' and lie to him. He'd been a good friend to her, overall. A good boyfriend, for a week in second year.
"Oh, Lily," he said, pity laced through his voice. She bristled.
"It's fine," she said, though her tone betrayed her. "I mean – I'm. I'm not sure I want to talk about it."
"I'm sorry," he said, looking troubled. She hugged herself, her mouth beginning to taste metallic. A hand hit her shoulder and she flinched. In a second, her wand was drawn. She pointed it at the offending person.
It was Marlene.
"Lily!" Marlene exclaimed. Lily swiftly tucked her wand away. Marlene searched her face. "What's up with you?"
"I'm sorry," Lily said, buttoning her purse. "I'm fine. It's fine. Can we just get what we need to get and go?" Glen's face turned confused. She swallowed, trying to focus on Marlene. "I just can't stand the haggling right now."
"Alright, jeez, let me lose all my hard-earned coins," Marlene said, rolling her eyes. Lily raised her eyebrows and smiled cheerlessly. Marlene turned to Glen. "I'll have one of those, thanks."
"No."
Lily turned in surprise. Glen set his jaw. Marlene brushed her shaggy fringe back from her face.
"What is it with you Ravenclaws and not wanting my bloody money? Shouldn't you be trying to get as much of it as you can? I want a timetable. Look, bite into them," Marlene tossed a handful of coins onto the table, "they're not bad."
"I don't want to talk to you. Please leave my stall," Glen said stiffly. What the devil's going on? Lily looked between the two of them. Was this some misguided attempt of Glen's to show solidarity? Because he'd seen how she'd reacted to Marlene? Bugger it all. She moved closer to Marlene.
"Marlene, you can have mine, I'll get another," she said.
"No." Glen's eyes were narrow. "Marlene, I don't believe that you have respect for me, or my things, or the things that I create. I do not wish to give you something else I've poured my time into just so you can chew it up and spit it back out at me." Lily was bewildered. This was bigger than her. Her mind ticked, thinking over the possibilities.
The party.
"Sorry, Vane, didn't know your time was as precious as your floor," Marlene said. "Do both get walked all over? And wasted on pretentious twats?" Lily pressed her hands against her temples. The area for the Ravenclaw stalls was crawling with people. Until today, she hadn't understood how anyone could single-mindedly condemn every member of a house as evil. But every time she saw a Slytherin tie, she twitched. It was stupid. She didn't know who had killed Mrs Simmons; they could've been Gryffindors. Or Hufflepuffs.
But Mulciber wasn't in Gryffindor. Nor was Selwyn. Or Avery. Or the Rosiers. Or Jugson. Jugson,, the seventh year prefect for the house, pushed past her. She thought he looked at her. She wanted to run. It was too much.
Mary emerged from the crowd after him.
"Hi!" she chirped. "Hi, erm, Glen, could I please buy a timetable, if that's okay, if it isn't, that's okay, I don't mean to interrupt…" Glen shoved a timetable at her with uncharacteristic impoliteness. Mary blinked and dropped her money in the collection tin.
"Do you make a habit of breaking into people's sheds?" Glen asked, eyes fixed on Marlene.
"Break in? Have you lost your mind? Why, tell me why I'd want to break in to your shitty old shed!"
Lily couldn't stand it. She grabbed Mary by the wrist and pulled her over to the other side of the Entrance Hall. She flattened her back against the wall and sighed.
"Lily?" Mary said gently. She still had the study timetable in her hand. "Are you okay?"
"I just need a breather," Lily said. "Marlene's just getting on my nerves this morning."
"I don't like it when she picks fights with people," Mary said, mimicking Lily's stance, leaning against the wall. "I always worry they won't like me because I'm friends with her."
"That's rubbish," Lily said absently. She scanned the Hall. No Jugson. He might've been off for a late breakfast; they'd be serving food for another ten or fifteen minutes, she guessed. Why did he make her throat close up? Yes, sure, alright, he hung out with a group of people who were known to be bigots. So did Sev. Lily didn't like Sev's friends, but his hanging out with them didn't make him a bigot, much less a potential Death Eater. It was like assuming that she liked to pick fights and make up rumours and – break into people's sheds? – because she was friends with Marlene. Rubbish. Jugson could've been the Mary in it all.
She suddenly pictured Jugson's long, closed face framed by Mary's ferocious blonde curls. She exhaled a short laugh.
