It Only Takes A Drop of Blood
Chapter 2: The Appointment
Harry stirred as the dawn light hit his face. He blearily blinked, wiped the gummy crust from his eyes and sat up. He opened his mouth wide and yawned, stretching. His arms came down softly and a smile graced his face. It had been the best night's sleep he had had for as long as he could remember. He felt relaxed and his back didn't hurt terribly.
Tousling his hair, Harry made his way to the shower and quickly freshened up. After towelling his crow's nest dry, he pulled out a shirt and trousers from his wardrobe. Harry pulled them on and his eyes fell on the trunk.
He got down on his knees and pulled it out of the wardrobe. Harry put his wand into the eleven-inch crevice and lifted the lid. The rusty hinges creaked and the teen winced, wishing that the trunk would be quieter.
First, Harry pulled out his parents' rings and fingered the cold metal reverently. They were polished a smooth gold and gleamed softly in the daylight. The bigger ring, obviously his father's, could easily fit on Harry's own ring finger. His mother's ring was dainty and smaller; it could barely slide around his large fingers.
Harry set them aside carefully and lifted the grey wand out of the trunk. He wondered why there was only one and not two. The wand was well polished and taken care of. Harry also put that to the side and took out the stack of parchment. He removed the twine and picked up the first one. It was a letter.
Harry opened the parchment with shaking hands and fingered the elegantly scrawled script. The letter was dated 24 October 1981. A week before his parents died.
Harry,
I assume, if you are reading this that I died when you were very young. I know that you probably think of Sirius as your dad, and I don't blame you for that. He is my brother and I trust him to raise you well.
You are likely seventeen by now. An adult. I can't believe how you've grown, Harry. I still remember the day you were born… your hand was about the size of a sickle. I'm writing this letter by your cot and you are sucking on a dummy; your hand is much bigger now!
I know you are wondering why I chose to leave this trunk at your Aunt Petunia's of all places. Well, I knew it would be safe. No one really knows that your mother even had a sister, let alone such a horrid Muggle as Petunia Dursley. I suppose I shouldn't bad-mouth your aunt, but she really is… well, you've met her, so I don't have to explain, do I?
In this trunk, I've enclosed letters for you, your mother's diaries, her wand and our wedding rings. If I died when you were very young, there is probably something you don't know about your mother, because I never had a chance to tell you. Not to worry, it's all in this trunk.
And please, when you find out the truth, tell Sirius. I know he won't want to hear it at first, but it's important that he knows.
Harry, I love you so incredibly much. I wish I were there to see you grow up and become a man, and I know your mother feels the same way. I hope and pray that we make it through this war with each other, but I know in my heart that our chances are slim.
I know that you are a wonderful person and that you have and will make me proud every single day, just because you are Harry and you are my son.
Be true to yourself and be true to your heart. I want you to have a good and long life. Go to school, get a job and a girl, have a family; and most of all, be happy.
I have never been as blessed or as proud as the day I first held you in my arms.
I love you son,
Dad
Harry smoothed down the corners of the letter and his fingers trembled. He couldn't put it down. Harry fixed his fogging glasses, blinked furiously and tied the bundle together again. He wanted to read more, but he had to leave for the bus soon.
Harry tucked the trunk back into the wardrobe and sighed. He went to the bathroom and washed his face, feeling fresher. And finally, he bounded down the staircase, grabbed food from the kitchen and dashed out the door.
He had to go to the surgery.
The bus trip to the hospital felt like an eternity to the young teen. His fingers twitched nervously and he frequently jumped and fidgeted in his seat. The bus was devoid of life—even the conductor looked half-dead—and Harry felt like he was on a death march.
When the bus rolled to a squeaky stop outside the hospital, Harry got down, his mouth drying out. He nodded shakily to the driver and looked up at the tall building. Never before had it seemed so intimidating.
Swallowing thickly, Harry went inside and took the lift to the fourth floor rather than the sixth. The lift spit him out with two anxious mothers and their crying and shouting children and he trudged to the front desk, like a man heading to the gallows.
The bored receptionist was painting her nails with bright red nail polish and was smacking her chewing gum every few minutes.
"Hello miss," Harry said quietly, leaning over the desk. "I'm here for an appointment with Doctor Watson."
The woman tapped her finger on the paper in front of him. "Sign your name and take a seat. He will be with you momentarily," she droned.
Harry scribbled his name and the date on the line and sat down in a lone chair.
