The dress was too tight and Lily wriggled uncomfortably as she lifted her arms to dry her hair by magic. A quick shower was much nicer than using Tergio but she hated the way the heat spell was making her hair frizz up. Marlene had a way of doing it that made her hair lie beautifully sleek and shiny afterwards, but Lily had never quite managed that trick yet. She wished more than anything that Marlene and Nora could be here now, to calm her down and to tell her Vernon wouldn't be as bad as she feared he would.

There were pictures of the three of them pinned around the mirror. It showed them waving at the camera in Honeydukes, clutching armfuls of candy, having a snowball fight and ice-skating on the lake, celebrating after they had finished their last OWL exam.

Lily smiled briefly, touching her fingertips to the moving picture of the three friends hugging so tightly only their different hair colours made them distinguishable.

The she turned back to her reflection in the mirror. Contrary to what she had told her father, she was wearing a horridly conservative grey dress that leeched the colour from her cheeks and made her hair, usually vibrantly red, look a sickly orange. The last time she had worn it had been to Petunia's graduation ceremony at school three years ago and apparently she had been somewhat flatter in the chest back then. Though it showed almost no cleavage, the lack of material in front had made the dress ride up to mid-thigh and it was hugging her hips in a decidedly non-conservative manner.

She moved her arms a little, experimentally, and could almost feel the fabric groan. "What am I going to do now, Molly?" she asked her cat in a dismayed voice. "If I sit down in this dress, it's going to rip." Molly, who was lying on her bed, only looked at Lily with her steady yellow eyes, blinked once and put her head back down again. Well, you're a witch, aren't you? Lily imagined her saying with an exasperated sigh. Just transfigure the thing!

Lily watched herself bite her lip in the mirror. Then she said, "You're right, Moll'. I am a witch." Her expression turned into a determined scowl. Then she grabbed her wand from her nightstand and began to twirl it just as she heard the car pull into the driveway outside, filling her room with sparks.

()

After dinner, James approached his father in the sitting room, just as he was opening the paper again. He cleared his throat. "Dad, can I ask you something?"

Mr. Potter lowered his paper, regarding his son through narrowed eyes. "Please don't tell me I'm expecting another letter from Professor Dumbledore, James. That last one was highly embarrassing and I was rather hoping you were slowly starting to get your act together –"

"No, it's not a letter," James cut him off. He felt resentment bubble up in his stomach as he looked at his father, sitting mightily in the wide armchair and looking at his son as though he was a disappointment. "It's about the basement, actually."

"The basement?" echoed Mr. Potter in surprise, a rare smile touching the corners of his mouth. "My, my, James, this sounds like it's going to be interesting."

"It is, actually," said Sirius, appearing from kitchen and clutching a piece of chocolate cake in his hand. He dropped into the sofa directly opposite Mr. Potter, draping his free arm lazily over the back. "James has decided to start a band." And when he saw John Potter's looked of utter astonishment, he elaborated, "A rock band. We're going to enter a contest, but we don't have a name for it yet and we unfortunately also don't have anywhere to practice –"

"-which pertains to why I need the basement," James interrupted his best friend smoothly, sitting down next to Sirius and giving him a look that said, Too much detail, Padfoot.

"This sounds like the kind of question you should better ask your mother, James," said Mr. Potter.

"I did," replied James, "and she told us we could. But I could use a little sponsorship for the instruments. You know, to keep us doing productive things this summer," he added as an afterthought, thinking of Mr. Potter's comment about him getting his act together.

Mr. Potter raised his eyebrows again and as he did so, James noticed there was grey in them and he did actually look very tired, like he was not only saying that he was working late, but actually doing it. "How much do you need?"

Sirius and James swapped a surprised glance. They had been expecting him to say no, or to at least have conditions, but this reaction had not been part of their plans. When they told him the sum, he simply promised to fetch the money from Gringotts at his earliest convenience and then sent them away so he could finish his paper.

As they walked up the wide staircase, James glanced over his shoulder and saw Mr. Potter disappearing behind his paper again. Mrs. Potter was nowhere to be seen.