"Sorry," she said to Mary, who looked at her curiously. "I'm just – all jumpy. It's stupid." She squared her shoulders and straightened up. She'd be fine. She had to be. "Have you got everything you wanted?"
"I think so," Mary said, and opened her purse. She peeked inside. "I think that's everything. Will they be open tomorrow?"
"I think they're here all week," Lily confirmed. "I'm done shopping for today. Do you want to go get our books?"
They headed back to their dormitory without Marlene. Lily tucked her purse away and replaced it with her bookbag. Mary did the same. It was still early to go to class, so Lily grabbed her hairbrush and started working on a braid to include in her ponytail. Mary sat on her bed next to her.
"Can I ask you something?" Mary said. Lily tried to nod, but was constrained by the arm locked over her head as she tried to weave strands of hair.
"Yeah, of course," Lily said. Mary chewed on the nail of her pinkie.
"I've been a bit jumpy too," she said. "I know it's stupid, like you said. I'm being a baby." Guilt flushed Lily's cheeks.
"It's not stupid," she said quickly. "I was trying to talk myself out of it, is all. You're not a baby, Mary."
"You know the attacks?" Mary asked quietly. How could I not? Lily thought sharply. But that was harsh.
"Yeah," she said. She flinched as she pulled a piece of her hair too tight. Mary's cat, Berlioz, jumped into her lap. Mary patted his cheek with a curled finger.
"Father Peters – the priest, um, at my church at home – he had a heart attack." Mary scooped up Berlioz and held him close. To Berlioz's credit, he only struggled against her a little. Lily's arm slacked, messing up the braid. She let go of it. She folded her hands in her lap. Mary pressed her face into Berlioz's back. Lily's heart sunk.
"A heart attack," she murmured. Mary sniffed.
"Burly," she whispered, to the cat, and kissed him. She loosened her grip and he jumped onto Lily. She stroked him. Mary looked at her, eyes rimmed red. "A heart attack," she said. Lily shut her eyes briefly. Mary's voice cracked. "Just after Mass. On Christmas Day. They found him alone in the church." Mary sobbed, just once, and grabbed Berlioz again. He fought her this time, scratching at her robes. She only pulled him closer. "I really liked him." Her voice was hoarse. Berlioz swiped her cheek and drew blood. Tears bubbled from her eyes, and she gasped through the stream. Berlioz broke free. Lily threw her arms around Mary. She tried very hard to keep her face neutral.
"My friend's mum died," she said, making herself an old oak, sturdy and strong, as Mary clung to her. "I was the last person to see her. The police came." Mary cried harder.
"They hate us," she rasped, coming up for air. Her face was as pink as a newborn baby's. "They really really hate us. I nearly didn't come back."
"Oh, Mary," Lily said, rubbing her back.
"I just can't take it," Mary blubbered. "I'm not like you, I'm not good at anything. I have to b-be tutored in Divination and I'm awful at any sort of spells and now I'm scared to even use the b-bathroom." Mary looked up. "Don't you ever f-feel like we would've been b-better off staying at home?"
Lily swallowed. There was part of her, when she'd been at the pub with her friends, laughing about boys, that had wondered. What if she'd never got her letter? What if she'd continued school with the rest of her friends, what if she'd done a typing course like Petunia and got a job in a shop and babysat with her friends and kissed boys in pub booths and smoked at the park on the swings and took the bus into the city to goggle at shop windows? She wouldn't know Mary or Marlene or Glen or Remus. She might know Sev, but would he have ever taken interest in her if she were just a muggle? She wouldn't be able to make potions that could shrink things or sharpen one's wits. She wouldn't be able to summon a book from the other side of her dormitory with some words and a wave of her wand. She wouldn't have been questioned by police, or not invited to a funeral, either.
"We can't change that we're magical, Mary," she said.
"We can go home," Mary said. "We can snap our wands and pretend this was all a bad dream. Maybe they'd leave us alone."
"That's what they want," Lily said. "That'd be like letting them win." Mary shrugged and wiped some of the tears off her cheek.
"I don't want to be magical more than I want Father Peters to be alive," she said. "I don't care if they win if I get to be safe. If we all left, it wouldn't be our problem anymore, would it?" Lily opened her mouth, trying to find words, and shut it again.