The room was brightly lit and very full of colour. Many children were playing with the toys in the corner, or sitting quietly in their parent's laps. Harry played with his fingers as he waited, unwilling to pick up one of the flashy tabloids next to him. He swallowed nervously and eyed the door.
After what seemed like ages, a nurse came to the door and called out his name. Harry, flattening his fringe all the while, darted past her, and waited until she shut the door. The older woman walked slowly and led him to a weighing scale.
"Remove your shoes first," she reminded in a stern tone. Harry toed off his shoes and climbed up, feeling the slight movement of the pressure pad beneath his feet as he stood there. She moved the dials along the bridge almost too fast for him to read the result but her frown as she wrote the number down was quite clear.
Their next stop was a ruler stuck to the wall. She had him turn around and stand against it, heels touching the baseboards and his shoulders back. The nurse had to flatten his hair a little to get the proper measurement; Harry felt a flush of pride when he looked and saw that he'd grown a little since last year.
The teen then followed her to an empty examination room. The nurse bustled to the side table and unceremoniously stuck a thermometer in his mouth. Harry hastily adjusted the grip and held it with two fingers to keep the glass stick from falling out of place. As he waited, the nurse grabbed a stethoscope and a thick cuff.
She wrapped the cuff around his bicep snugly. A tube hung off it with a rubber ball at the end. Then the cold sensation of her stethoscope pressed into the crook of his elbow. Her other hand grabbed the rubber ball on the cuff and squeezed it. As she squeezed, the cuff expanded and tightened. Soon, the pressure became painful. Just before he could let out a complaint, the damn thing was released and the cloth relaxed.
The nurse ignored him and stared intently at the dial on the cuff. Finally she removed her stethoscope and the blood pressure cuff. She wrote down a few numbers on her clipboard and then took the thermometer from Harry's mouth. She had to tilt the thing into the air and Harry couldn't tell what the reading was from his position. The nurse frowned and wrote another number down.
"Alright, that's it for now," she said abruptly. "Doctor Watson will be with you shortly." And she left him there to wait for the doctor.
Harry's foot tapped nervously and the sound echoed. The room was small and very stark of colour or life. The doctor had one painting put up; it was of a woman drowning in a lake. Harry swallowed through a lump in his throat. He felt flushed and sweaty, twitching with irrepressible energy. His clothes felt uncomfortable against his skin and he watched the clock intently.
At last the door creaked open and a bald man with dark eyes walked in. He was wearing a white coat and carried the clipboard from before. Harry sat up straighter and smiled weakly, although his grin probably looked more like a grimace.
"Hello Harry!" Dr. Watson greeted. "It has been a while since we've seen each other. You've grown a lot."
"Yes, sir," said Harry thickly as he shook the man's hand. He hesitantly added, "I was told by my employer, Dr. Taylor, to come for an exam."
"Oh?" Dr. Watson said, raising an eyebrow. "Well let's just have a look, shall we?" He grabbed his stethoscope and nodded to Harry's chest. "Please remove your shirt Harry."
The teen pulled it over his head, shivering as cool air brushed his now bare chest, and set it to the side. Watson's eyebrows shot up as he saw the unsightly bruises on Harry's arms. The latter ducked his head and blushed in shame, but waited for the doctor to finish his exams.
"Well, your breathing and heart seems to be normal," Watson said, writing on the clipboard. He turned to Harry. "Your blood pressure is low, but still in the normal range. Your temperature, on the other hand, is slightly elevated. My records say that you generally have an average temperature of 36.8 degrees, and yours is currently 37.5."
Harry looked down at his trainers and worried the bottom of his lip. What did that mean? A shadow fell over him and he looked up to see Watson right in front of him, his gloved hands reaching out to Harry's face.
He nearly jumped, but Watson gently placed his hands against Harry's neck. "I'm checking your glands to see if they are swollen," he said calmly. After a moment he stepped back, "There is some swelling there. Did you fall ill recently? Sneezing, sore throat or coughing? Have you been feeling tired?"
Harry shook his head. "I haven't been sleeping well," Harry admitted, "but I haven't felt ill."
Watson nodded, writing that down. "And those bruises. How did you get them?" he asked, touching them carefully.
"I don't know, sir," Harry said. "I didn't notice them until Dr. Taylor pointed it out yesterday. They weren't there the night before."
"Do they hurt?" Watson asked, pressing one.
"No," Harry said, shaking his head.
