Creature Comfort

by ohmygodshesinsane

Look, James is trying not to be an arrogant twat. Lily's been given the role of 'swot', but she has other ideas. Sirius would love to have a normal family, honestly, as would Remus. Severus wants to leave his muggle heritage behind, and Peter is sick of being left out. Growing up is hard at the best of times, and these? These are the worst of times. [1975-1981]

41. love-love

A/N: Content warning for much of the usual - swearing, underage drinking, blood purist attitudes, mentions of teen pregnancy and implied/referenced sex, some bullying (ish) and some injuries.

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February 13th, 1976

Whatever criticisms could be made of the Gryffindor prefects, the state of the common room, Mary thought, was not one of them. Glittering bubble-hearts drifted through the air, streaming from an enchanted Zonko's products. Pink, red, and purple candles burned brightly, letting off sweet rosy scents. Red garlands criss-crossed the room, and the wireless played a loud, upbeat song of merry love. Tiny toy quidditch players zoomed through the air on broomsticks barely as thick as Mary's little finger, plumes of pink smoke trailing behind. And Valentine's Day wouldn't really start for another seven hours.

"Wow," Mary said, gaping at Lily. "You did such a good job! Really truly!" She thought it could even rival Madam Puddifoot's, where every table had been booked out for the last fortnight, according to Alisha Chaise.

"When did you even get the chance?" Marlene asked, scrunching her nose up as she looked to the roof. "Not during Muggle Studies? I thought you and Mary did homework!" She shot them a very accusatory look, as if Mary and Lily had been sneaking around having fun without her.

"God, no. I value my life too much," Lily said. "And your friendship." Lily scratched her elbow, looking around at the decorations. "Honestly, I didn't do anything. Alice and Laura did. That's why I told you the prefects did it, not me." Mary recalibrated.

"Well," she said, "I'm sure you helped!" Lily gave a small shake of her head, smiling.

"I really didn't."

"I'm sure you inspired them or gave them an idea or something," Mary insisted. Because Lily was the kind of girl that inspired people, the kind of girl that would have her portrait hanging in an art gallery. Mary never wanted green eyes until she met Lily Evans; she never wanted red hair until she'd got into that bobbling boat to go across the Black Lake, heading to Hogwarts for the very first time.

"Mary, I promise you, I was completely useless," Lily laughed. Her whole face lit up, and yes, Lily was always the obvious choice.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it, because otherwise I'd feel much worse about this," Marlene said cheerfully, slinking over to the wireless with a big, cheesy smile on her face and quickly flicking the channel to a rock station. At once, Enchanted Zippers – a rather loud, noisy band with a penchant for swearing – blared from the little speakers, filling the room. Some of the toy quidditch players stopped making loops in the shapes of hearts and turned their tiny heads to better listen. Marlene grinned, eyebrows disappearing into her straight brown fringe.

"Hey!" Lily protested. "Alice and Laura worked hard on this, and the music's part of it. This lot don't have a romantic song."

"I beg to differ!" Marlene retorted, and turned the music up louder. A group of first-years turned and peered over the back of the sofa. "This song's all about dates and shit."

"Come on, lovely, show me your moon chart, and I'll point out Uranus. Come on, baby, take my broom in your hand, let's fly to Uranus!"

"That song," Lily said pointedly, walking briskly to the wireless and switching the station, "is not about dates. That song is about -" she glanced surreptitiously at the first-years, who all ducked and tried to look busy, "- things that should remain a mystery to first-years."

"First-years aren't that naïve," Marlene said, rolling her pretty brown eyes and shaking out her shaggy hair. She still wore school robes, but she wore them with a tight brown belt that nipped her waist, and rings on her fingers. Lily was the obvious choice, but Marlene, in Mary's opinion, was overlooked. Not so much as Mary, but nevertheless, overlooked. Marlene stood taller than either Mary or Lily – taller than a lot of girls, really, she was nearly as tall as Sirius Black – and was thin but muscled from her work as a beater. If she'd been in any other group of friends, Mary thought Marlene would've been the loveliest by far. And she was so cool – not popular, not cool in the nice, friendly way Lily was, where everyone knew her name – but cool, the sort of girl Mary's parents would bar from the house. She wore tight jeans and smoked and swore like a sailor and didn't believe in God. Mary's father smoked, of course, but it wasn't something that girls did.

"I mean, yeah, they don't know the ins and outs – obviously – but they can laugh at a song that's meant to be funny. They mostly know what sex is and all that shit," Marlene continued. Mary's throat caught, and colour rose to her cheeks. That was the other thing about Marlene – she didn't flinch to talk about those things. Lily raised her eyebrows and tilted her head towards Mary. Mary's face grew hotter.

"I know – I know what it is," she said nervously, scoping the room to ensure that Professor McGonagall wasn't lurking. Marlene smirked at her.

"Randy Mary."

"Marlene," Lily chided, mouth twitching upwards. Mary focused on her shoes. She did know what it was – she wasn't simple – it just wasn't something there had ever been any need to know about in particular detail. Besides, Mary didn't have a boyfriend, didn't fancy any boy, and was certainly not about to meet someone for the sake of doing the act, so there was no need for her to know the details. She was content.

"D'you want me to take our bags up?" Mary offered, holding out her arms. "I can get what we need for our homework while I'm there."

"I love you," Marlene said, dumping her things into Mary's hands. Mary grunted under the weight of Marlene's bag.

"Are you carrying a cannonball around?" Mary asked mildly. "Or a quaffle?" Marlene flung her hand over her chest.

"Merlin, Mary, I'm a beater, not a chaser. It's a bludger."

"Don't even joke about that," Mary said, worrying her lip. She wasn't any great fan of getting up on a broom, but she could cope – just – with a quaffle and a snitch. Add bludgers and beaters and she was absolutely hopeless. She heaved Marlene's bags over her shoulders. Marlene rolled her arms back and forth and then slung both fists back by her ear.

"Wch-ahh!" She threw her arms forward, as if she was holding her beater's bat. Mary flinched. Marlene laughed, tapping her arm. "Oh, come on Mare."

The portrait-hole swung open, and Potter, Black, Lupin and Peter Pettigrew climbed through. A lit cigarette hung from Black's mouth. Lily pounced on him.

"Not in the common room!" she barked, red ponytail swinging. "You know better than that." Potter chuckled, and Lily fixed him with a steely stare.

"I have nothing to say," Potter said, raising his hand as if to take an oath. Lily rolled her eyes and glanced back at Mary, looking apologetic.

"Could you…?" She fiddled with the strap of her bookbag. "I'm sorry. Please." Mary nodded, and took her things too. Now she felt more packhorse than girl.

"It's not a problem," Mary assured Lily. "I'll be back." Peter smiled at her awkwardly and Mary returned it, insides squirming unpleasantly. Peter was very nice and everything, but every time she looked at him, she remembered being thirteen, a time she really would've preferred to forget.

As Lily resumed arguing with Black, Mary crept out of the common room and up the stairs to their dormitory. By the time she reached the door, she was out of breath. She paused to catch it, three full bookbags weighing on her.

Thump.

Mary started. She fixed her eyes on the door. The castle had some sound-proofing charms on the rooms; they didn't make things completely silent, but they made it quieter. Mary's heart started to race, leaving her mind behind. Stupid, she managed to think. Probably Alisha or Amy. She hesitated. Amy could be quite scary if she was in a mood.

Thump.

She froze on the landing. What if Amy was in a mood? What would she do? But she couldn't go downstairs, with all their bags. Lily and Marlene would ask what happened, and the boys would be watching, and everyone would think she was nothing but stupid, a dimwit.

But she couldn't go in.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears flooding them. She was being stupid. She was being stupid. It's your dormitory, she told herself. You're allowed to be in there. You can be in there whenever you like.

(But that wasn't true. Mary was never allowed to do whatever she liked. Not really.)

With each breath, the bags grew heavier. She needed to go inside. Thump. Perhaps Alisha had lost something, and was looking through her things to find them.

Mary raised a cautious fist, inhaled deeply, and knocked lightly. Then she waited. If someone replied, she did not hear it. The door did not open. She adjusted her own bag and pulled Lily's further up her arm. The door did not open. She gazed down the empty staircase, and then up at the ceiling. Nobody emerged. Maybe it's empty, she thought. Maybe it's coming from another dormitory. Mary hesitated. She knocked again, a little louder. Still, there was no response. She took the doorknob in one hand and twisted.

The door swung away from her, slowly, and she followed it into the dormitory. Her shoulders hurt; she was sure they'd be marked in red. A dampness clung to Mary's eyes from her earlier tears, and perhaps this was why it took her a moment to register the scene in front of her. Indeed, she was occupied in letting the bags slide to the floor, intending to arrange them in their particular places once she could breathe.

Then, Mary shrieked. She inhaled, and screamed again. The blond boy screamed back, naked save for a pair of blue pants. Mary felt faint.

"What the fuck?!" The curtains flung open on the bed to Mary's left. Amy Brown, clad only in her underwear, emerged. For a horrible moment, Mary was transfixed. Her throat closed up. Amy's long brown hair tumbled over her shoulders, and her chest – why are you looking there, you freak? Amy's chest heaved as she breathed raggedly. Mary went a bright, burning pink. "Macdonald?!"

"I'm sorry!" she squeaked, and then she spun round, looking for where the boy had gone. He pulled on his blue robes and stuck his head through the appropriate hole. Mary gaped at him. "There's – he's -!" she swirled to Amy. "There's a boy! In our room! I didn't think that was allowed!" Amy stared at her.

"Mary," she said, strangely calm. "Get. Out." Mary nodded hurriedly and twirled, scurrying for the door. She reached the landing and pulled at the door so it could swing shut. She reached the third step down before she noticed she was empty-handed.

And that someone's head was poking around the corner.

She squealed.

"STOP IT!" shouted Lily, from down the stairs.

James Potter hovered above the stairs, face red and furious, hair a mess. He gave Mary a fierce, blazing look.

"What's wrong?" he demanded. "Why'd you scream? Who's up there? We're coming to rescue you!"

Mary gaped at him, unable to form a response.

"FUCK OFF, EVANS!"

With a bang, James fell to the ground, hitting the stone stairs. He swore loudly. Mary ran forward to help him, but something swept her feet from beneath her. Suddenly, she flung around the corner on her bum. The girls' stairs had turned into a slide. They circled around, passing by the entrance to the fourth-years' dormitory. Potter clutched furiously at the sides, apparently trying to stand. He zoomed down on his stomach, face pointed towards her rather than down. The third-years' door passed by.

"What's going on?" he shouted at her. The second-years' door flew past. She wordlessly shook her head. They whizzed around a corner and the common room came into view. Lily stood at the bottom, hands on her hips, staring up at them, and Black was shouting at her. Mary furiously pawed at the slide, trying to stop herself. Potter's efforts failed. He sailed off the end, airborne for a moment, and then crashed to the ground and into Lily's knees.

"Jesus Christ!" she yelped, staggering backwards. Mary hurtled downwards and squeezed her eyes shut. For a terrifying second, there was nothing beneath her, and then she fell to the floor of the common room. Pain shot up her tailbone. She groaned, clutching her sides. Lily grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet, green eyes blazing.

"Mary!" she exclaimed. Mary blinked dizzily. Lily cupped her shoulders, concern written all over her face. "What's happened? Are you okay? What's going on?" It took Mary a moment to think clearly.

"It's Amy," she said, finally. The rest of the sentence sat on her tongue. She couldn't verbalise it. It was impossible. Hadn't they just seen that, with Potter? Boys couldn't get into the girls' dormitory. They just couldn't.

"Amy?" A question flitted across Lily's features, but anger chased it. She whipped around to face Black and Potter. "See! There you have it! It's something between us girls, and it's nothing to do with you, so you shouldn't be trying to get up there! You can't anyways, I thought you'd know that."