"They want us dead," she said, eventually. "I don't know that they'd be happy if we just left. It wouldn't be enough."
"So we're doomed?" Mary asked, looking ripe to burst into tears again.
"We're not doomed," Lily said. "We just have to keep fighting. It won't last forever."
"I don't want to keep fighting," said Mary. "I hate fighting. I want to be safe."
"I know," Lily said quietly. "I know."
January 9th, 1976
The first thing he saw, as a sixteen-year-old, was the dark wood of the roof of his four-poster bed. It was the same first sight as his twelve-, thirteen-, and fifteen-year-old selves (on his fourteenth birthday, he'd been laying on his side). Unremarkable. At least he wasn't at home. His new resolution, borne of the Christmas holidays, was that he would not go home again, except for the summer when there was no choice. He couldn't stand it. His father annoyed him and his mother made him too sad. The only issue he couldn't resolve was that of Lily. He could hardly leave her alone in Spinner's End. She'd miss him too much, he was certain. But then he supposed she'd be staying over the holidays from now on; the senior years of school were far too important to waste time at home when you could be attending tutorials or making the most of the library. The only bookshelf in Lily's house was in her bedroom.
He shut his eyes and stewed on the latest book he'd read for fun; a book on crafting dark spells. Little enchantments, like the Muffling Charm, were simple. It was only a matter of harvesting one's energy repetitively and tying words and a wand motion to the magic. Jinxes and hexes were more esoteric. With the Muffling Charm, he recalled when his ears had rung or crackled in the past; he went into a quiet room and listening to the buzzing that came from complete silence and channelled that into the spell. It was harder to have an accurate picture of a wound. If you wanted to cut something in two, for instance, it wasn't enough to picture the object (or person) in half with a vague red line separating them. If you wanted to cut a vein, you had to know which ones, and what they looked like. Did the blood spurt, or did it dribble? What did it feel like?
Dark magic was not easily channelled into an incantation and a bit of wand-waving.
Padgett rose first of the boys in Severus' dormitory and headed in for a shower. Slowly, the others woke and took it in turns. They walked out with towels wrapped around their waists and changed without much self-consciousness. They didn't worry about exposing their stomach or their chest or their upper arms. Severus couldn't take it. He kept the curtains around his bed tightly shut, dressed in the dark, and left when only he remained. He had to re-fasten his cloak and pull his robes down once he could see himself in the light of the dungeon corridors (he didn't dare to stop long enough to put things to right when he was in the common room).
Breakfast had started. Lily was already at the Gryffindor table, between Marlene and Mary, buttering a piece of toast. Severus kept his head down and headed for the Slytherins. Mulciber held court at one end of the table, and Severus slipped in beside Wilkes, who held an Arithmancy book in one hand and a spoon of porridge in the other. Opposite them, Goyle shovelled food into his gaping maw and Mulciber talked animatedly. Jugson sat on Mulciber's other side and Yaxley by him; Selwyn was noticeably absent. The three Rosiers slipped into the space between Wilkes and a group of gossiping girls.
"Black!" shouted Mulciber. Severus stiffened on instinct, but Mulciber didn't call over the brute of Gryffindor; it was Regulus Black, with his minion Gibbon toddling behind him. Black gave Mulciber a cool look and whispered something to Gibbon before taking a seat. Jugson shuffled and gave Black the prime spot next to Mulciber; Gibbon was forced to sit on Yaxley's far side. Mulciber smirked and patted Regulus on the back.
"Morning," Mulciber said.
"Good morning," said Regulus, not sharing in his enthusiasm. Arrogant, just like his brother. Regulus took the spot at the centre of the group's attention all because of who his parents were and how much money they had. He was a fourth year! In what world was it right that a fourth year got to sit next to Mulciber while Severus, who had proven himself more intelligent and more useful, was stuck on the end? The Dark Lord will make short work of sorting him out, Severus thought. I'll have talent for him to use, spells the enemy couldn't dream of. Black will have a name, an upstart brother, and a squandered inheritance. What good will that do?
"I hope that we have all been doing some deep thinking over the holidays," Mulciber said. "I'm sure those…unfortunate 'Christmas Killings' have been at the forefront of our mind. Completely unrelated, I've been in correspondence with some of our old friends, Crabbe and Macnair and Pyrites, and they told me that their Christmases were very busy. As busy as I hope I will be on this next Christmas." Wilkes shut his book. Yaxley set down his goblet. Severus kept his face neutral.