The doctor hummed speculatively and wrote on his chart. He looked up at Harry. "I'm going to have a nurse draw some blood and check it out, Harry," he said, setting the clipboard aside. "You've eaten today, right?" At Harry's nod, he smiled. "Good. If you don't have any questions, I'll just have someone come by in a few minutes."
Harry shook his head, still stunned by this whole situation.
"Alright," Watson said. "It was good seeing you Harry."
"You too," the teen said as the doctor left.
Harry waited just a minute or two before the same nurse came in wheeling a small tray covered in blue gauze. Laid out on it was a long needle with a plastic piece attached to it and two glass vials. She also had a long rubber piece, a cotton swab and a brown bottle.
Harry swallowed thickly, looking at the needle, and felt more flushed and sweaty as she wrapped the rubber around his arm. The cotton swab was dipped into the bottle and then the nurse wiped the crook of Harry's elbow with it. Harry cleared his throat and drew a shaky breath. He felt inexplicably nervous and terrified.
Harry looked away just before she stuck the needle in his arm. It stung painfully and he felt a tug as the nurse worked around his arm. The rubber was pulled off and soon she had filled her vials and removed the needle. She had Harry put a cotton swab on the wound and close his elbow.
Before too long, Harry had a bandage wrapped around his arm and the vials were stored away. He felt his sore muscles relax a little more and let out a deep breath. The nurse smiled thinly at him gave him a reassuring nod.
"Go to the laboratory on the third floor to get your results tomorrow," she said.
Harry nodded and walked out the door, down the hall and through the door to the waiting room. He trudged to the lift and called for it. He hated hospitals.
The lift chimed and a teenage boy stepped out of the machine. He was dressed in ragged but clean clothes and a hat covered his wild hair and illustrious scar. The he walked with a dejected air, as if all the world's ills were on his shoulders. A breathy sigh escaped his lips as he stood in front of the receptionist.
"Miss?" he said quietly, to get her attention. "I'm here on a recommendation from Dr. Watson."
The red-haired woman looked up at him over her spectacles. "Yes, and whom are you seeing?"
Harry wet his dry lips and gave her the crumpled slip of Muggle paper. "Err… Dr. Taylor."
The results from Harry's blood test had not been positive. That was all he knew.
When he went to the laboratory for his results on Tuesday, the nurse there had given him a piece of Muggle paper and told him to go upstairs to the sixth floor and ask for Dr. Taylor. He had then shooed the teenager off and sent Harry on his merry way.
So now, Harry was sitting on one of those Muggle examining beds, bloody uncomfortable as they were, waiting for Taylor to see him.
The door creaked open and said doctor walked in, absentmindedly looking at the file in his hands, muttering to himself.
Taylor spoke, still not looking up. "My name is Dr. Taylor and I will be your child's attending physician for the duration of our time together." At last he looked up and met Harry's eyes. "Potter?"
"Hello," Harry said with a nod to the man.
He glanced around at the otherwise empty room. "Are you alone?" he asked. "Where are your guardians?"
Harry's stomach dropped. He'd totally forgotten that he'd need his uncle to sign off something like this. At Hogwarts he never needed permission for this sort of thing. "Erm, well, you see, my relatives…they're busy and…"
"This is your health, boy; I can hardly imagine anything more important than that. And besides, I need to meet with your guardians to arrange everything, as you are still very much underage and under their care."
His uncle would never allow him treatment. He'd come up with some bull about not wanting to spend good money on him and Harry would die. He knew it. His mouth went dry at the thought.
He scrambled for something-anything-the doctor would believe. "Well, see they have a lot going on," Harry said, his fingers clenching in his sweaty palms. His eyes were wild and his breathing short. Pressure was building in his ears, "and they said it was fine for you to carry on without them. They know I'm old enough to take care of myself."
Suddenly the pressure cracked and Harry could feel it all just disappear in that moment. At the same time, a dazed, gormless look fell over Taylor's face.
"Yes, yes…" Taylor's voice trailed off as he glanced at nothing. "Quite right. Old enough to take care of yourself." His gaze drifted down to the chart and he wrote something down on it. "Best make a note of that."
He knew in that moment that he'd accidentally cast magic on his doctor. The dazed look, suddenly agreeing with him on a defined legal matter… He'd Confunded a Muggle. Normally he'd feel more than a bit guilty for using magic on a Muggle who didn't deserve it, but considering the circumstances, Harry was willing to simply let it go. The magic had already been done.
"Er, so, what were my results?"