"Why?" Potter frowned. Lily raised an eyebrow.

"Do you expect me to believe you haven't tried it before?" she asked. Potter opened his mouth to answer, but she ploughed on. "You've clearly scared Mary, and you're behaving like sweaty twits with bees for brains, inserting yourself into situations that have nothing to do with you, so if you'd mind sticking your noses into a bowl of leeches instead of into our business, that would be very much appreciated, please." James threw his hands out in protest. Mary gulped. She had to tell them – she had to explain about the boy – but her lips wouldn't work. She may as well have been Silenced.

"Evans, we're trying to help! What if Amy's up there hexing everyone who goes into the dorm? Don't come crying to us when she turns your nose into a leech, because you're missing the portkey."

"Oh, really original, Potter, noses and leeches."

"So that's the best you've got, picking on my words? You know we're trying to help, but you're being all funny about it – if you're in the wrong and don't want us finding out, all you have to do is admit it, honestly…" Mary couldn't get a word in. She opened her mouth and made a little squeaking sound, but nobody paid her any mind.

"I'm in the wrong? I'm not the one trying to climb up into somebody else's dormitory, wand out and ready to jinx, because I know what you're like, Potter, you'll shoot a spell at anything that blinks – and Black only encourages you, the two of you are the last people I want up there if something is going on!" She swivelled. "Remus! If anyone's going to go up, it ought to be you and I, we're the prefects."

"Evans, that is bang out of order-" James butted in. Mary had to speak now.

"No!" They looked at her. Adrenalin surged through her veins. Then her voice vanished once more. No, she thought. No, no, no, why am I so stupid? Speak! Speak! Potter raised his eyebrows – impatiently? – and Mary thought she might be sick. Once of the most popular people in their year was now staring at her and – well, he had a habit of laughing at people – they were all going to think she was an idiot – she really was going to cry now.

"Mary?" Lily prompted gently. A few weak noises burbled from her throat, and then:

"Not Amy," she managed. "There's – there's a boy." Potter's eyes widened, twinkling with triumph.

"A boy?!" He surged past Mary and scrambled up the slide.

"James, no!" Lily's shoulder hit Mary hard. She sucked in her breath, grabbing her collarbone and stumbling. Lily grabbed the back of Potter's robes, but Black grabbed the back of her robes, trying to tear her off. Mary bumbled over her feet backwards until she hit the wall.

"I'm helping you!" Potter protested, swiping a hand towards Lily. "I'm saving Mary!"

"Mary is saved!" Marlene shouted, gesturing widely. "Merlin's fucking saggy Christ balls, she's the most saved of any of us, isn't she? All that God bullshit?" Lupin snorted. Mary's mouth opened and shut. God bullshit. Was that how they thought of it? Because it wasn't – it wasn't -

"YOU NEED TO GO!" Amy's voice bellowed down the spiral staircase – or, now, the spiral slide.

"There's people down there!" A male said. The Boy. Potter wrenched free of Lily's hold and leapt up the slide. Peter whipped his wand out.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Potter. flew straight into the air and crashed into the ceiling.

"Fuck! Ouch," he said, rubbing his head.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Peter yelped.

"Nice one, Wormy," said Black.

"I DON'T CARE!" Amy shouted. "JUST GET OUT, HONESTLY, WE SHOULD'VE KEPT YOU DISILLUSIONED THE WHOLE TIME!" Marlene's hands flew over her mouth as she giggled. The boys burst out laughing. Lily ducked her head and covered her face. What? Mary thought, and then, oh. Oh. Can you do that? Do people do that? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, if you could just…

"SO THAT'S WHAT YOU THINK OF ME, THEN?" The Boy yelled back. The first-years peeked over the back of the couch again, eyes wide. A muffled argument ensued upstairs.

"Disillusioned," Marlene said breathlessly. "Merlin. Is that what you saw, Mary? Because I promise, that's not how it normally looks."

"What would you know, McKinnon?" said Black. Marlene rose an eyebrow in challenge.

"More than you." Lupin and Pettigrew sniggered. Black shot them a nasty glare.

"FINE!" The Boy yelled. A door slammed.

"Levitate me again, Pete!" Potter shouted. "I'll go get him! You have to push me forward first, though, so I don't hit the ceiling." Peter nodded quickly, round face shining.

"Alright, alright, I'll do it," he said, pointing his wand. Potter positioned himself on the slide, tucking his knees beneath him.

"There's nothing to see," Lupin told the first-years, shooing them. They grumbled. Mary hugged herself. Now, in the brief lull of calm, she felt even stupider. Why had she screamed? Why had she been such a baby about it? It was just a boy. No, they weren't supposed to be in their dorms, but it wasn't the end of the world. She was just being a baby. A big fat stupid baby. She lowered her head. Peter cast the charm again. All that God bullshit. They were allowed to think it was bullshit, but it wasn't bullshit to her. What if she'd said they were all mad over all that quidditch bullshit? They'd be upset. Wouldn't they? Or was she just oversensitive?

Her parents liked to say she was oversensitive.

Someone hollered. She glumly looked up. A blur sped down the slide, where Potter hovered a few inches above, and a – quaffle? A bludger? No, a – it couldn't be – crashed into his knees. Peter yelped again. The force flung Potter horizontal and then he slammed into the slide, landing on his face, as the blur darted away. Peter ran to Potter. Sirius whirled around.

"Immobulus!" The floating sphere stopped in its tracks. Peter pulled Potter off the slide. Blood poured from his nose, but miraculously his glasses were intact. The four boys advanced on the sphere, as did Lily, who gasped. Marlene's eyes widened. The stairs transformed back into a slide. Mary stared at the floating sphere, scarcely able to comprehend. Potter and Black peered at its front.

"Aubrey?" Potter said, reviled. "A Slytherin? In our common room? Brown's a traitor!"

"Never mind what house he's in!" Lily said. "Where's the rest of him?!"

The sphere was, in fact, the floating head of Aubrey, apparently a Slytherin, though Mary didn't recognise him. They'd frozen his face in a look somewhere between panic and anger. Everything below his chin appeared to be missing.

"What the fuck?" Black grinned.

"He must have a skill for good head," said Potter, rapping his knuckles on Aubrey's temple. He and Black exchanged a look. They lifted their wands together.

"Engorgio Skullus!"

"Don't!" Lily cried, a moment too late.

Aubrey's head swelled grotesquely. The skin bubbled up, pockets of air appearing, and then the flesh slopped into it. These bubbles formed on the top of his head, on his cheeks, on the tip of his nose. Mary's face rumpled in disgust. Potter, Black, and Peter roared with laughter. Lupin grinned at the ceiling. Aubrey's head grew bigger still, reaching the size of a beach ball. He looked like a comic strip character. Lily advanced on Potter and Black, wand out.

"What have you done?" she demanded. "For God's sake. What spell was that anyway?" Her eyes narrowed. Mary didn't recognise the spell at all; she just assumed it was some advanced Defence jinx.

"It was in a book," Black shrugged.

"What book?"

"I don't know, Evans, I found it a couple of summers ago," he said defensively. Lily huffed and pointed her wand at Aubrey.

"Finite Incantatem." Aubrey's head did not shrink. Mary nervously left the wall, joining the group around Aubrey. Marlene did the same. She caught Mary's eye and sniggered, and Mary smiled back, just a little. It wasn't funny. It was gross, really, his head now being the size of an inflatable paddling pool. And his eyes bugging out a bit. And the way his bee-stung red lips looked like fat slobbery worms. She shouldn't have been giggling, but Mary couldn't help it. She covered her mouth with one hand, forcing them down. No. She wouldn't like it if she was treated that way, would she? But then she saw Marlene, cheeks pink, eyes watering, laughing hard into her elbow, and another round of giggles caught Mary in the ribs and she simply couldn't stop.

"What's the counter-spell?" Lily asked the boys, exasperated. Black grimaced.

"That's a fair thing to wonder," he said, swiping his thumb across his bottom lip. Potter winced.

"It's a good question, dear Evans, a good question indeed…"

"I'd like to know myself," Black said.

"You used a hex on someone without knowing the counter-spell?" Mary managed to fight her laughter off long enough to properly register the words. Fury lit Lily's face. If there was one thing that Mary had learned from five years of Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons, it was that using a spell without knowing the counter-spell – or having someone on hand who did – was absolutely not what you were supposed to do. It was dangerous, each of their five teachers insisted, and foolish.

"I only particularly care about the counter-spell if I'm on the receiving end, in all truth," Black said.

Amy bounded down the last step and emerged into the common room, clad in her dressing gown. Mary averted her eyes, heat rising to her cheeks. Not that Amy was dressed indecently – she was fine, her gown covered as much as their school robes – but the memory…

"What the fuck have you done to him?!" Amy demanded, striding up to Aubrey. She pulled out her wand. "Finite Incantatem!" Still nothing changed.

"There're first-years," Lily said weakly, glancing at the crowd of tiny onlookers.

"What the hell? What the fuck is wrong with you, Black?"

"Why do you assume it's him?" Potter said, flinging his hand over his heart. "Look at me! I've fought for this!" He gestured to his bleeding nose. Amy, however, turned to Mary.

"You turned me in!" she accused, brown eyes boiling. She stood much taller than Mary, who had to tilt her neck to look her in the eye. She was well-muscled from quidditch and Mary knew she was good with hexes. She shook her head weakly, wishing she'd stayed by the wall.

"No," she mumbled. "No, no, I – I didn't-"

"What if you try shrinking it?" Peter said to Potter and Black.

"You can't be cross with her," Lily said, shaking her red ponytail and stepping between Mary and Amy. Mary felt a rush of gratitude for her. "Amy, you're the one who smuggled a boy into our dormitory. Which, first of all, isn't allowed, and secondly, even if it was, it's our room. Mary had every right to be there, and if you were going to be-" Lily hesitated, "- having guests, you ought to have talked to us first."

"What, so you could write me up?" Amy said hotly.

"That could work," Potter said appreciatively, in reply to Peter.

"How did you even get a boy up there anyway?" Marlene asked, coming around to stand by Mary. She was thankful for Marlene, too.

"I summoned him," Amy said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Mary blinked.

"What?" she said. Amy's flaming eyes turned on her. Mary swallowed. "Sorry. I mean, pardon?"

"We may as well try," said Black, to Potter and Peter and Lupin, who now stood with them with his hands in his pockets.

"I summoned him," Amy said, slower. Mary stared. Amy scoffed. "I disillusioned him, brought him through the portrait hole with me, went up to our room and opened the door, and then I summoned him. So he didn't touch the stairs."

They stood in silence for a moment.

"Pardon?" Mary said, again.

"How did you even figure that out?" Marlene said incredulously. Amy rolled her eyes and gestured to her head.

"With my brain."

"Reducio!" said Potter and Black together, catching the girls' attention. Aubrey's head appeared to be shrinking. It did not bubble and boil the way it had as it grew; instead, it happened quickly, proportionately too. It reached its usual size, but Potter and Black did not stop there. Aubrey's head shrunk and shrunk and shrunk, until Amy barrelled into them and sent them flying. Potter and Black landed flat on their backs, and Aubrey's head was now the size of a small plum.

"You fuckers!" he squeaked. Mary jumped in surprise. The first-years roared with laughter. How could he talk? He looked just as surprised, and then it occurred to her that Lily's counter-spell must've worked, just not on the hex. No sooner had she thought that than Aubrey's body came into view, finally becoming opaque.

"Oh my god," said Lily, slapping her forehead. "You disillusioned him again! That's why he was a floating head!"

"You fucking idiots!" Amy shouted at Potter and Black. "What did you do to him? What if he's brain-dead now?"

"I'm not brain-dead!" Aubrey squealed. Potter threw his hands over his face.