"They, personally, were busy?" Yaxley asked.
"Personally," Mulciber said. "Macnair ran errands with the Lestranges…Tell me, Regulus, did you see your cousin for Christmas?" Black let them wait for a moment, looking Mulciber up and down as if their roles were reversed.
"Very briefly," Regulus said. "She told me how very busy she was. Rodolphus was so busy that he couldn't make it."
"There you are," Mulciber said. Severus thought there was no grand point to his words. All he was doing was playing sycophant to a fourteen-year-old. It was the worst trait found commonly in Slytherins, in his opinion; the tendency to be shameless suck-ups.
Mulciber ploughed on. "I think that we should take inspiration from these diligent wizards. We've spent our holidays lounging around, being fussed over by our mothers, while they've been working tirelessly on the front lines." Speak for yourself. Severus received one trembling, thin hug in exchange for his day-long journey home. That and watery greens slopped onto a cracked plate. "Isn't it our turn to put in some effort, boys?" They chorused their agreement like they belonged to a church choir.
"Do you intend on a group effort?" Wilkes asked, sipping a cup of dark tea.
"I think we could all use a bit of our own creativity," Mulciber said. "Work separately, but for the same cause. It'll do us some good, to see the extent of our abilities. We're only as strong as our weakest wizard. We all need to prove ourselves capable." So Mulciber didn't feel like corralling them. Severus was content to work alone. He didn't need Mulciber fawning over Regulus everywhere he turned and a band of buffoons following him around.
"I see," said Wilkes. Mulciber, surprisingly, stopped prattling on. The group was left to consider what their effort would be.
"We can assist one another, can't we?" Yaxley asked, the first to break the silence. He raised his thin blond brows, looking every inch a politician. The sort of politician Severus would've liked to curse the face off. Unfortunately, he had to play nice, like a large dog at the park, surrounded by lesser yapping, snapping little fools it could kill in a second, if only its master would allow it. Severus had to be his own master, until he could meet the one he would pledge his wand to.
"Of course," Mulciber said, as if it was a stupid question. "That's what we're here for. We're a brotherhood. What sort of brothers don't help each other out?" Severus' eyes fell on Regulus. He bet that he and Black were not in the business of helping each other.
"Of course," Yaxley said.
Severus finished his breakfast without a word to another soul and left silently. He collected his equipment for his first two lessons and promptly headed to Charms. He sat at the end of the front row, but even so, his concentration wavered. A group of giggling girls (plus one boy, a muggle-born Hufflepuff) interrupted Professor Flitwick several times, and because two of them were Slytherins (how could they be that idiotic and in Slytherin?), their house lost points. This greatly agitated Padgett, who glared at them as if they might burst into flame. Severus, for his part, wondered how a group of fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds could be so immature. If they didn't want to learn, why did they bother coming to class? It benefited no-one.
He left class in a poor mood, not bothering to walk with Avery and Rosier even nominally. He swept into the dungeons and stormed into the line of students waiting for class. His ruminations on the stupidity of his peers consumed him so greatly that it took several moments for him to notice the girl three people ahead of him. He froze.
"Lily," he murmured. He'd barely seen her since they'd returned to school. She looked very pretty, her hair back in a sensible ponytail, showing off her face. She didn't look as though she'd been crying, but he supposed she was putting on a brave face; that was very much like her. He checked that the boys from his dormitory were suitably distracted, glowered at the girls in front of him, who were the gigglers from Charms, and made his way to Lily. She stood with two of her friends. McKinnon was tall and boisterous, the sort he was sure would've been part of Potter's gang if she'd been male, and Macdonald was squeaky and stupid. He would never understand why Lily wasted her time on them.
"Lily," he said, loud enough for her to hear him. McKinnon turned first, and looked him up and down before making a stupid expression. Macdonald flinched and grabbed Lily's arm. He narrowed his eyes at her, and then smiled at Lily.
"Sev," she said, and her voice saying his name was enough to undo him. "Hi."
"Lily," he said again, mesmerised. Her green eyes met his. He lost himself in their depths, in the way they reflected the light. He ached deep inside to hold her. To cup her face. To listen to her say his name, again, and again, and again. Who cared about what had happened in Charms class? She was here.