"Prongs," said Sirius very quietly, as they passed the portraits of James's ancestors, each with their own little gold plaque detailing their life achievements and names. There was Hollista Potter ("famous inventor of the Disillusionment Charm"), Perovio Potter ("wordsmith and dueling champion") and - back from the days before the Peverells became the Potters – Augustinius Peverell ("walked 3,000 miles through the desert without drinking a drop of water and survived by chewing a mysterious root called Aegràya"), who was James's favourite. "Are your parents having … problems, Prongs?"

James stopped in his tracks and looked at Sirius in amusement. "Problems?" he repeated with a smirk. "Why, Padfoot, what a strangely vague word for you to use. If you had said "crisis", "possible divorce", "hardly any words spoken", I could have possibly followed, but like this –"

"You know what I mean," said the other wizard. "Like, marital problems."

James's grin widened, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Did you open a counselling service since I last saw you? Or is the alcohol wearing off again? I see the chocolate isn't." He added, gesturing to the half-eaten slice of cake in Sirius's hand.

"Stop it," said the Sirius rather severely. He seemed to be struggling for words but continued, "You shouldn't – you should be glad you have a family at all. Your parents, they're all right, you know. It would – it would be a shame if things changed," he added very quickly. "Do you think they're splitting up?"

The grin had left James's face. Even for his best friend, it seemed, this was way beyond forbidden territory. "I don't know anything," he said in a tight voice. "I just know what my father's like."

They were silent for a moment, Sirius not wanting to push the subject any further.

Then James – never angry for long - shoved Sirius's shoulder playfully. "Come on, let's get the others. I need to get out of here before it's past Moony's and Wormtail's bedtime." With that, he passed his best friend, jogging up the last couple of steps.

Sirius watched him go, eyebrows drawn together. He knew James didn't like to talk about his feelings, especially where his father was concerned, but the way he had spoken just now … He hadn't known things had become so strangely stiff between James's parents, worry and tiredness etched into their every movement. It made him wonder how long this had been going on and how long James had not been telling him about it. After all, it couldn't be completely new, or James wouldn't have sounded so resigned. And more than that, it made feel guilty about things he was holding back.

"Hello, ladies!" he heard James call from up ahead in a sultry tone. "Padfoot's getting moody without his daily drink. Are you joining us?"

Sirius smirked as he heard Peter's protest ("-why you insist on inventing stupid nicknames all the time!" –"Not even funny!" - "It's my trademark, Wormy, what do you expect?") and continued up the steps. Why was he even worrying about this? If James still had it in him to call the Marauders out for a drink, he needn't be worried. And it wasn't like him, Sirius Black, to be in dark moods and think such deep thoughts – the alcohol really must be wearing off.

And with a last shake of his head to clear his thoughts, he pushed open the door. "Why, ladies, looking absolutely terrific this evening. May I escort you?"

()

Lily made her way slowly down the steps, smoothing her hands down and over her dress. There was the sound of murmured voices from the terrace and fading sunlight pouring into the empty sitting room. Apparently, Vernon had just arrived and was being made a drink by Mr. Evans, judging from the clinking of glasses and Petunia's pearling laughter.

She was standing with her back to Lily, in a knee-length dress a powdery shade of blue. Her hair looked elaborately curled, held back at her neck with glimmering pins, the picture of perfection.

It made Lily feel self-conscious. She paused in the sitting room, biting her lip and wondering if she was really doing the right thing. This was Petunia's world, her role as the perfectly put-together girlfriend. She had even made her parents part of the picture, but Lily wondered if she herself could really ever fit. Could she pull this off, even just for a night? Maybe she should just turn around and walk out the front door while she still could …

"Lily!"

Too late. Mrs. Evans had spotted her and was beckoning her younger daughter enthusiastically. Petunia turned just as Lily stepped into the sunlight and there was a tinkle of breaking glass as she dropping her drink, spraying the man next to her with sparkling cider. "Lily!" she exclaimed, though in a completely different voice. It sounded like someone had forced her to drink vinegar and made her opinion on Lily's choice of evening wear clear. Indeed, it was a far cry from what the grey dress had looked like - long-sleeved and green, streaked with stripes of bright yellows and blues and purples that made it look like a shimmering feather. It brought out her eyes and fell just below her knees like opening flower petals. Actually, Lily was quite proud of herself.