"Don't yell at me, I'm a victim! Lover-boy over there did in my nose!" Indeed, blood crusted his upper lip and nostrils.

"I hate Gryffindors!" Aubrey announced, with the voice of a two-year-old girl. He sucked in his breath and ran for the door, his tiny head bobbling on his normal-sized shoulders. Potter and Black spun and shot that hex at him again, clipping his head, which rapidly expanded once more. Aubrey pushed through the portrait-hole and ran out into the halls.

"No!" Lily shouted. "We have to get him to the hospital wing – Mary, come with me! Potter, Black, Amy – fifteen points each! I'm writing you up!" She grabbed Mary's wrist and pulled her towards the door at a run. Mary hurried along, and they clambered through the hole and out into the chilly corridor.

"Everyone's gone mad," Mary said raggedly, pushing her curls behind her ears. Lily stood on tiptoe, looking down the hall.

"I know," she said. "Come on, let's round up Aubrey. It'll be worse if a teacher catches him." She took off at a jog, and Mary hastened to follow.

They found Aubrey heading in the direction of Ravenclaw tower, shouting at a group of third-years who laughed at him. They escorted him to the hospital wing and did their best to explain to Madam Pomfrey what had happened, though Lily made it sound as if it had occurred outside the common room, not within it. Mary fumbled over her words but managed to back up the story, though she felt strange for lying.

"I'm not going to take points from Amy," Lily explained on the way back. "It'll only cause trouble amongst us. I want to sort this out, not have her at our throats."

"Thank you," Mary said. "I really don't want Amy at my throat. Or anywhere. I mean, she's nice and all -" was she? Mary didn't really mean it, but it seemed polite. "- but she can be a little scary."

Their next stop was at the prefect chambers, where Lily wrote Potter and Black up, and then they delivered it to Professor McGonagall. By the time they reached the common room, Potter and the others had disappeared, and Marlene sat with her arms folded on one of the couches.

"You abandoned me," she said, jumping to her feet. "I hate you." Mary's stomach fluttered.

Despite the excitement of the afternoon, the evening filled itself with homework, and Mary lost her thoughts of Amy and Aubrey and Potter and Black in a Transfiguration textbook. If it weren't for the first-years gleefully recounting the story to everyone who entered the common room and Professor McGonagall's arrival, hunting Potter and Black and witnesses – Lily volunteered herself as Mary sank into the red cushions, hoping desperately that McGonagall wouldn't pick her – she could've forgotten all about it. Dinner was normal, after dinner was normal, and then they went up to the dormitory for bed.

Amy sat at the desk between hers and Mary's beds when they entered, in a red nightdress and brushing her hair. She caught sight of them in the mirror and turned around. Mary blushed, bent her head low and scrambled past to her own bed. Amy stood, threw her brush onto her pillows, sat down hard and closed the curtains so she could not be seen.

"You know I didn't take any points," Lily called to her. Amy did not respond. "We're not angry. Next time, could you just – er – lock the door, or something?"

"There won't be a next time!" Amy said gruffly, through the curtains. Mary set down her bag on her trunk and began organising her pyjamas. Marlene pulled a face.

"I bet there won't be," she said, in a loud whisper. "Every -"

"Hang on," Lily whispered urgently. She retrieved her wand and pointed it in Amy's direction. Mary frowned. "Muffliato," she said, screwing up her face in concentration. She waited a moment, and then relaxed. Mary wracked her brains, trying to identify the spell. Marlene scratched her head, her pretty sheet of dark hair rustling.

"What's that?" she asked. So Mary wasn't the only one who didn't know; she felt better. Lily gripped her wand with two hands and twisted it.

"A spell," she said.

"Which one?" Mary asked, confused. Lily hesitated.

"It was a birthday present," she said, finally, quickly. "And I know it's not in a textbook, but it's not like that hex Potter and Black used, it doesn't hurt anyone. It gives us some privacy is all. We can't be overheard." She jerked her head towards the closed curtains around Amy's bed. It didn't seem as if Amy could hear them. Unless she was ignoring them. But it was the start of Lily's explanation that confused her more.

"A birthday present?" she said. "But how can someone give you a spell as a birthday present? It's not as if people can just make them up." Lily's cheeks coloured, and she scooped up her clothes.

"No," Marlene said suddenly, moving towards Lily. "Merlin's beard. That freak-"

"Don't call him that," Lily snapped, danger in her voice. "It's none of your business who created the spell. I'm going for a shower." She stormed into the bathroom and shut the door. Mary was missing something. She looked at Marlene, her face a question. Marlene crossed her arms.

"Snape," she spat, the word rich with loathing.

"But Snape can't make a spell," Mary said. "He's only our age. We can't just make up spells." Marlene gave a sharp shake of her head and pulled the curtains shut around her. Mary was left alone in the dormitory.

She was the last of them to get changed, and by the time she came out, the rest of them were asleep. It was nice, if uncharacteristic, for them to all be in bed by eleven on a Friday night. She glanced at Amy's bed and felt the ball in her throat swell, much as Aubrey's head had. Mary climbed into bed and pulled the bedcovers over herself, then curled in a ball on her side. Her head sunk into the pillow. She tried to settle herself, whispering the Lord's Prayer under her breath. The words did not erase the thoughts chasing one another through her head. Her rosary was tucked away in the drawer of her bedside table; it was not out of reach, if she stretched out, but she did not. Instead, she curled her fingers into weak fists and pressed them against her chest. Out of everything that had happened that afternoon, it was not Aubrey still in her mind, or Potter zipping backwards down the slide, or Lily's fury. It was not even the way Marlene had laughed in Potions, low and warm, like a hug at the end of Christmas night, or how she'd grabbed Mary's wrist in Defence to try to force her to wave at some Hufflepuff.

It was Amy, and it was shameful, for Mary shouldn't've looked; and even though she had, it shouldn't have burned itself into her brain. She'd known Amy was pretty - out of all the girls in their dormitory, Mary was sure she was the ugliest, the frumpiest, the most childish – but now there was a new dimension to this. Mary could not help but wonder if Marlene resembled her; they had similar builds. A hot tide of shame rose in her stomach like acid. She couldn't understand why she cared. She had not even thought this way about Marlene until a week or so ago.

They'd been in Herbology. Rain pattered the glass roof softly, and streams of water ran down the sides of the greenhouse. The world smelled of wet earth and springtime, a glimpse of the months to come. Mary, Marlene, Lily, and a plump blonde Hufflepuff called Hannah Mumps shared a workstation. It was perfectly ordinary. And yet – and yet. Marlene nudged her, shoulders brushing.

"Pass the watering can, won't you?" Marlene said. Mary looked at her, and the sun shyly peeked from behind the dull grey clouds, catching the droplets of rain so they twinkled. And Mary sucked in her breath. Marlene's casual smile cut through her. Her brown eyes resembled the soil in Mary's gloved hands, rich and deep, full of life. Marlene rolled her eyes. "Fine," she said, interpreting Mary's silence. "Please pass the watering can."

"Look at you," Lily chirped. "The picture of politeness. They grow up so fast."

"Hilarious." Mary tore herself from her fixation and passed the watering can.

"Encore," Lily said. Marlene laughed.

"If the crowd demands it. Thank you, Mary." Mary nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Since then, it had been much the same. But now it was worse. She knew well that Marlene looked little like Mary, and so her own body was no accurate substitute. But Amy – Mary's throat closed up, and she rolled onto her stomach, shoving her head into her pillow. A weight fell upon her back. The kneading claws identified the weight as Berlioz. She reached one hand around to stroke him, and stared quite forlornly into her pillowcase.

Nothing good could come from dwelling on it. She squeezed her eyes shut, and imagined what Father Peters would tell her. Give your troubles over to God. Her heart ached. She would only ever hear his voice again in her mind. All she had were her memories and her imagination. Hot tears bubbled behind her eyelids. She could not dwell on it. She couldn't.

(How could she not?)

She crushed her nose against the pillow, and hoped sleep would come sooner rather than later.

---

February 14th, 1976

A fifth howler arrived at the Gryffindor table. Instead of bracing for impact, which was typically the modus operandi, Sirius (and the rest of the Gryffindors) leaned forward. A fourth-year girl – Happer-something – nervously reached for the red letter.

"Will every line rhyme?" Sirius asked out of the corner of his mouth. "Or only every second?"

"Every line," James said firmly. "This bloke'll be committed."

"Every second," whispered Remus. "He'll want to set himself apart."

"Both," Peter said. Sirius and the others looked at him. Peter shrugged. "It'll change halfway through."

Smoke poured from the corners of the envelope, and Happer – mells? – gently broke the seal. The letter rose into the air, quivering. James drummed his hands against the table, and Sirius did too, before the others picked up on it. The howler took a deep, rattling breath, and then its song burst forth.

"Your hair is so beautiful, all long brown and curly! When I look at you, my stomach gets all whirly!"

"Yes!" James pumped his fist. Remus held up two fingers. Peter's fingers knotted. Sirius smirked, leaning in closer.

"Your voice sounds just like my mother's! I'd like to bring you home for supper! I have something to ask you, I think now's the time. Cindy Happerknoll, won't you be my Valentine?" The letter burst into flames. Happerknoll sat still, stunned. Sirius laughed loudly, and James cheered. The rest of the table followed suit. Happerknoll sunk into her seat.

"I don't understand why they ask girls out with a singing Valentine," Remus said, shaking his head. "How are the girls meant to know who's asking? They never say their names."

"And they charm their voices, too," Peter added. "So they can't tell from that either." Sirius grinned.

"If it's true love," he said, "they'll find each other." Then he laughed.

"Who finds true love at Hogwarts?" James said dubiously, adjusting his glasses and regarding a group of girls. Sirius raised his eyebrows.

"Ask your girlfriend," he suggested. James swore. Could someone remind Sirius why Lisbete kept hanging around? Because clearly James was losing patience, even if James couldn't recognise that himself. The sooner he could be rid of her, and free to spend the day interrupting the ridiculously romantic dates unsuspecting couples (they had a few plans as to how to do that), the better. As it stood, Sirius, Remus, and Peter were a man down for the day's work.

"Are you not, then?" Peter asked through a mouthful of porridge. Sirius winced.

"Not what?" James asked shortly, buttering his toast.

"Not in love?" James dropped the slice onto his plate. Sirius snorted and grinned at him.

"We've only been going out since Halloween," James said, glaring at them. Touchy. "That's not long enough to fall in love."

"Just don't end up with a hairy heart," Peter said lightly. James scowled. Sirius watched him, eyes narrowing. James mussed his hair and straightened up.

"What about the rest of you, then?" he said. "You can't rag on me for having a girlfriend when the rest of you are hopeless." Sirius rolled his eyes.

"I have standards," he said. "High standards, and they need to be met. Funnily enough, one of those standards is that she has to be a fourth year or older. No younger than a year below me. You may call me selective, but…" Sirius smiled. James pulled a face.

"Yeah, whatever. Keep telling yourself that," he said. Sirius sniffed, faux-affronted, and smoothed back his hair.

"Oh, I do," he vowed. "Every morning, in the mirror."

"Here I was, thinking you were just talking filthily to yourself," Remus said, resting his chin on the back of his hand. He smiled, but his amber eyes held a question. "I can hear you, you know," he added, looking at Sirius, then James, then Peter. Sirius' mouth dried. "The spell you cast every morning." Remus' expression grew solemn. Sirius met James' eyes.

"You could give us some privacy," Sirius said lightly.

"Every man should be able to do a secret sex ritual in the privacy of his own dormitory," James agreed, tapping his fingers against his plate. Remus raised his eyebrows.

"Certainly," he allowed. "But half the time it's in the middle of a Transfiguration lesson." Peter giggled.