The dazed look started to fade and Taylor shook his head slightly, glancing down at the file. "Right." He put down the file, rested his glasses on top of it and sat on a stool facing Harry. "Do you know why you are here?"
Harry shook his head, leaning forward slightly in his curiousity, even though it put him off balance.
"Your lab results came back with a high white blood cell count. Much higher than normal. Dr. Watson considered your age, the bruises, fever, the labs and the fact that you are grossly underweight, before sending you to me. All of your symptoms could indicate many possible ailments, but the one that predominantly rings out is leukaemia."
Harry swallowed through a lump in his dry throat. He knew that word. He had learned it on his very first day of work. Leukaemia meant cancer. He knew what cancer was.
Taylor looked reassuringly at his patient. "For now, this is only a guess. To make sure, I'm going to order a bone marrow test. We'll place a large needle into your hipbone to collect a sample of the cells there. If that comes out positive, then we'll get a spinal tap test to give me some more information on how to help you," he said with an even tone. "If the test proves false, then you'll probably be moved to a diagnostician, who can find out exactly what's wrong."
Harry nodded shakily and drew in a rattling breath. He felt like there were Dementors surrounding him, freezing his innards. Then suddenly, warm hands chased away the cold presence and brought him to the present. Taylor was looking into his face and talking to him, his hands on Harry's shoulders.
The doctor looked like he was awaiting a response, so Harry nodded blankly.
Taylor could see that his patient and employee was in shock, so he took the boy to his office and served him a cup of tea.
Harry slowly became aware of his surroundings as he sipped the warm liquid clenched between his fists. A blanket covered his shoulders and he felt less of the mounting pressure than before. Taylor was sitting across from him with his own cup of tea.
"Feeling better?" the older man asked with a raised eyebrow. Harry nodded and murmured his thanks. The other shrugged it off. "When you've finished your tea, you are free to go. Get some rest and I'll see you in the morning. Make sure you come on an empty stomach for the bone marrow extraction. You may leave after its completion."
Harry looked up with wide eyes, wondering when he decided this, but after a moment realized that he had agreed to it when he wasn't paying attention. He emptied his cup and put down the blanket. Lost in his thoughts, he trudged back to the lift and called it. He had much to think about tonight.
Harry lay on his back, staring up at the blank ceiling before him. When he had finished washing up from dinner, his aunt had finally let him retire. And while he enjoyed the chance to rest, it meant that he had nothing to occupy him any longer.
He pressed his hands against his temples and groaned.
Cancer! He could hear Ron's voice saying words that would have led to Mrs. Weasley putting soap in his mouth.
Harry smiled weakly as imaginary Hermione scolded imaginary Ron. Hermione. Harry knew what she would say if he told her. She'd go ballistic. She might even start crying!
He didn't know what to do. He had known, since entering Hogwarts, that he might die before reaching majority. But Harry hadn't imagined that he would die like this. And he didn't want to. From being at the hospital, he knew that cancer wasn't a death sentence; but how could an ill Boy-Who-Lived fight against Voldemort?
How could he survive again if he was dying? And if he died, would Voldemort go after his friends? What would happen to them?
Harry swallowed past a lump in his throat. He felt the icy chill again that pierced through his bones and heart. He didn't want to die. He couldn't! Not yet.
Hands shaking, he pushed himself into a sitting position, hearing the bed creak. Feeling the pressure inside of him growing, he shook his head forcefully and tried to think other, happier, thoughts.
Rolling off the bed, Harry stumbled in the dim light to the wardrobe. The trunk soon lay in front of him and he set his wand eagerly into the crevice. First, he took a diary and moved closer to the desk lamp. Its light radiated over his shoulder as he read the scrawling handwriting that was his mother's.
1st September, 1971
My first night at Hogwarts! Severus was right… the castle is beautiful. The ceiling in the Great Hall is charmed to look like the sky outside and tonight we could see all the stars!
When we got off the train, the man shouting for first years took us to the castle. We walked along this path and then got in boats. I was with Severus and two other boys. I was very nervous but then we saw the castle! It looked so pretty with all the lights and everything against the sky. We met Professor McGonagall in the Entrance Hall, and she took us to the Great Hall.
There was a hat on a stool and as the professor read our names, we sat on the stool and a hat sorted us! I got into Gryffindor, which made Severus upset, and he got into Slytherin, just like he wanted. I didn't want to be in Slytherin but I'm also sad that we aren't together anymore. I hope we can still be friends!
Those mean boys from the train are in my house too. Potter and Black, I think their names were. They were so mean to Sev… I hope they don't give him trouble this year.