"Oh, Vernon, I'm so sorry!" Petunia was now fussing over the man next to her. He was slightly chubby and sporting a ridiculous brown moustache, fending off her attempts at cleaning his jacket impatiently. "Don't worry, dear," he said. "My dry cleaner will have that stain out in a jiffy and if he doesn't, I'm sure Mr. Grunnings will be perfectly happy to sponsor a new suit for me."

Lily felt herself blushing. Of course, she was embarrassed that her appearance seemed to have caused such a stir, but mostly, she was disgusted. First, by the fuss made about such an awful brown tweed jacket and second, by the mention of Vernon's dry cleaner like some sort of personal slave. And who was this Mr. Grunnings person?

When Petunia finally had ceased her clucking and paused to dart a poisonous look at Lily, Vernon finally looked up at her too. She saw his eyes take in everything from her dress, her red hair to her bare feet and then back up to her face. His own was round and thick-necked, with small eyes. Their expression was unreadable.

Unnoticed, Mrs. Evans had stepped up next to Lily and put her hands on her younger daughter's shoulders. "Lily," she said gently, "I want you to meet Vernon. Vernon, my younger daughter Lily."

"How do you do?" said Vernon rather pompously, extending a hand.

"Fine, thank you." Lily shook his hand, feeling uncomfortable. The man's eyes were still scrutinising her and Lily couldn't help it – she felt like she was being assessed like a probable business project. And she wasn't sure the assessment was favourable …

"Now then," said Mrs. Evans, releasing Lily's shoulders with a slight squeeze, "why don't we all sit down and get started on the salad?"

And so they all sat. Conversation wasn't quite as stiff as usual these days, for Petunia hardly ceased in a stream of compliments and anecdotes about Vernon, whom she stared at with the doe-eyed admiration of certain stupid Hogwarts girls when they were looking at Sirius Black, though Petunia's boyfriend possessed none of the other boy's undeniable physical appeal. Apparently, Vernon had just been promoted this very week and between the toasts to his new position as junior manager of a small factory near London, Lily felt herself relax very slightly. Petunia was completely ignoring her and Vernon, caught up in his own success, didn't ask her anything until desert arrived and with it a certain change in the mood that befitted their food: vanilla parfait sprinkled with lavender and little honey cakes.

"You are still in school then, eh, Lily?" asked Vernon, taking a bite of his cake. "When do you finish?"

"I'm starting my last year soon," said Lily a little reservedly, unsure of how much information to give. She could feel Petunia watching her avidly.

"Splendid. Which school is it you go to?" he pressed. "A name one would have heard?" From his tone, Lily could tell she was being assessed. And since she had to lie anyway – otherwise breaking the International Statute of Secrecy – why not make it a grand one?

And so she replied in her most casual voice: "Oh, I board at Hennersham Girls' School, actually. So I only come home for the summer and if I need some quiet to study."

She felt more than saw her family's eyebrows rise collectively. Hennersham's just happened to one of the finest girls' schools in the country, students from there usually predestined to get a degree at Oxford or Cambridge. There was no way her family would ever be able to afford something like that.

This, however, Vernon didn't know, so he was merely impressed and did not notice the reactions around him. "Headed to Oxbridge, then?" he asked, predictably.

To her surprise, Lily noticed that she was rather enjoying herself. Petunia, next to her boyfriend, was positively quivering with nervous energy, but she could not change whatever Lily wanted to say. It was a heady sense of power the young witch had never experienced before. Well, maybe that one time she'd put James Potter in detention …

"Lily?" Mrs. Evans prompted.

"Oh, right. Oxbridge. Yes." Lily brushed a strand of hair from her face, her smile widening as the questions continued. When Vernon wanted to know what she was going to study, she was a little thrown at first, then said, "Teacher" without thinking and surprising herself by thinking she would rather like to really be one, though maybe for Potions or Charms …

The next few minutes passed with Lily happily inventing a series of friends she didn't have, scholarships she had received and internships she had done. To her own ear, she sounded mightily impressive and Vernon seemed to be agreeing to her. And Lily, quite despite her usual self, felt thrilled that he would soon begin comparing her to her sister and seeing that Petunia was not as high and mighty as she might have seemed to him. From Petunia's paling face, this thought seemed to have struck her, too.