"The time can't be helped, Moony," Sirius said. "It's whenever our base urges call to us. I imagine you'd understand the need to give in to the animal within." Remus looked doubtful. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and he seemed gaunter. Of course, there were less than forty-eight hours until the full moon. Sirius' gut pulled. We ought to be there with him. What would it take for the storm to arrive today?

"You're welcome to join us, of course," James assured Remus, patting his shoulder. "We'll even teach you the incantation." James whipped out his wand, and Sirius did the same. James cleared his throat. Sirius quickly copied. "Sexicus Sexane Sexius Me-us." Sirius followed James blindly through the syllables, and upon concluding, he thought that it had likely come across as synchronised. Remus buried his head in his hand.

"Sometimes I wonder why I'm alive," Remus confided to the table.

"As do I," Sirius said, gesturing to himself with a slender finger. "In fact, I often wish that I was not. But in that case, I wouldn't get to torment James, and then his head would be almost as big as Aubrey's." Remus snorted.

"My ego is as small as Aubrey's little head," James said, gesturing at him rudely.

They continued with their breakfast, finishing up, and watched the sixth and seventh howlers arrive at the table to the delight (and embarrassment) of pink-cheeked girls. The romance in the air seemed to inspire people, unfortunately. A very small Hufflepuff girl approached the four of them. Sirius caught her out of the corner of his eye and determinedly shoved half an orange in his mouth.

"Excuse me," she said politely. Sirius chomped his orange. James shot him an apologetic smile and his heart sank. He shook his head frantically.

"Alright?" said James, leaning over to talk to her. Sirius pretended he was biting into James' head. Remus smiled and Sirius glared at him. Peter giggled into the back of his hand. I hate all of you, Sirius thought. I hope you all die. I hope you all die and go to hell and hell is Madam Puddifoot's and you're stuck there for eternity.

"I was wondering…" She made a little squeak. "Um. Could I talk to Sirius Black?"

"Of course you can," James grinned, gesturing to Sirius. Sirius was ready to gag him with the half-chewed orange. "He's right here. Sirius, listen to her, won't you?" Sirius begrudgingly removed the orange from his mouth. Juice crusted around his lips. He heaved a loud, deliberate sigh and turned to the girl.

"What?" he said, wanting it to be over and done with. It was the fifth time in the last two days.

"Um…Iunderstandifyoudon'twanttobutwouldyougotothedancewithme?" she blurted, tugging her pigtails. Fucking Helga.

"No," Sirius said shortly.

"Oh!" Her eyes widened, growing wet. She scampered away to the Hufflepuff table. Sirius rolled his eyes and surlily folded his arms.

"That was kind," Remus said unhelpfully. Sirius swigged his pumpkin juice, pulling a face. Peter swirled his porridge.

"Do you really want to go alone?" he asked, scooping a spoonful and dropping it back into the bowl. "So many girls have asked you."

"I'm not going with someone half my age," Sirius said.

"Not all of them have been, though. That Hufflepuff girl the other day wasn't," Remus pointed out, unhelpful once again. Sirius gestured angrily.

"What does it matter?" he said. "Neither of you have dates." Sirius, privately, was pleased by this. For Remus and Peter to have dates and him not would be unnatural. The girls who kept asking him were an annoyance, but they did maintain the status quo.

"Precisely," said James, stretching over and putting a hand on his shoulder. "You ought to allow them to live vicariously through us. If you recount the night in enough details, it'll be as if it had happened to them." Sirius shrugged James off.

"Why not tell them all about Lisbete?" he asked.

"We don't like girls half our age either," Remus answered, smirking. James banged his fist on the table.

"She's not half my age," he said. Sirius sat back, surprised. "She's fourteen, I'm fifteen. It's not weird. Everyone else makes it weird."

"It's strange," Sirius said, ignoring his protest. "What if you end up staying together for the rest of your lives? You'll be a professional quidditch player dating a girl who hasn't taken her N.E. ."

"He wouldn't be the first," Remus murmured.

"We're not going to be together for the rest of our lives!" James froze as soon as the words left his mouth. Sirius raised his eyebrows coolly. Remus grew interested in his plate. Peter inhaled loudly. No shit, Sirius thought. He hadn't been certain if James had known it yet, but it was blatantly obvious to anyone with a functioning brain (perhaps an eighth of the student body). So, it was only a matter of time until Lisbete got chucked – in which case, why was James bothering with today? Why date someone only to break up with them later? And then Sirius could hear his mother's insidious voice in his ear, harping on about who'd been promiscuous and why that had jeopardised a business contract, and sick crept up his throat.

"Remus," James said, avoiding Sirius' eyes, "what about you? Are you going to ask anyone? The offer of a wingman stands."

"The only girl I know well enough to ask is Lily," Remus said, drumming his fingers lightly against the table. "I'd imagine she's already going with someone."

"Lots of boys like her," Peter agreed. James fidgeted with his glasses, and Sirius watched him closely, considering if it was worth bringing up James' former status as one of those 'boys'.

"Never mind Evans," he said, when it became clear that James was not going to speak. "She's probably going with Slughorn."

"Eugh," said Peter, recoiling.

"I reject that," James said, looking disgusted. Sirius grinned. James shook himself. "But Sirius is right, never mind Evans. Go with someone you like. Someone you have things in common with. I mean, if I didn't have a girlfriend, I'd probably ask someone from the quidditch team."

"So you think I should ask, say, Amy Brown to the dance?" Remus asked. Sirius laughed loudly.

"Definitely," he said. "And Peter should take the Slytherin captain. Do you like blondes, Wormy?"

"Don't," he said miserably, throwing his head into his palms. All Sirius knew of the Slytherin captain, Emma Vanity, was that she was a blonde seventh-year who reduced several first-years to tears every year at tryouts.

"Come to think of it," James said thoughtfully.

"Careful," Sirius warned, "you need your pretty head safe for Puddifoot's."

"You do care about each other," Remus remarked, shaking his head in astonishment.

"You should go with Marlene," James said, looking directly at Sirius.

"She hates me," he said, without thinking. But it was true. They were on good enough terms now, but she'd hated him enough to tell everyone in the year that he and James were ranking the girls. And, if he was going to be charitable and look at things from her perspective, he had abandoned her with her top off after trying to snog her and changing his mind. After she sent him muggle cigarettes all summer.

Sirius had not bothered cultivating a skill with girls. They came to him regardless of what he did.

"She doesn't hate you," James said, waving his hand. "She's hung out with us, hasn't she?"

"She could still harbour a burning hatred for me," Sirius said. Marlene wasn't an option. Sirius would go it alone, with Remus and Peter at his side, and they'd mercilessly mock James all night and have a great time. It was piss-easy.

"You both like quidditch," James started, ticking off his fingers. Sirius gritted his teeth. "You've snogged before. Was she decent?"

"I don't know," Sirius grumbled. "I was smashed." He remembered it more clearly than he would've liked. Her lips on his; her hands on his body. It was…fine. He'd been too out of it to properly enjoy it. And he wasn't into Marlene – she was plain. Most of the girls at Hogwarts were plain.

"You both like getting smashed," James said, ticking another finger. "Neither of you will take it seriously. And she likes the Enchanted Zippers, doesn't she?" Sirius shrugged sharply.

"How would I know? How is that relevant to the dance?"

"Maybe one of their songs will come on and you can dance to it together?" Peter tried meekly.

"I don't want to dance with her," Sirius said. Remus looked between him and James.

"We could not go," he suggested lightly.

"What?"

"Why would we not go?" Sirius demanded.

"Why do you want to go?"

"It's like a party," James said. "A big, fun party that we don't have to organise."

"Speak for yourself," Remus said.

Sirius rested his chin carelessly on his hand, following the table along with his eyes until he reached Marlene. Pumpkin juice shot out of her nose as she laughed at something Lily said. If he was to take a partner, he supposed she'd do. She could be a laugh. They did like the same music. And she seemed as likely to ditch him for her friends as he was to ditch her for his. And it'd get those younger girls off his back: if he had a partner, there'd be no point in their asking him.

"Fine," he said, standing. James half-stood too, but Sirius left him, strolling over to the girls. They – Marlene, Lily, and Mary Macdonald – stopped their conversation.

"How kind of you to grace us with your presence," Lily said sweetly. "Used any other illegal hexes?" Sirius ignored her, and she made a little annoyed sound. Whatever. Mary Macdonald shuffled over with wide eyes, but he didn't sit.

"Marlene," he said. She looked quizzical.

"What?" she said. There were many ways to do this. He could've chosen to send a singing valentine – he could've sung himself, personally. He could've slipped a note like a bashful first-year, or got one of his friends to ask on his behalf like he was twelve years old. He could've had something prepared, or waxed lyrical about how in love with her he was just to get a rise. e

But that was a lot of effort for some school function.

"I need a partner for the dance," he said, slipping his hands into his pockets as Remus often did. "Do you have one?"

Marlene snorted. "You're pathetic," she said. "But yeah, I'll come, if you promise not to be an arse." Done. Why hadn't he done this earlier? Thanks to the goggling third-years by Lily, the news would be out by lunchtime and he'd be blissfully free of annoying little girls.

"Thank you," he said. "Evans. Do you have a partner?"

"Oi," said Marlene. "You can't take us both!"

"I'm not," Sirius said. Lily tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear, pursing her lips. She pulled at a dainty bracelet on her wrist.

"You couldn't pay me to go with Potter," she said, green eyes narrowing. "Not all the money in the world."

"I have a very big vault, and so does he, so wait and see before you make a statement like that, Evans. Or else you'll be sorry," Sirius said. "And you're wrong. I'm not asking for James." Confusion flitted across her face, but she quickly schooled her features into neutrality.

"I'm going with someone already," she said. "Mary's not, though." Macdonald shrivelled up. He'd spent far too much time with his mother – with the Blacks, end of – no to know what Lily was getting at. But knowing how the game was played and having a piece in the game were two very different things.

"I'll pass that on."

Of course, you could always sit on the side and watch. People politics was nothing if not a spectator sport.

He returned to his friends to find that Dale had taken his seat.

"Excuse me," he said roughly, pushing himself into the spot he'd previously occupied. Dale made room. James, Remus, and Peter gave him expectant looks.

"Did you do it?" James asked finally. Sirius shrugged.

"It wasn't as if she was going to say no." James clapped him on the shoulder, praising him, and Peter excitedly launched into an account of his predictions for the night. Sirius caught Remus' eye.

"Well done, then," Remus said.

"Easily, if not well," Sirius replied. "Now, why are you replacing me?" he gestured to Dale.

"We're sick of you," Remus said simply. "We thought you'd be better off with the girls." Sirius tossed a grape at his head. He's joking, he reminded himself, annoyed that the reminder was even necessary. Of course he was joking.

"Dale's having lady problems," James explained.

"It's Striding, that Ravenclaw girl. We got off the other night and now I dunno if she loves me or hates me."

Sirius did not bother to look interested. What was it, he wanted to know, with everyone getting together? Padgett, Brown, even Dale. It discomfited him. If there was a trend, or something outrageous to do, he wanted to be at the beginning of it, not in the middle with the masses. He'd kill himself if Remus or Peter got to it first. No, Peter had no hope, but Remus did. All it took was some prefect patrol late at night with a girl that was keen and he'd have a broom in the race.

Sirius took another grape and squashed it between his fingers.