McKinnon snorted, breaking his daze.
"Do you want to be my partner today?" he asked, focusing on Lily. She frowned. His stomach dropped through the floor. Why had he said that? Why had he asked her in front of McKinnon and Macdonald? He ought to have swooped in as they entered the classroom, sitting down beside her without question. He wanted to hex someone. He wanted to hex himself.
"I'm sorry," she said, confirming his worst fears. "I already agreed to work with Mary." He turned his eyes on Macdonald. What good was useless, hideous Macdonald? He couldn't remember her ever contributing anything in class. He didn't even know if she was capable of intelligent speech. All she seemed to do was sniffle and cling to her friends. His lip curled. Mary looked like she might cry. What have you got to cry about? Lily had her friend's mother murdered! Did you have difficulty putting a sentence together?
"I see," he said coolly. He left them, retaking his spot in line.
She'd rejected him. It was his birthday, and she'd rejected him. Not that being born entitled him to anything, as Tobias often saw fit to remind him, but Lily usually cared. In the past he'd been gifted cards, presents, lunch with her and only her. Now she was so busy fussing over Macdonald that she didn't have a damn to give about him. Macdonald wasn't smart enough to appreciate what she had. No doubt she'd ruin Lily's potion and squander Lily's talents. It was fortunate that Lily did so well at Potions that the loss of a lesson would not destroy her chances of getting high marks on her O. . The same could not be said about Macdonald, but he was perfectly happy for her to fail out after O. . Some people had no business taking N.E.W.T-level classes.
Professor Slughorn appeared and they filed inside. Severus ended up with Avery as his partner. He snarled in disgust and turned it into a cough when Avery looked befuddled.
"Good morning, good morning," Professor Slughorn said warmly. "As you may be able to tell from the board, we will be working on the Hair-Raising Potion today! We covered the theory in our last lesson, so I expect all of you to produce something of quality."
The potion was simple enough. He prepared the ingredients and left Avery to stir. He chopped a quarter of the berries they needed to use before realising that the juice produced was suboptimal. He crushed the next one and found that it yielded twice as much. He crushed the rest, collected the juice, and poured it into the cauldron after Avery finished stirring. He looked over at Lily's bench. Lily smiled at Macdonald, who poured their juice in. His gaze flickered to their berries. Each one had been sliced through the middle. What a waste, he thought, shaking his head. Obviously Macdonald wasn't clever enough to experiment with the recipe.
He couldn't believe Macdonald got to work with Lily on his birthday. Every movement of her blonde curls irritated him. Twenty minutes into class, he was ready to curse her ears off. Her squeaky questions grated on his ears.
"Lily," she asked, "um, I was just wondering, is the smoke supposed to be that purple?" Lily, Lily, Lily, um, um, um. He wanted to slap her. He sliced a rats' tail with such force that half of it went flying. He whipped out his wand, rolled up his sleeves, and quickly summoned it.
"Lily," said Macdonald again, "should I give it another stir?"
"It's not like she needs a Hair-Raising Potion," Severus grumbled to himself. "If it stands up any taller it'll be asked to play keeper." Avery laughed. Severus stiffened. He looked at his dormmate, who grinned from ear to ear.
"That's funny," said Avery. "You're talking about Macdonald, aren't you?" Severus eyed him cautiously. 'Funny' was not a trait usually attributed to comments of his.
"Yes," Severus said. Avery scratched his nose and then leaned over.
"You should have a go at her. For Mulciber's thing. The effort or whatever." Avery straightened up and gave their gurgling cauldron a wild stir. Severus inhaled sharply; it was not a recommended stir, nor one he would've thought advisable. Why did the barely-literate insist on making up their own rules when it came to the delicate art of potion-making? It could hardly be a surprise that so many blew up their own cauldrons.
It was a tantalising prospect, cursing Macdonald. The only issue was that Lily, for whatever reason, was fond of her. If Lily ever found out that he'd cursed her, she would never speak to him again, no matter his reasoning. She saw Macdonald like a little pet to be protected.
"She's not worth it," Severus said. "Why go for someone like Macdonald? Who cares about her?" Avery shrugged.
"Fun. I reckon she'd scream a bit. Dunno, I'll see what Mulciber thinks. He wants to get one of the mudbloods," Avery said. Severus pretended to inspect part of the textbook.