Golly, it's late! I must get to bed because classes start tomorrow. I can't wait to get started with magic.
Love,
Lily
His mum had been friends with Snape? When had that happened? Harry was shocked. His mother hated his father and was best friends with his hated Potions professor. Would wonders never cease?
His eyes drifted lower, to the bottom of the page. Harry traced the letters of his mother's name and smiled lightly. He wrote his y's the same way she had! He sat there all night, reading through the pages of his mum's diary, feeling comforted, as if she were sitting there next to him.
The morning dawned, showing a very tired Harry Potter. His mind had been restless when he tried to sleep, so he had spent most of the evening reading his mum's diary. All too soon, he found himself doing his chores and preparing breakfast. Once the table was laden with food and his relatives were on their way down, Harry stole out of the house and down to the bus stop.
Harry's stomach rumbled uncomfortably as he watched the sleepy residents of Privet Drive wake up. Most of the neighbours that were awake scowled at him, as if he were causing trouble by walking down the street. Harry rolled his eyes and continued on his way. They were as bad as the Dursleys.
The bus screeched to a stop in front of him just as Harry arrived at the bench. Getting on, he flashed his card to the conductor and found a seat in the middle. The only other person on the vehicle was a man who looked—and smelled—like he hadn't showered in thirty years. Harry sat far away from him and looked out the window. The world around him dulled as he lost himself in his thoughts.
Before long, the bus stopped in front of the hospital. Harry disembarked and walked straight to Taylor's office, where the man was waiting for him.
"Potter," he said in greeting. He shook the boy's hand a tad formally. He looked around the empty room. "Is anyone else joining us?"
Harry shook his head. "No sir," he said. "Just me." He really hoped the Confundus Charm was long-lasting or this could end up getting very messy.
Taylor hesitated a moment before that dazed look from yesterday fell over his features. "Right, yes," he said. "Well, come on then."
Harry let out the breath he'd been holding and followed the doctor out of the office, down the lift and into the theatre. A few people were milling about and all sorts of instruments were set up, including a very large needle. Harry swallowed with an audible gulp. He didn't like needles.
A nurse passed him a hospital gown and told him to change. Harry was soon wearing nothing but the gown and his pants. Taylor then had him lay on his front and pull down his pants so his hips and buttocks were exposed.
Harry pillowed his red face in his arms as the doctor felt with cold hands along the bone in his hips. The hands moved away and he felt something cold and wet touch his skin. He bit his lip in anticipation and felt a light needle prick his skin. He felt a stinging sensation there, but soon that area grew numb.
Taylor moved away again and Harry could just sense the man picking up the large needle. Harry clenched his fists and took a deep breath.
"Relax Potter," Taylor said calmly. Harry let out his breath and tried to think about something other than the very large needle approaching his body.
Suddenly, Harry felt pain flare up in his hip. He tried not to move as Taylor continued his work. He soon felt an uncomfortable pull, a release and then another sharp pressure before the needle was taken out. Harry released a heavy breath in relief. Taylor pressed a cloth on top of his wound and held it there. Harry let his head fall into his hands and breathed deeply. It was over.
Harry grew restless as the minutes ticked by and was relieved when the wound was dressed.
"Alright, go ahead and get dressed Potter," Taylor said from behind him.
When he sat up and glanced over his shoulder, both men had their backs to him. The nurse was packaging something and Taylor was removing his gloves and surgical gown. Harry took off his own gown and put on his clothes, being careful around his dressing. When he turned to look at them, Taylor was waiting for him.
"We should get the results as soon as the lab can process the marrow. Don't get the wound wet for about 24 hours. Then you may change the bandage. If it begins to swell or bleed heavily, call the hospital. If your temperature shoots up, call the hospital. Avoid heavy exercise and activity for 24 hours. You are free to leave and I will see you tomorrow," Taylor said, turning to Harry.
"Right," Harry said, hoping that he remembered all that. "Thanks." He offered a smile to the nurse, who returned it, and Taylor gave him a dismissive nod. Harry took his cue to leave.
When Harry arrived at the Dursley home, all was quiet. He let himself in and found a note in the kitchen.
We have gone out for dinner. Don't touch anything!
Harry snorted. At least he wasn't doing chores. He ate the cold sandwich left out for him and drank a glass of water. After washing up, he trudged upstairs, revelling in the silence.