---

February 14th, 1976

The line inched forward, and James wondered if he would ever regain the feeling in his hand. Lisbete held it tightly, with two pink-gloved hands, as they stood in the glistening laneway outside Madam Puddifoot's. Though grey clouds oppressively clung to the pointed rooftops of the cottages and little shops in the village, Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop bloomed as brightly as ever. Pink smoke poured from the chimney, and slow, low, romantic jazz spilled onto the street. Couples gazed into each other's eyes over porcelain cups and delicate teacakes. James, of course, had a booking – nobody was foolish enough to wait in line if they hadn't owled ahead – but he had booked for a leisurely eleven, allowing him and Lisbete plenty of time to reach the village, roam around hand-in-hand, avoid Gumboil and Hoover (who conspicuously appeared wherever they went, James guessed on account of Gumboil's crush on Lisbete), and head in for an early lunch. It was now eleven-thirty, and it seemed the couples already inside the shop were very reluctant to give up their seats. Madam Puddifoot's assistant, Anastasia, a harassed-looking witch in her early twenties, marched out onto the street to explain to the line that Madam Puddifoot was not in the business of forcing people to leave.

"Jamie," Lisbete started again, moving her grip to his pointer finger and closing her fist hard. He coughed to disguise a wince of pain.

"Yeah?" he managed. A couple in the window broke their staring match to sip their tea, and James took that as a good sign. There was only so long, after all, that people could sit over empty cups and plates. The sooner they drained their tea, the sooner they'd get a bloody move on.

"I'm just so glad we're here together," Lisbete continued, beaming at him. She really was very pretty, if you thought about it objectively. Or as her boyfriend. Which James was. So of course he thought she was pretty. He craned his neck over the crowd and peered up the street, trying to spot his mates. They'd said they might stop in on him…he wanted to know if they'd found Snivellus yet. How Snape spent his Valentine's Day was of great interest to James, because it would undoubtedly make him feel better. Yes, he might be spending his day standing out in the rain, waiting for a seat at the frilliest place in Hogsmeade, but at least he wasn't…crying over a picture of Lily Evans. Or wanking to Voldemort. Or disembowelling toads. Or doing homework. Whatever Snape was doing, James was not, and so he was definitively having a better day. "Aren't you?"

"Hm?" James scratched his head with his free hand. Lisbete frowned, and his heart dropped. Shit. "You're so beautiful," he told her, flashing a winning smile and wrangling his held hand to grab hers. Lisbete pulled back. James furrowed his brows. No, that wasn't right.

"Aren't you glad?" she asked again, bottom lip sticking out. Merlin, sometimes she behaved like a kid…but she was a third-year, he supposed…James stopped. No, it was weird to think about it like that. Yeah, she was a third-year, but they were only eighteen months apart. He wasn't that much older. As he'd said to Sirius and the others, it was only weird because they made it weird. And if he ended up being a professional quidditch player and she was still at Hogwarts…well, it was different, if they'd been dating for years. It wasn't as if he was one of those slimy fuckers who happened to hang around Hogsmeade on the weekends the students were allowed out. He wasn't a creep. And besides –

We're not going to be together for the rest of our lives.

"Yeah," he assured her, dropping her hand and slinging an arm over her shoulder, the way he might've to Sirius or Peter. "Of course I'm glad. Where else would I want to be?"

Lisbete's eyes dropped. He curled his fingers around her shoulder, smiling at her again.

"I thought maybe you'd want to be with your friends instead," she mumbled. He opened and closed his mouth, a shitty feeling creeping into his stomach. Her blue eyes met his, and they widened in alarm. "You do!" she accused. Alarm flung itself across his face.

"No!" he said. She stepped out from his arm, and he threw his hands through his hair. "No – I want to be here with you – it's Valentine's Day. You're my girlfriend. I can see Sirius any old day." She folded her arms across her chest. Her cheeks turned the same pink shade as her lips, her woolly hat, and the ribbons around her two blonde plaits. Other people in the line watched them, and James set his jaw. Of all the scenes to play out in front of an audience, this was possibly his last choice. He looked (and felt) like an arsehole, and one without any redeeming features – Lisbete was not a Slytherin, or a teacher, or a sleaze, or a nose-in-the-air sort.

"You haven't been listening to me," Lisbete accused. What? He'd listened. He knew that…that…

"I know it's been hard for you and -" Fuck. "- Clarissa?" He braced himself. Instead of arguing, Lisbete threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. He sort of puckered his lips and went along with it. She pulled back, breathless, beaming up at him.

"You did listen," she murmured, and nuzzled her face against his chest. The rest of the line returned to their conversations. He awkwardly patted her back, somehow feeling worse even though she was clearly pleased with him now. Merlin, was he a shit boyfriend? He didn't want to be a terrible boyfriend. Lisbete deserved better than that, and he thought he could be better than that.

It was quarter past twelve before they made it inside, and they were seated at a table in the middle of the shop, surrounded on all sides. They stripped off their warmer layers – hats and gloves and cloaks – and then ordered. Lisbete grasped his bare hands the moment they were left (relatively) alone.

"I'm sorry for how I behaved earlier," she told him, looking very serious, as best he could tell. A tall candelabra sat between them, obscuring her face somewhat. Lilac smoke wafted up his nose and left behind a floral scent. "It wasn't right for me to get so mad at you." James shrugged with one shoulder, wishing the matter would disappear. The warmth of the candles tickled his face. He scratched at his collar.

"It's all good," he said. "I don't want you to feel the way that you did. It's crap." Lisbete nodded. James looked around, absent-mindedly rubbing circles across her knuckles with his thumb. An uncomfortable silence intruded on their conversation. James exhaled low. "I told you about what happened with that Aubrey bloke, didn't I?" Lisbete nodded again, quicker this time.

"Yes," she said. "But really, I can't believe he got into the girls' dormitories… I didn't even know that was possible… you were so brave, Jamie…" They seized on that topic until Anastasia finished delivering their tea and sandwiches and cakes, and their mouths became occupied with chewing rather than talking. The sandwiches were tart where the cakes were ridiculously sweet, topped with fruit and accompanied by thick cream. The line briefly shortened as the last of the morning bookings left, then lengthened as people arrived for lunch. At the table next to them, a boy put a dollop of cream on his tongue and held it out. His girlfriend leaned over and ate the cream. James gagged on a mouthful of tea and snorted. Hot liquid shot from his nostrils. Lisbete jumped in alarm.

"Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed, grabbing a taffy napkin and wiping his face. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry." He glanced at the couple, who now furiously shoved their tongues down each other's throats. Fucking hell. Sirius would think it was a laugh, but without him, the whole place just felt claustrophobic. Remus would have some crack to make about the cream-sharing, and Peter would ask some question that sent them all over the edge into raucous laughter. He didn't want to bring it up with Lisbete. She'd either be disgusted or inspired, and regardless, that left no fun in it for James. He tapped his foot, looking around. Past the next table, he could see out the window. His mouth opened in surprise.

"Just a second," he said to Lisbete, scrunching the napkin and tossing it onto the table. He scooted back his chair and grabbed his cloak. James wove through a maze of circular tables to the propped-open door, he ducked through, making for a tall, brown-haired bloke in the line. "John!"

John Brown turned around, confused, but he smiled when he saw James. They shook hands, and James grabbed him and pulled him in, clapping him on the back. Then he waved at John's girlfriend, the skinny older sister of James' dormmate, Dale.

"Hello, Betty," James said. She smiled mildly. She resembled Dale more than Cathy, with his same mouse-brown hair and long face, pimples even rising on the same ridge along her cheeks.

"Hi," she said. James shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned at them. They stood beneath an umbrella John held with his wand. The rain grew heavier, pattering hard against the spell. John adjusted the grip on his wand.

"Good luck with the wait," James advised. "When are you booked for? We got in an hour and a bit late." Betty's eyebrows nearly flew off her face. John whistled.

"Godric's sake," he said. "We're in for quarter-to-one. You're still with that blonde, then?" Betty smiled mischievously.

"My friend from the stands," she said. "We watch the practices together." James knew well that Lisbete came to watch him train sometimes, but he hadn't realised she sat over with Betty. Most of the time, he was too busy on his broom to give it much of a look.

"She's friends with your sister, you know," James informed her cheerfully. Betty's face changed.

"Oh," she said. "No, I didn't." The line shuffled forward.

"We're not keeping you, are we?" John asked, brushing off the chest pocket of his dark robes. James briefly looked at the shop. Lisbete sat alone at the table, and sipped her tea.

"Nah, I'll go back in soon," James said. He took a deep breath of the wet air. Despite the weather, it was nicer outside than in. "Guess what I saw?"

John chuckled. "What?"

"Some girl ate cream off her boyfriend's tongue." Betty choked, and John's mouth dropped open.

"What?" Revulsion coated his broad features. "Bloody hell." Betty laughed disbelievingly. John shot her a sidewards look. "Don't get any ideas."

"I'm not," she said, scoffing in wonder. "God."

"Why would you tell us that?" John said, shaking his head at James. "I was having a good day, believe it or not." James shrugged. For the reaction, he supposed.

"Oh, did you hear about what happened yesterday afternoon?" he started. "I was down in the common room with Sirius, enjoying my Friday, as you do, and we heard this…" James trailed off, realising he was about to tell a story that included John's little sister smuggling a boy into her dormitory. Probably not the best idea. Neither John nor Betty asked him to continue the story. James felt slightly miffed – it was actually a very good story, if John wasn't listening. The line shuffled forward again.

"Well," said John, after a bit. "I think your girlfriend will be wondering-"

"Potter!" Down the lane marched Bertram Aubrey, his head puffy but otherwise normal. James was almost disappointed. He'd hoped their hex would be a bit more difficult to get rid of than that. Nevertheless, James approached him with a large smile.

"Aubrey, old chap!" he said warmly, grabbing the sixth-year by the hand and pulling him in, slapping him on the back. Aubrey nearly crushed his fingers. Rather impolite, if you asked James, but what could you expect from a Slytherin? He ought to be grateful that James was talking to him at all.

"You could've killed me!" Aubrey shouted overdramatically. What a wanker. What did Amy see in him? He whirled back around to look at John. James had a duty as a teammate and friend to ensure John didn't end up having to endure this twat at Christmas every year. "Madam Pomfrey said I was lucky not to have any permanent damage!"

"I'm glad to hear that. I can't imagine what you would've done if you were any worse off in the head."

"You are a piece of shit, Potter," Aubrey growled, sticking a finger in James' face. For the second time that day, the line to Madam Puddifoot's goggled at him. He ought to start charging. He'd organise it for next time. "You had no reason to hex me, you did it just because I was there! Just because Macdonald got her knickers in a knot-"

"Don't talk about Macdonald's knickers," James chided. "You shouldn't've been in our common room, or up in the girls' dorms. I don't care if you want to get a leg-over, but there's a reason we aren't supposed to get up there, the girls don't want to hear you shagging their bosom friend."

"So it was noble, then? Chivalrous?" Aubrey demanded. "Gryffindors."

"If you have a problem with Gryffindors, you should stay away from our common rooms, Aubrey," James said. "If I see you in there ever again I'll blow up more than your head. And I'd recommend taking a dash of Felix Felicis, because I don't know if you'll be so lucky without it."

Aubrey sniffed, stepping back, hand on his pocket. James mimicked him, feeling his wand through the fabric of his robes.

"I heard what you said," Aubrey told him quietly. James looked impressed.

"Well, we clearly didn't do too much damage, because your ears are working." Aubrey scoffed a laugh. James laughed back at him.

"You're an idiot, Potter. Engorgio Skullus!"

James was too busy laughing to duck. The hex hit him square in the face. He'd never been on the receiving end. Foreign pain shot through his skull, and his nose bubbled forward, obscuring his vision.

"Oi!" John shouted. "You're not meant to use magic in Hogsmeade if you're not seventeen!" James doubled over, gritting his teeth. His jaw screamed out in pain. His flesh bubbled obscenely. He was sick in his mouth and it leaked through his teeth as he gagged, chin swelling, skin pulling so tight over his expanded bones that he thought it would tear. He caught a flesh of blonde hair and then there were hands on him.

"What's happened?" Lisbete demanded, words thick with panic. "Jamie? Jamie!"