"I would suggest he go after one of the Quidditch players," he said, running his finger across a line of text without reading it. "They're very visible."
"Yeah, but they're used to getting hurt and stuff. Nobody blinks if like, a guy who plays beater or whatever gets into a fight. He wants to get a girl. Someone popular. I reckon he should go after a prefect too, someone like Evans," Avery said. Severus jerked so hard he tore the page. He stared at Avery. Avery blinked stupidly.
"Lily?" he said.
"The one from Gryffindor. With Macdonald over there," Avery clarified. Of course I know who Lily is, you idiot. Severus kept his face impassive. He continued to vigorously chop the rats' tails.
"I see," he said, cutting into a tail he imagined was Mulciber's head. "She does well in Charms. He ought to ensure she doesn't get an opportunity to defend herself."
"She's only a mudblood," Avery said. "What's she going to do? Mulciber's really smart." Mulciber has the brains of a pig. Severus cut another tail in half, this one representing Avery's neck.
He looked at Lily again. She laughed at something Macdonald said, as if Macdonald had the capacity to be intentionally humorous. Lily's laugh was incredibly pretty. It ought to have been him making her laugh. He should've been rewarded with that bright smile. He should've been there to assure her that she didn't need to smile; they could go to the storeroom, ostensibly for more ingredients, and he'd stroke her cheek and assure her that she was safe, that nothing could hurt her while he looked out for her. She'd melt in his arms. She'd cry, and he'd conjure a tissue (the spell would work seamlessly, he wouldn't experience the same difficulty he'd had in class) and wipe her eyes. She'd hug him tight. "I don't know what I'd do without you," she'd confess, "I don't ever want to be without you, Sev. I love you." And he'd whisper, "I love you too, Lily. I've loved you from the moment we met. I've loved you since I was nine years old. You are never going to have to be without me. I'll be with you. Always." She would kiss him then. His lips tingled with the phantom feeling. His heart raced.
If Lily was given half a chance, she could take Mulciber in a duel, he was sure of it. He was the smartest muggle-born he knew – she'd been able to control her magic even before she got her Hogwarts letter. There would only be a risk if she was ambushed. He hoped Mulciber's arrogance would be too great to bother with sneaking around. Hopefully his train of thought was like Avery's – limited and under-estimating.
But if it wasn't. If it wasn't, she would be taken by surprise. If she was taken by surprise, she needed someone else on her team.
She needed him.
The scene unfolded before him. He was walking Lily to Gryffindor Tower, and she was laughing, the way she'd laughed with Macdonald. Her wand was stowed away in her bag because she felt entirely safe with him. As they walked, he heard something. Footsteps? He had his wand out in a moment and turned. She did the same, but was delayed. Mulciber appeared behind them, his wand out, ready to curse. Severus shouted an incantation, swirled his wand, and Mulciber fell down, unconscious. Lily didn't even finish her spell. "You saved me," she said, breathlessly. "I'll always save you," he promised her. "I'll always keep you safe."
That was what he had to do. He couldn't leave her at Mulciber's mercy. He had to protect her.
"When are you going to see Mulciber?" Severus asked. Avery grunted.
"Lunch. I've got Care of Magical Creatures next." Lily took the class too – McKinnon had talked her into it, for some ridiculous reason. He had an hour of free time before lunch to plan how he could best guard her. He had work to do.
Nobody in the class had a perfect potion, but Severus and Avery's was the nearest to it. Slughorn awarded them five points. Severus could see from his bench that Lily and Macdonald's was several shades off the proper colour, and it was nowhere near smooth enough. Lily, strangely, didn't seem bothered by it. His heart hurt for her. She must've been so consumed by grief that she couldn't even process what was in front of her. Slughorn assigned them homework and then dismissed them. The class quickly left the dungeon in pursuit of animal dung and the freezing grounds or a free period.
"Sev." A hand caught him as he left the dungeon. He forgot to breathe. Lily smiled at him apologetically.
"Lily," he said, and thought that he'd been too much like Macdonald today; all he could say was Lily, Lily, Lily.
"I'm so sorry," she blurted out. "I – it just slipped my mind. I don't even know how. But happy birthday! You're sixteen!" She enveloped him in a hug. She hugged him. He could smell her shampoo. He wrapped his arms around her, he basked in her warmth, her bare cheek brushed his, her every breath shifted his hands. She pulled back too soon. His head spun. She had forgotten; but now she'd remembered.