Gingerly, he lay down on his bed, trying not to jostle his aching wound. He sighed and put his glasses aside. Hedwig was still at Ron's, so he didn't even have her company in the still night. Closing his eyes, he hoped that he would be able to sleep peacefully until morning. He snorted as he started to drift off. He was never that lucky.
Harry was flying through the air, soaring around the Quidditch pitch. He could barely see the stands from his height. A flash of gold darted across his vision and he followed it, reaching out for the ball with wings. But when grabbed for it, the scene changed. His broom was gone and he was on the ground again, in front of a dark manor; one he had seen before.
He picked his way into the dilapidated house and up the stairs, when he found the ground floor empty. The first floor was quiet, but a light shined from underneath a doorway. Harry crouched outside the room and tried to listen for voices.
"Master," a man spoke from inside the gloom. "The prophecy is well guarded. The Unspeakables will not disclose its location."
"Then make them!" Voldemort's high-pitched voice screamed. "Get me that prophecy. And do it quickly Lucius… before I lose my patience."
"Yes, my Lord," Malfoy said hurriedly. "As you wish, my Lord."
"Now… Severus. What news do you have of the old fool and his Order?" the Dark Lord demanded in a silky tone.
The oily voice of Snape rang out from the room. "Dumbledore is gathering Aurors and Ministry workers. He has selected a location for his headquarters and put the Fidelius Charm on it. I am not able to give its position, as he is the Secret Keeper himself. He is moving the Order and Potter's friends to the headquarters within the week," he said.
Harry glared at Snape. His friends would be in danger because of that bastard! He tried to hear more, but the voices dropped to whispers. However, when he moved forward to listen better, a rushing sound filled his ears. Harry woke up in his bed, breathing heavily.
What was the prophecy that Voldemort wanted? And why did Dumbledore trust Snape so much, when he was clearly a traitor?
Looking at the clock, Harry saw that it was still the middle of the night. Sighing, he laid back down, hoping to go back to sleep. He was tired and he just wanted to leave the pain of the last few days behind him.
As the minutes passed, Harry realized that he was wide-awake and he wasn't going to sleep any time soon. So instead of staring at the wall, he pulled out his mum's diary and continued reading.
The flashlight in his hand illuminated the pages filled with his mother's script.
7th January, 1975
That blasted James Potter asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him again! How many times do I need to reject him before he takes a hint?
Black, Potter, Lupin and Pettigrew turned Severus into a pink partridge yet again over the holidays. I tried to console him, but he just scowled at me. And really, what can I say when those pompous, arrogant, bestial Marauders won't leave him alone!
I finished the last of my homework last night, so I was able to spend the entire day with Severus by the lake. We had such fun! I was able to make him laugh. He hasn't done that since before third year.
I fear that he is settling in with the wrong crowd. How can he not, being surrounded by that lot every day? I hope he does not choose You-Know-Who's side in this war, because then we will surely become enemies. And I do not want my truest friend to become my enemy.
~Lily
Harry kept reading. The diary skipped days, sometimes with weeks between two entries. Just before morning arrived, Harry read the last entry of his mother's fifth year.
20th June, 1976
I can't believe Severus! He called me that word! Potter was tormenting him as usual after our Defence O.W.L. and when I tried to get him to stop, Severus insulted me! He looked sorry after he said it, but it doesn't change the fact that he still uttered that word. That he chose His side.
Mary says that he's outside the portrait right now, waiting for me to come outside and talk to him. I just… what can I say to him?! What he did is unforgivable. I can't… I'll go speak with him.
I told him the truth. We couldn't be friends anymore. It hurts me to do this, because I valued his friendship so much! But he's been growing distant for a long time. And I tried to tell him that Macnair and Avery were no good, but he ignored my wishes and stayed friends with them. They are in You-Know-Who's bunch; I know it.
And now Severus is turning into one of them. Despite being friends with me, a Muggleborn, and being part Muggle himself, he's throwing everything away to kiss the feet of a psychopath.
Oh, Severus…
~Lily
Harry sat still. Snape had gone to Voldemort and his mother had ended their friendship. Harry shook his head, dumbfounded. He knew his mother had her reasons, but he had to wonder… Did Snape go to Voldemort because he wasn't friends with his mother anymore?
A/N: (2/28/16: I've done several edits to this chapter for accuracy and Brit-speak.)
I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I meant to put it out ages ago, but time and midterms caught up with me. I wanted to put at least 4000 words down, so here it is! Chapter three won't be out for some time, but hopefully it'll come out soon. Thanks for reading!