"I'll get a teacher," Betty said. James couldn't see any of them. His eyes strained against their sockets. They're going to burst open. I'm going to be blind. I'll never play quidditch again! His lungs could not open properly. He rasped for air.

"Finite Incantatem!" John shouted. The spell ricocheted off James' head. He cried out groggily in pain.

"Jamie!" Lisbete touched him and he flinched at the contact. He couldn't think…he couldn't breathe…

"How do you like it, Potter?" Aubrey growled. James managed to look up through bleary eyes. Aubrey stalked past a black-cloaked figure James recognised at once. The figure pointed at him and laughed loudly.

"What an idiot," the other boy sniggered to Avery and Rosier. "And look at him with his girlfriend. I'm surprised she's old enough to come to Hogsmeade." Lisbete dabbed at James' face and he winced. Why the hell was she doing that? He wasn't bleeding.

"I wish we were playing them instead of Ravenclaw," Avery lamented. "I want to knock him off his broom." James almost laughed, but pain sliced through his rapidly-expanding nostrils and he coughed. Avery was a reserve, he'd be lucky to knock anyone off their broom in his whole life.

The other boy spat on the ground. "Let's go," he said. "I don't want to look at him any longer. At least the outside finally reflects the inside. Potter and his fat head." He turned with a swish of his cloak and hurried up the lane, Avery close behind.

James glared as they left, pushing Lisbete's hand away absently, full of loathing for Severus Snape.

---

February 14th, 1976

After agreeing to go to the Gryffindor fundraiser dance together, going to a soiree at the Slug Club wasn't that big a deal, so they met outside the Great Hall and headed down into the dungeons together. For the record, Glen coined the phrase 'soiree at the Slug Club', and was very proud of its ownership. Lily let him have it.

Students swarmed the dungeons, many of them dressed up, though Lily knew most weren't part of the Slug Club. No, it seemed that Professor Slughorn had decorated the corridor outside his office - fluffy clouds drifted above their heads, in shades of pink and purple and orange that suggested a brilliant sunset; a rich purple carpet ran the length of the walkway; flowers climbed the walls like ivy, pink lilies and purple petunias (ha, Lily thought), tulips and roses and peonies – and the couples stumbling in from Hogsmeade wanted to take advantage of the amorous atmosphere. Lily was very thankful she wasn't patrolling tonight. She and Marcus had, once more, taken the general Gryffindor patrol through the day (Alice and Frank never patrolled on Hogsmeade weekends, and said they'd earned their right to have it off; Laura had a date; Remus, no doubt, was failing to reign in James and Sirius and Peter), and Lily'd had enough walking-in on people to last a lifetime. And that was in the middle of the day. Why were storage cupboards the place of choice? There'd been several with spiders crawling around only inches above their heads. She couldn't imagine being nice and relaxed with that going on.

They reached the door of Slughorn's office. Glen knocked before Lily had the chance. He smiled at her. She returned it. He'd dressed well, in flowing robes of royal blue with a slashed neckline that revealed a handsome black turtleneck beneath.

"Thank you, once more, for coming with me," he said warmly.

"It's not a problem," she said. "I'd be coming anyways. It's only more fun when you have a designated person to stand next to." Lily grinned.

The door swung open, revealing a black-attired waiter-sort. The skinny man gave them a toothy smile.

"Guests of Professor Slughorn's?" He let them in. At once, the excesses of the room dwarfed the efforts in the corridor. Gauzy curtains shimmered by the walls, creating quiet pockets for private conversations. A crystal chandelier – with each crystal in the shape of a heart – glimmered from the ceiling, bathing them in a rosy haze of light. Rich velvet tablecloths covered round tables scattered around for the guests in need of seats – older wizards and witches who were friends or former colleagues of Professor Slughorn's. A quartet of wizards played string instruments in the corner, upon a vivid rug. Waiters carried trays of delectable hors d'oeuvres, many of which Lily could not identify. They also carried glasses of sparkling gold champagne, of which Glen took two. He offered one to Lily. She took it, if only to have something to do with her hands.

"Should we say 'hello'?" Lily said, as Glen sipped his drink.

"Let's," Glen agreed. They found Professor Slughorn at a table with several others, talking animatedly. Lily and Glen approached, and he stopped midway through a sentence to regard them.

"Oho! Lily, Glen, you made it!" His bushy moustache tickled the top of his smile. He gestured widely to them. "These here are two fifth-year prefects, very intelligent indeed. Miss Lily Evans – she's one of the best in her year at Potions, yes, yes, she impresses me every lesson!" Only one of the wizards at the table looked up. One tapped a jar on the table that contained a fairy. The fairy shook its wings. "And Mr Glen Vane – he does very well in History of Magic, indeed, and in his Study of Ancient Runes – you may know of his mother, the Head of the Floo Network Authority? Eleanor Vane?" Glen beamed at the mention of his mother.

"Yes, she -"

"Eleanor Vane?" A strong-jawed man with sleek dark hair – the only one who had looked up - asked this question, narrowing his eyes. He sat opposite Slughorn around the circular table, and looked to be nearing sixty, at Lily's best guess. He held tightly the hand of a much younger woman, who smiled as if parting her lips would allow her life to flee from her. "Philpott, wasn't she? Before she married that muggle-born." He sneered. Lily hated him at once. It was obvious that if he'd been in the privacy of his own home, he would've used a very different word to describe Glen's father.

Glen's gaze dropped. "Er – yes – Mother was a Philpott, before…"

"And she's been working for a few years, has she not?" The man continued. "How old are you? Fifteen? You couldn't have been at Hogwarts when she started again at the Ministry. There's something about witches who work…" He closed his hand around that of – Lily assumed – his wife's, whose eyes boggled and whose face drained of colour. "I could never allow it, personally, but I suppose when a man is…lacking, someone has to take the reins." Professor Slughorn smiled awkwardly. Glen gave a little nod and swallowed. Lily inhaled.

"I think more witches should work," she said. Heads turned towards her. She lifted her chin, straightening up. "If they can improve things for their families by working, why shouldn't they? And it's not as though having children ruins their magic somehow. Or maybe they want something to do all day."

"Ah, Lily," Professor Slughorn said, and she had no doubt he was trying to quell her. "I'm certain that any husband of yours would let you work, goodness knows you're a very talented witch." He chortled, and some of the others joined in. "Who'd argue with you about it, eh?" Lily knew this bit, too: what a spirited young girl. She looked contemplative. Then she locked eyes with the dark-haired man.

"I imagine you'd be willing to try, sir," she said. The other men at the table laughed. The man stared at her, lip curling.

"Oh, be careful!" A wizard in a tall silver hat said, waving his ringed hand at Lily. "He'll be after you next, girl, he loves a challenge!" The men laughed louder. A stripe of heat brushed Lily's cheeks. The man's wife sunk lower in her chair, looking as if she wanted to die. Professor Slughorn turned round in his chair to look Lily and Glen in the eyes.

"Thank you for saying 'hello'," he said. "Enjoy your evening."

"You too," Lily said.

"Thank you, Professor, you as well."

Lily and Glen left Professor Slughorn and his table of notables, and Lily walked blindly until she found two empty seats near the edge of the room. She sat in one. Glen took the other. She knew Professor Slughorn was unhappy with them; he had not introduced his friends to them. To her surprise, she barely cared. She was angry and disgusted by the dark-haired man, and embarrassment tinged her thoughts – she felt dirty at the implication of what the wizard in the hat had said – but she did not feel bad about what she'd done. She leaned her head back against the wall.

"I'm sorry," she said, eyes turning to Glen, "for what he said about your mum. I think it's awesome that she's the Head of the Floo Network Authority. She must be clever."

"She is," Glen said, meeting her gaze. His face drooped. He looked like a puppy that had been kicked. Lily couldn't help it. She reached her hand out to him, and he took it. His hands were gentle around hers. He cleared his throat and drank more champagne. Lily twirled her glass of champagne between the fingers of her other hand. It fizzed gently.

"Do you want to get out of here?" she asked, after a long moment. He frowned.

"We just got here," Glen said. Lily shrugged with one shoulder.

"We've been to these before. And I'm mad at Slughorn now, for inviting those knobs." She had the urge to give her Potions professor a good kick, if she was perfectly honest. But he was just old: he didn't think about those sort of things.

"Where would we go?" Glen asked. Lily squeezed his hand and grinned, getting to her feet.

"You'll see."

Fifteen minutes later, they stood shivering on the bank of the Black Lake, the starry sky streaked with grey clouds. Lily tucked her wand in her fringed purse after casting the Warming Charm on them both.

"I feel ungentlemanly," Glen confessed, fixing the collar of his blue robes. "I should have cast the charm."

"No, it's fine," Lily said. "Here, you can dry the ground. Or conjure a picnic blanket, if you like." He chuckled.

"We haven't learned that yet," he pointed out, pointing his wand at the grass beneath them. Once dry, the two of them sat down. He gave her an anxious look. "Do you want to sit on my cloak?" he said. She eyed it. It was very nice, the same shade as his robes and spangled with gold embroidery. She would've wagered that it cost as much as her whole outfit, dress and shoes and jewellery all.

"That's alright," she said. "I don't want to ruin it. I don't mind a bit of grass."

"Oh. Thank you." He kept it on. They sat side-by-side, overlooking the water, knees bent. Lily wore an altered dress that had been her mother's once; she'd packed it especially for Slughorn's formal parties, as she didn't own any very fancy dresses. The baby blue skirt was ridiculously wide, despite her attempts to slim it down; of everything she'd tried to do to it, she'd only succeeded at bringing the waist an inch or so higher. She felt a bit stupid in it. It would've better suited Petunia; she had the long thin frame and sapphire eyes to pull it off. She shuffled on her bum, tugging the skirt down where its layers tangled around her thighs.

The water rippled as something moved beneath, and the reeds swayed gently, in time to music they couldn't hear. A few windows of the castle shone with yellow candlelight; their reflections glittered on the water. Lily suspected it was somewhere close to freezing; the tips of her fingers grew number with every moment. But she did not want to be inside. The night was velvet and beautiful, and here they could breathe. Nobody else was foolhardy enough to venture onto the grounds tonight.

"Do you and your mum get on?" Lily asked, plucking an icy blade of grass. Glen looked surprised at the question.

"Yes," he said, after a moment. "She has high expectations of me, of course, but I like that. I like having something to strive for." He patted his hair. It was funny, she thought. He, like Potter, was mental about his hair, but he did everything he could do to keep it perfectly in place, something which Potter actively detested and fought. He caught her eye and smiled. "What about you?"

"We get on," Lily said automatically. It was true – they only ever fought when her mum tried to tell her to go easy on Petunia. "I guess I don't see much of her, being at school like this. She can't just pop into Hogsmeade or anything, and the post takes longer because she doesn't have an owl. I don't have one either. I just can't get my head around it. I'd like a cat," she confessed. "But I don't know where I'd get the money to feed it and take care of it and everything."

"Wouldn't your parents pay for it all?" Glen frowned. Despite the cool air, a heat crept into Lily's face. She looked away.

"I don't know. Maybe." No. Pets were a luxury. They'd think she was barking. Lily went to dig her heel against the grass but stopped; these were good shoes. She'd have enough of a time cleaning up her dress. "I wish Hogwarts had a telephone. Or that Hogsmeade did. I know it's magic and all but with the amount of muggle-borns, they should do something." Glen laughed. Lily exhaled a half-hearted chuckle. "I'm serious."

"My grandparents have one of those," Glen said. "My father's parents, I mean. I can't see the point in it, myself. Say you organise an event, what if you can't remember the details?"

"You scribble it on a bit of paper while you're talking," Lily answered.

"Yes, but what if you say the wrong thing? You don't have the time to get it right."

"How do you talk to anyone, then? It's just like having a conversation. It's…what's the word? True to yourself – authentic!" She leaned back on her hands. "Do you really think writing letters is better than actually talking?"