"Thank you," he said. She nodded, and then bit her lip. "What's wrong?" he asked. She looked past him. He looked over his shoulder and saw Macdonald hovering. Anger flashed hot through him. Why was Macdonald so obsessed with Lily? What gave her the right to hang around all the time? Severus had known Lily since they were children; Mary was new, a Hogwarts-only friend. She was an annoying buzzing gnat.
"Oh, just Mary. I'm going to walk her back to the common room," Lily said.
"That's absurd," said Severus. "You'll be late for class."
"It's fine," Lily said. He looked at her incredulously. She couldn't waste her education on comforting a wet rag like Macdonald.
"Is she incapable of walking on her own? If she is, she ought to go to the hospital wing, not your common room," he said. Lily sighed, and it sounded frustrated. He was frustrated with Macdonald too.
"She just wants company. I won't be late, I can walk quickly."
"I can show you a shortcut." Severus' hackles raised at the new voice. It was James Potter, glasses askew, hair messy, tie untied. He ruffled his hair and smiled jauntily. "What are you doing here, Sniv?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be chasing down a first year with your buddies? Or did even the blood supremacists get sick of you? Grease is no good for your guts, I heard." Lily scowled.
"I don't have time for this," she said. She stormed past both of them to Macdonald, who she linked arms with before heading for the stairs. Severus stared after her. She was going to walk to class alone, he realised. A class that Avery would be in.
"Alright, Snape?" Potter asked, grinning. "Doesn't she like you anymore? Bugger," he said, sounding very pleased. Severus glared at him.
"I have more important things than you to deal with," Severus said coolly. He started after Lily.
"Oi!" Potter shouted at him. Severus didn't look back.
Severus climbed the stairs and caught a glimpse of Lily's red hair disappearing at the top of the Marble Staircase. He followed her, keeping twenty paces behind. Lily's voice floated through the air, though he couldn't catch her words. His hand cupped the pocket that held his wand, ready for trouble. Students scampered to class, hindering his efforts. A sea of first years divided him from Lily, and he watched her go like she was a ship sailing into the great, vast blue unknown, and he was stranded on the shore, ticket in hand, barely late. His fingers twitched against his wand as they passed. Apparently, there was no great hurry to get to their next lesson. What would first years have to learn? One small girl looked at him. He glared at her fiercely. She scuttled towards the staircase with her friend. Lily was gone. He stormed in the direction she'd been headed, but there was no luck. He'd lost too much time. He gritted his teeth and made his own way to Gryffindor Tower.
He found Lily three corners from the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, alone. She stopped in her tracks. He approached her.
"Can I walk you to class?" he asked. She tilted her head to one side.
"Um, sure." He stepped in beside her, and they walked together. On occasion, her sleeve brushed his, and he jolted.
"How's your birthday been so far?" Lily asked, as they reached the fifth floor. "Are you doing anything with your friends to celebrate?" It took him a moment to realise that by 'friends' she meant the other boys from Slytherin.
"No," he said shortly.
"Oh," said Lily. "Well, if that's what makes you happy." They walked a little further and down a set of stairs. He paused on the last step, an idea springing forth fully-formed in his mind.
"I thought, for lunch, we could go to the quadrangle," he said. "It's covered in snow. It won't be busy." It was perfect. They could look out onto the viaduct and the wind-swept valley below, and it was so cold that students had been determinedly avoiding it. Two days ago, he and Mulciber and some of the others had gone to sit there, and Mulciber turned his nose up as the icy wind rattled their bones. Severus doubted Mulciber would return so soon. Severus and Lily would be safe there.
Lily chewed her lip. "Sev, I'm really sorry. I told Mary and Marlene I'd help them with the Charms homework -"
"It's fine," he snapped. His heart deflated. He walked briskly, setting the pace instead of following hers. She kept up, red in the cheeks.
"I'm sorry," she said, "I told you, it slipped my mind. Look, what about dinner?"
"I have dinner with my house," Severus said.
"Yes, so do I, but not tonight. I feel awful. It's not fair on you." He snuck a look at her, and she did seem upset. He softened. She did have a lot to deal with. The death of Mrs Simmons, schoolwork, not murdering Macdonald in her bed for being a brainless leech. "Please?"