"Sometimes," Glen said. "I wouldn't like my school letter to come on the tellofun. Professor McGonagall only has to write one letter and duplicate it and change the names when she sends it out over the summer, imagine if she had to talk on the tellofun each and every student? And you wouldn't have a ready-made shopping list, either." Lily shook her head in disbelief.

"Wizards," she said.

He laughed again, sort of awkwardly, and then he reached out and put his hand on top of her left one.

"You look beautiful tonight, Lily," he said, his voice deeper than before. Now she did laugh properly.

"Thanks," she said, picking at her dress. "It's only, you know, twenty years old and out of date."

"It doesn't look out of date," Glen said.

"Well, it is. It was my mum's."

"It looks just as nice as it would if it was new." He lifted her hand from the ground and shifted his weight towards her. She looked at him, curling a bit of plucked grass around her finger. "Lily," he said, very seriously. "Thank you for coming with me tonight. I really like you." He took her other hand and the bit of grass fell onto her dress. She tried to speak, but the sound died in her throat. "I've liked you for a long time. Since October." He leaned forward, and Lily watched as he pressed his lips against hers. They were warm, and he was gentle, but her eyes stayed wide open as their noses bumped. He pulled back and looked up at her, smiling dreamily.

"Glen," she said, taking advantage of his loosened grip to pull her hands from his. Her heart beat very fast. Honestly, she hadn't known how she would feel until the deed was done. She did like him: he made good marks, he was kind, he had good manners. But nothing sparked. Nothing kindled in her stomach. Part of her, almost, had hoped she might feel a flutter. On paper, he was perfect. Taller than her (a little), with muggle ancestry of his own, in the Slug Club, a fellow prefect, someone who valued her opinions and thought of her. She had no good reason not to like him.

But she felt nothing.

And he is good-looking, she thought. He's never underdressed. What will I wear if I go on a date with him? And he's clever and he'll expect me to be clever too, and my marks are fine but they might not always be, I don't know if the well will run out. And calling him on the telephone over the summer is out of the question. She couldn't imagine introducing him to her friends, or her mother.

"Lily?" He touched her cheek, and she tried not to flinch. "Is something wrong?" She screwed up her courage.

"You're great, Glen," she began. He inhaled sharply and dropped his hand.

"But."

But. But, but, but, he was looking at her with these round, sad eyes, and Lily's resolve faltered. He'd done nothing to wrong her, nothing but try to make her happy, and here she was, accepting his invitations to dinners and dances but not willing to commit.

She felt like a fraud. She wished he'd say something else and complete the sentence for her, or make a joke. But, she knew she wanted an easy way out. She was being a coward.

Her fingers curled inwards.

If he wasn't so earnest – if he was more like Potter, who'd ask with a twisted grin on his face and would make some little comment just to get under her skin when she batted away his offer, it wouldn't have been so difficult. But Glen was so serious. And, disconcertingly, she felt like she was on the back foot. With Potter, she had the front foot. With most of the boys who'd asked her out over the years – for there had been a surprising number, now that she thought about it – she'd held the power. But, for whatever reason (because she really didn't believe Glen was malicious enough to engineer It), here she felt like she'd taken a wrong turn. He had the pleading eyes, but not the – and she knew it was horrible to think, but it was true – patheticness.

"I don't want to rule anything out," she said eventually. "You're my friend. You've been my boyfriend before, and even though that didn't work out, I'm willing to bet that being twelve had a lot to do with that." Lily had to be honest with him. Lies came to her easily – a dozen of them – but she felt that she owed him the truth. "I want to go to the fundraiser with you. I want us to be friends. And I mean that, I'm not just saying it to let you down easy…" There were a few obvious retorts available to him, but he used none, so she pressed on. "I don't know if I want something more. I don't know if there's…something more to want, you know?"

Finally, Glen spoke. Thank God. "There's a relationship," he supplied.

"Yes," Lily allowed. "It's more, sort of…" She looked at him. "When you kissed me," she said. "Did it feel – electric?" Was that very up herself to ask?

"Pardon?" he said, nonplussed. She sighed and tried to think of a better word.

"Did you feel like you were on fire? Like something clicked into place? Like the world made sense?" she asked, pulling directly from the awful romance books Petunia liked. Lily couldn't understand how Petunia read all those stories about dukes and soldiers and dashing heroes and still settled for Vernon Dursley. He had the car and the suits of the businessmen in the books, but not the manners or the good heart.

Lily sometimes got very bored over the summer. She'd never meant to read fourteen of them.

Glen adjusted the lapels of his robes. "I like you," he said. "I liked kissing you. It did feel right."

Something like disappointment pulled at her stomach.

"I like being your friend, too," he said, smiling softly. "I do. I like talking with you, and you're the only girl I know that would run out on one of Slughorn's parties."

"I doubt that," Lily said, and Glen frowned. "No, think about it. If you don't like talking to old people and aren't trying to make connections, you're probably better off walking around the upper floors until you hear music. Slughorn's parties are just by Slughorn the Professor for Slughorn the Student. I mean, they're useful," she continued, "and they're interesting, you get to meet all sorts of people, but I think there's plenty of girls that would rather do something else." Glen considered this.

"Maybe, but they don't attend in the first place."

"Well, I wish I had their backbone. But I can't stand to see that disappointed look in Slughorn's eyes the Monday after."

They stayed out by the lake a while longer, talking about their teachers and their shared fear of disappointing Professor McGonagall and wasn't it interesting how the houses got paired together for subjects? Why did they have Charms together this year but not last year? How did they decide that? Did they think about how the cohorts would work together, or did they just shoot sparks and see where they landed? To Glen's credit, Lily was laughing hard by the time they stood and headed back to the castle. They made it through the Entrance Hall and all the way to the East Wing undetected.

"I'm sure Gamp and Harkiss are too busy preventing teenage pregnancy to worry about us innocently being out and about after curfew," Lily said as they rounded a corner. Glen chuckled.

"I say, if you need intervention to prevent it, you ought not to be doing what you're doing in the first place," he said. "I don't understand how people can be so stupid, so careless. I suppose we're lucky here at Hogwarts that we don't have more of it."

"Mm," Lily said. "I think that whole thing is why all the boarding schools in the muggle world are same-sex only. Girls' schools or boys' schools."

"Well, that makes sense, I suppose," Glen said. "But people ought to use their own common sense instead of needing someone else to stop it from happening." Lily thought of Sue.

"People get caught up in the moment," she said. "I mean, you can lose your head for thirty seconds, and then it's done and everyone will think you're a stupid slag forever. Mistakes happen." She didn't like to think anything you did at fifteen defined you forever. Maybe it did, if you kept on acting that way, if you never grew up, but she dreaded fifty years of adulthood if everyone behaved the way they did now.

Glen stopped and opened his mouth, perhaps to elaborate, but what else he was going to say Lily never found out, because a pair of footsteps interrupted them. Glen blanched.

"What was that?" he demanded.

"I don't know. Probably just a couple looking for a deserted corridor." She tugged at his wrist, consciously avoiding his hand so her action could not be misconstrued. "Come on, we're not far from the stairs. You've got a fair walk to your common room."

Then the footsteps drew so close that meeting their owners was imminent. Lily flung herself behind the nearest statue and Glen followed her, which she rather thought threatened to blow her cover. She inhaled deeply and tried to stay as still as possible. With any luck, it'd be a pair of lovebirds too engrossed in gazing into one another's eyes to take a look around the place.

"Lily?"

Crap.

In the light of the torches stood Alice Rhysfield, fingers intertwined with Frank Longbottom's. She wore a nice, if rumpled, cream dress, and looked directly at the statue.

"Why are you hiding behind Walter the Wile-fallen?" she frowned. Lily stepped out and around the statue's bent elbow, grimacing.

"Walter the Wile-fallen?" she repeated. "What sort of a name is that?"

"He was very taken in by feminine wiles," Frank explained, looking dazed. Lily raised her eyebrows significantly. Alice narrowed her eyes.

"Where have you been, anyway? And – Vane? What are you doing here?" Over her shoulder, Lily saw Glen step out, smoothing down his robes, which only served to make them look far more suspicious than they actually were.

"At Slughorn's party," Lily answered. Alice's eyebrows rose sharply and fell. Her lips pursed.

"I bet that was fun," she said. Lily chuckled awkwardly. Alice and Frank had once been part of the Slug Club – that had been how Lily first came to know of them, before they were made prefects. It was only in Lily's second year that they left. They had been at a dinner – it might've been the Valentine's one, Lily couldn't remember exactly – eating dessert, and Professor Slughorn made a joke about weight, ostensibly referring to himself but with his eyes on Alice. At that time, Alice had been bigger than she was now, and not half as willing to bite back (these days, anyone remarking on her weight would have their own confidence destroyed in less than twenty seconds; Lily had seen it happen). Alice had said nothing for the rest of the dinner, but she never came back, and neither did Frank. Lily had stayed; at the time, she'd hardly known them, or understood the gravity of the remark, and now that she did and she did, it seemed a bit late to quit on the basis of a remark made three years prior that Slughorn probably didn't remember.

"We left early," she explained. Alice gave her a curious look. Lily shook her head ever so slightly.

"Good choice," Alice said instead. Glen shifted. Stop acting like we did something wrong, she thought desperately. Yes, they were out after curfew, but so was everyone tonight. If he kept acting like his pants were on fire, then it'd be impossible for Alice and Frank to ignore.

Lily jabbed her thumb in the vague direction of the stairs. "It's late," she said, and made sure to yawn. "Glen was just walking me to the Fat Lady. I think I might turn in." Alice nodded.

"Alright, then. Goodnight, Lily. Night, Vane."

"Night," said Frank.

"Goodnight," Lily bid them, and Glen did too. Alice and Frank continued towards an abandoned alcove, and Lily hurried out into the adjoining corridor, more than willing to give them privacy. Glen followed close on her heels, breathing raggedly.

"I'm surprised she didn't take points," he said, as they headed up the final flight of stairs towards the East Tower. "I was certain she would."

"She's only Alice," Lily said. "She's not evil."

"She's Head Girl."

"That doesn't make her evil."

"No, but it means that she should've taken points." They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, who wore a garland of pink hearts and giggled. Lily exhaled slowly, not especially looking forward to climbing through the portrait hole in such a ridiculously wide dress. It had not been fun leaving either. She chewed her lip.

"Glen," she started. "Thank you for tonight. I mean it. It's been fun. Thank you for coming to the lake with me. Otherwise we'd still be stuck down in the dungeons, probably talking to some hundred-and-ten-year-old wizard with hip problems."

"No, thank you," he said. "I enjoyed it a lot." There was a wistful glint in his eyes. Lily swayed as a long moment passed.

"Alright," she said, eventually. "Close your ears. I need to give her the password." Glen obeyed, and Lily said, "Philautia."

"Very important, dear," the Fat Lady said, and she swung forward to reveal the portrait hole.

"Goodnight," Glen said, voice wavering. For a moment, Lily wasn't sure if he had something else to say. If he did, he kept quiet.

"Goodnight, Glen," she said, and smiled mischievously. "Don't get caught on the way back. Alice doesn't like you as much as she likes me." He paled.

"Pardon?"

But she waved at him and climbed through the hole, grinning even when her skirt got caught. She'd had worse nights.

---

February 15th, 1976

"Why should we have to lose – our heritage, our traditions, our ways of life – to appease a minority who think they own the place? Who believe that their every whim should be catered to, just because of their birth? We are left to flounder – resourceless, fighting amongst ourselves for the positions left after they've had their choice pick. We are given none of the affordances they are. We do not get guided tours of Gringotts, or special meetings with teachers, or jobs marked specifically for our kind. We do not have campaigns to ensure people treat us in a special way. We do not have an entire subject at Hogwarts dedicated to our history and our lifestyles. That is why it is essential, now more than ever, that we call it what it is: oppression."