How could he deny her anything? "Dinner," he agreed.
"Thank you," she said, and put an arm around him, pulling him into a hug. It was fleeting, but his knees weakened all the same.
They went down another staircase. Dinner. They'd be under the watchful eye of the professors; Mulciber would hardly try anything then. The only issue was where they would sit. He didn't want Lily anywhere near the boys from his house, but he hardly wanted to share a table with Potter and Black. Perhaps they could sit with the Ravenclaws. Hufflepuffs annoyed him too much. He turned to ask Lily what she thought. She stared at a far-off point, mouth open. He followed her gaze. There was nothing but more corridor.
"Lily?" She shut her mouth, blinking furiously. He frowned at her. "What's wrong?" he said.
"I'm alright," she said, shaking her head. "Don't worry." His frown deepened.
"I am worried," he said quietly. She laughed strangely.
"Don't be. What's there to worry about? I'm safe at Hogwarts." There was an edge to her voice. You're not safe. He realised she knew that as well as he did.
"You are," he said. "If you take care."
"Do you think I don't know that?" Lily asked. "Sorry."
"I can walk you to all your classes," he offered. "You don't have to be on your own." She sighed, looking pained.
"Sev," she said, and hesitated, and bit her lip. Even anguished, she looked beautiful. "It's your friends. They're the ones that make Hogwarts unsafe for me."
"You're my friend," he said swiftly. "They don't matter to me. Not like you." She threw a hand up.
"But you hang out with them, don't you? They're the reason I walked Mary back to the common room."
"I won't let them hurt you," Severus vowed. "If they so much as flick their wand in your direction, I'll kill them."
"Hurt me," Lily said pointedly. "What about Mary? And you admit it, you admit they'd try to hurt me. I know you, Sev, I know you're smart enough to see what they're doing. I don't know why you hang out with them." Of course she didn't know. It was easy for her – she was pretty and popular and female and in Gryffindor. She had invitation after invitation, suitor after suitor knocking down her door. Everything was given to her on a platter. Who gave anything to him? Everything he got, he had to work for. She could never understand.
"I wouldn't expect you to," he said. "And you're not like Mary." They'd ended up in the Entrance Hall somehow. He'd barely registered his surroundings. He was intent on her.
She tucked a piece of auburn hair behind her ear.
"If I snapped my wand," she said slowly, "and went back to Cokeworth, and lived as a muggle, would you visit me?" He stared at her.
"What?" he asked. "You – you can't."
"Would you?" she asked. "If I never did magic again, if I didn't have anything to do with me, would you visit? Would you come to the pub with me? Could we get lunch then?"
"You can't do that!" he said, louder than he meant to. "Have you lost your mind?"
"What if it was safer?" she demanded, raising her voice.
"It wouldn't be, not for you," he said swiftly. "You were born to be a witch. You deserve this. The world wouldn't be right without you here."
"How can you deserve something you were born with?" she asked. "Don't we all deserve magic then, by virtue of being born with it? If it's only for those who deserve it, why does Avery still have a wand?"
"You're being foolish!" he said, as they burst through the doors onto the grounds. "You're missing the point on purpose!" Anger glinted in her eyes. He baulked.
"What's the point, Sev? I'm better than everyone else?"
"Yes! Of course that's the point!" he shouted, frustrated. She stopped. "I don't care what Avery deserves, or Macdonald, or anyone. You deserve magic. You can't live as a muggle."
"But if I did?" she said. "Would you visit me?"
"You wouldn't be you without your magic," he told her. It wrapped around every part of who she was. If she wasn't magical, she wouldn't be a prefect, she wouldn't be a Gryffindor, they wouldn't be friends. She'd be one of the faceless, nameless conglomerate girls that moved in packs around the town. Lily hugged herself, and looked out over the hills to where her class was.
"I feel like all we do these days is argue," she said quietly. "I'm sick of arguing with you, Sev. I hate it."
"Then we'll stop," he said, because it was the most obvious solution in the world. She smiled weakly.
"Alright," she said. "Truce." She patted him on the arm. He looked into her eyes. She jerked her head towards him, and then pulled away. "Happy birthday, Sev," she said. Neither of them moved. She folded her arms across her chest once more, pressing her lips together. Then she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll see you later." She turned and walked down the hill to class.
Severus touched his cheek. It was cold.