Severus joined the others in clapping, though he was very half-hearted. Mulciber lowered the parchment he'd read from and gave a short bow.

"This is well done, Wilkes," he said, leaving from the front and centre of the dungeon to take his seat once more. As he passed Wilkes by, he returned the drafted article.

"I'm not going to submit it everywhere, of course," Wilkes said. "You know what some of them are like, they won't publish anything that might offend the muggle-borns," and, though he did not use the other word, Severus did not believe the derisiveness in his tone made the appropriate word any better, "but nevertheless, there are six or seven that might be amenable to printing it, if my writing is up to standards. Much smaller papers, of course, but if interest can be drummed up…"

They handed the copy around while Mulciber continued, making general conversation. Severus bristled. Often it felt as if more time was spent exchanging gossip than doing anything of use. Selwyn launched into a tirade about his father's recent business deal, and Yaxley asked Regulus Black about his cousin's wedding. Severus closed his eyes and mentally reviewed the last thing he'd read in his spell-creation book. He itched to be back in the privacy of his dormitory, pouring over his notes. The incantation seemed likely to work – he had reviewed it several times, broken it down and reconstructed it using arithmancy. The wand movements, too, seemed to fit. It was only a matter of testing it. Despite the cool of the dungeons, his robes felt stifling.

Mulciber gave another 'rousing' speech – with each meeting, Severus grew more certain that he simply liked the sound of his own voice – and once more emphasised the importance of their work.

"You have to understand," he said, finally. "If we don't do this, nobody will. This school is run by people who think we're the scum of the earth, who think we deserve nothing. This – this – academic institute, it's a pillar of wizarding society, and if it falls, if it caves into these absurd demands by the mudbloods, that they should be here, that they should simply be permitted to do whatever they like and get special treatment, then that's how the rest of the world is going to be. And look at what Wilkes is doing – he's showing the world that no, we aren't going to lie down and take this. We are going to fight for the vision we want. And yes, for now, we're trapped in the confines of the school, but if we can make a change here, we're going to be worth a lot more to – him – when we leave." His face blazed with righteous anger. "We all have a reason that we want this. We've all had something taken from us. And we're going to get it back."

On that note, they adjourned.

Severus slipped out in the second group. Mulciber, Yaxley, and Selwyn were convinced that the staff were paying closer attention to their 'revision group', and so thought it would be better if they did not all leave at once. The others headed to the common room, so Severus did not, but he exhaled angrily as he passed them by. Now he could not retrieve his book. Selfish, inconsiderate…he fumed all the way to the library, where he took a table at the back and pulled out his Defence homework (which he had supposedly just been doing with Mulciber and Jugson's help). His eyes began to search for her, as customary, but he forced them onto the empty parchment. Even if she's here, what will you do? What will you say? There is nothing to say.

Frustratingly soon, Raimund Rosier arrived and sat in the chair opposite. Severus clenched his jaw and did not look up, scribbling harder.

"Is that Forcier's essay?" Raimund asked, pulling out his quill and a pot of ink. "I don't understand why we have to know how counter-jinxes are created. What purpose does it serve?"

Severus thought it very interesting, and his limited respect for Forcier had improved slightly in light of the essay's topic.

"What if you're in a situation where you don't know the counter-jinx?" Severus said. "If you can work backwards, knowing the jinx and knowing how a counter-jinx is created, you might just stumble upon the answer. Besides, the importance of magical theory can't be underestimated."

"Magical theory," Raimund repeated disdainfully. "I don't care how or why it works, so long as it does."

What an idiot, Severus thought.

Fortunately, Raimund acquiesced to working in silence for a time, in which Severus completed half his essay (though he thought the introduction could rather use editing). Unfortunately, he decided to break this silence after only forty-five minutes.

Severus considered trying his new spell now, even without the notes at hand.

"Mulciber's right," Raimund said, quite without preamble. Severus did not think this especially remarkable.

"Yes," he said, and returned to his essay.

"They've no right to demand special treatment. We have to stick together, us purebloods…half-bloods." Severus felt Raimund's eyes on him. He looked up slowly, keeping his mouth very straight, not reacting to the last word. After all, there was no reason for him to – anyone who listened to Lucius Malfoy (including Raimund Rosier, certainly) knew that Severus was the last of a small but pure family with a tendency to seclude themselves up north.

"You know," Raimund continued, after a pregnant pause, "I worry about Mulciber's choice of who to admit into our…revision sessions. Of course, I understand he wants to find support for the cause, but some of the people he's going to…we could be a bit more selective, don't you think? Chuck out the chaff and keep the wheat." A creative spin on the phrase indeed, though Severus did not believe it was intentional.

"You are not fond of Mulciber's admittance process?" Severus asked. Apparently, there was a process, though what went on in Mulciber's brain he could not say. Nothing outstanding.

"I don't like it," Raimund said, glowering. "It bloats us with fools, and it gives the wrong impression, to others and to ourselves. Take my idiot brother. He thinks I haven't noticed him sneaking around with that Crabbe girl. Father would skin him if he knew."

"Are the Crabbes not pureblood?" Severus asked steadily, turning a page.

"They are, but they're not one of us. They're common," he said. Severus wondered what Raimund truly thought of him. You may have the pedigree, Severus thought scathingly, but I best you in every subject. I will be useful, I will do things, one day, and you will be a fat housecat with ignorant children, incontinence, and a wand that does not respect you. "But Alfreck thinks it's fine because Angus Goyle comes to meetings with us."

"Goyle?" Severus raised a sceptical eyebrow. "What's he to do with the Crabbes?"

"Their families are intertwined," Raimund said. "A Crabbe's a Goyle and a Goyle's a Crabbe." He shook his head. "I ought to have a word with Mulciber about it. I should."

But he did not leave to have that word, so evidently, it wasn't of very much importance. Severus finished his essay, revised the first paragraph, dried the ink magically, and headed down to his dormitory, where he exchanged his school supplies for his spell-making notes. After some perusal, he knew what he needed to do. He grabbed his cloak and headed out to the grounds, starting for the Black Lake before drawing short. The water sparkled in the distance, and the sunset smeared bloody across the mountaintops, threatening night. His chest hurt. He turned sharply, instead searching for the Whomping Willow.

Valentine's Day, as expected, was a long, miserable day entirely too punctuated by lavish displays of affection. The sole highlight had been seeing that bastard Potter get hexed in an alleyway, but even that had not carried Severus' spirits high enough to cushion the evening's blow. He had found respite neither in the dormitory (where he was sorely tempted to teach Avery the Muffliato Charm) nor in the common room (Padgett and his girl of the week were busy on the couch, boldly endeavouring to become the first people to get their entire faces in another person's mouth), nor in the corridors (where Jugson looked ready to beat him if he continued lurking), so he ventured forth, as he did this afternoon, onto the grounds. He, similarly, went to the lake; it reminded him of home, as loathe as he was to admit it. But it was not home as in the place he shared with his gormless sire; home as in Lily, as in summers by the river, pretending it didn't reek, practising magic and asking questions only askable when your back laid against the grass and your eyes were on the plumes of smoke from the factories rather than the other person.

She'd obviously had the same idea, about going to the banks of the lake. He'd assumed she'd be at Slughorn's – he had been invited, too, but he coughed so much through their Potions lesson on Friday that Slughorn insisted he rest over the weekend, just as Severus had wanted.

Then, as now, he'd turned away, ignoring the burning in his lungs. Instead of returning to the castle, however, to stalk the upper corridors, he crossed the grounds, striding without purpose past the greenhouses in the direction of the Whomping Willow. He wanted to curse something. He wanted to storm up to the Gryffindor common room, tear open the portrait, use his new spell on James Potter and then tear him limb from limb. Blind fury seared through his veins.

Lily had kissed someone else.

She hadn't ever mentioned somebody to him, she had not said that she had a boyfriend. It had to be a secret, for otherwise, Severus would've certainly heard by now. The news would not have made it – nineteen hours? Nearly? – without reaching the Slytherin table. In the dark, Severus had not recognised the boy. He had brown hair. No glasses. At breakfast, he searched, but found her sitting with only McKinnon and Macdonald. No boys.

Severus stopped short, thoughts lost to disbelief. Though a breeze curled his cloak, though the leaves of the trees in the Forbidden Forest rippled, though someone's toad hopped through the grass, the Whomping Willow stood completely and utterly still, branches aloft. Stranger still, two figures walked directly towards it, the shorter one in white robes and the taller in school uniform.

Severus broke from his shock and hurried down the hillside. His heart pumped. As he drew closer, he saw that the one in white was a woman – Madam Pomfrey. The taller hunched, hiding his face. Then he dropped to his knees and put a hand on the trunk of the tree. Madam Pomfrey looked around and Severus threw himself to the ground. He was certain he would have bruises. But he had the feeling that whatever this was, he was not meant to see it. She returned her attention to the tree and Severus pushed himself up into a crouch. The boy turned his head slightly before disappearing, somehow, into the tree. Severus' heart almost stopped.

He knew the boy. The boy was Remus Lupin.

Madam Pomfrey got on all fours and followed him inside.

The moment they disappeared, Severus launched to his feet and sprinted down the hill, robes and cloak billowing behind him. He could get in. He could find out just where it was that Remus Lupin went every month, and finally – finally – have an ounce of proof. His mind roared with possibilities, but he did not have time to dwell on them. The Willow shuddered, and the ends of the branches began to sway. It was waking up. He was only a few hundred feet away. His legs burned, his muscles threatened to seize up. He ran as he never had before. He had to know – he had to know. And he was so close. Two hundred feet. The Willow lazily waved a branch. He rasped for breath. His lungs screamed. A hundred feet. He could not see the opening in the trunk. Perhaps it was like the entrances to the common rooms? Was there a password? A question? A rhythm to tap? He would figure it out. Fifty feet. Only a little further – if he reached out, if he could get there sooner, perhaps he would be able to hear them –

SMACK!

He flew. Or possibly hurtled. Either way, he was in the air, weightless, and then the second impact came.

Darkness swallowed him.

He woke to the purple sky strangling the last rays of sunlight. Madam Pomfrey stood above him.

"Thank goodness," she said, bending over him. "Can you see me? Can you hear me, dear?"

Ice-hot pain flashed through his skull. He groaned and tried to push himself up. She grabbed at his arms and helped him to sit. Severus looked past her, but nobody else was with them. The grounds were empty, save for the Whomping Willow swiping at passing birds.

"Where is he?" Severus demanded. "Where's he gone?"

"Who?" Madam Pomfrey asked, frowning. "Was there someone with you?" He shook his head and gasped; it hurt, it hurt, he could not think clearly…

"I -"

"You've hit your head very hard," she interrupted him. "It was fortunate I came across you. I was tending to the Willow – a favour to Professor Sprout, you see…" Liar, Severus thought. It was evident from the sky that some time had passed. "We need to get you to the hospital wing. How are your legs? Are you able to walk?" She pulled out her wand and performed a diagnostic spell. The pain worsened; Severus groaned again and tilted his head back, but that hurt too.

"I can walk," he managed, trying his hardest not to scream. He could not bear the indignity of being carried on a stretcher. It would be ridiculous: if the story got out as it was now, people would think he was an idiot for approaching the Whomping Willow. Unless he could explain…

Madam Pomfrey hoisted him up, and they began an agonisingly slow walk towards the castle. He glanced back across the grounds. Night reigned completely, and there was no sign of Remus Lupin. He had vanished. Severus had been so close, and he had lost him. He had lost his chance to prove, once and for all, that something was quite wrong with him, that Severus had seen the pattern all along, that he had known. It was enough to make him sick.

But not all was lost. Because, when Severus looked up, the silvery moon was full.