It was only when she reached across the table to grab another honey cake that things started going wrong.

"Is everything all right with your dress?" Vernon asked suddenly.

"My dress?" Lily glanced down at her sleeve, thinking a bit of ice cream may have gotten smeared there and then feeling her heart plummet. Grey was beginning to show at the bottom, creeping up the sleeve to her elbow. The charm must be wearing off.

Panicking, Lily dropped her arm beneath the table. "My dress is fine, of course," she said with a forced smile. "Nothing the matter."

"No, but the colour was changing –," began Vernon in confusion, but Mrs. Evans, who had seen Lily's mishap, jumped in: "How about a nightcap, everyone? It's getting a little late, don't you think?" She glanced around the table. "Eggnog?"

Petunia stared at her mother in revulsion. "Eggnog?"

"But look!" said Vernon in excitement and fear, pointing at Lily. "It's changing in the front, too! Look!"

Lily needed only another glance at her chest to know he was right. In a second, she was on her feet. "Excuse me, but I'm not feeling well. I must – I must get to bed."

"Why is your dress changing colour?" persisted Vernon, quite forgetting himself and getting to his feet to follow her. He seemed to have recovered from his initial fear and was trying to cover it up with arrogance. "Are you trying to sass me, girlie? Don't you lie to me!"

"Vernon!" Petunia clung to his arm, desperation in her voice. "It's nothing. Sit down, please."

Lily, who had half-turned away from the table, felt her heart tighten at Petunia's tone. She sounded petulant, almost frightened, and instantly she felt sorry for her behaviour. The brief selfish impulse had vanished and all she wanted was to run around the table and hug Petunia and apologise.

"But it's still changing!" Vernon was now almost shouting. "She's sparkling." He sounded half-fascinated and half-revolted. "Someone get a fire extinguisher."

Lily stumbled forwards into the sitting room, her hands desperately trying to hide the sparks now flying off her whirling skirts as the spell seemed was reversing itself. But Vernon was charging after her like an angry bull, pointing his finger and shouting, "ARE YOU MAKING FUN OF ME, GIRL? IS THIS SASS? ANSWER – ME!" He was dragging Petunia behind him, Mr. and Mrs. Evans bringing up the rear. They all looked panicked.

"It's not fire," stammered Lily, holding up her hands and backing away. "And I'm not making fun of you, I swear. I – I-" She couldn't find words. How should she explain to him that this was, quite simply, magic? And magic done to impress him?

"STOP IT NOW! Stop it, I say! No one makes fun of Vernon Dursley!" Vernon was trying to grab a hold of her, to shake her, Lily thought. Only Petunia hanging on his arm like a sack and shrieking was preventing Vernon from doing it.

"I can't," said Lily, half-sobbing. She felt helpless, her hands brushing hopelessly over her dress, which was shedding striped bits of garment in colourful sparks, wishing for a wand or anything. "I'm not making fun. I just can't control it. This wasn't supposed to happen, I don't know what –" Her eyes went to her parents. "I'm sorry, Mum. I'm sorry!"

"Leave her alone, Vernon," implored Mrs. Evans, trying to reach for the young man's shoulder. "She's not well."

He rounded on her, eyes sparkling with fury. "So your daughter's a crazy then, is she? A madwoman?"

Lily had stopped in the sitting room, still sparkling, knowing she should be running, getting as far away as she could. But she had felt something inside her crack just now, filling her with cold liquid and freezing her to the spot, making her shoulders sag and her eyes burn. It felt just like it had all those years ago, when Petunia had called her a freak. Like someone had slapped her across the face.

Mrs. Evans had tears in her eyes as she looked at her younger daughter, powerless. Mr. Evans was silent, too, arms wrapped around his wife. And Vernon was just staring at her.

Lily knew she was crazy for having wanted this brutish man's approval, but the disgust now shining in his eyes made her realise exactly what she had been hoping for: maybe through him, Petunia would have seen her as less of a monster, as someone worth loving again. If she loved him so much, and he liked Lily …

But those hopes were dashed.

"You're sick," spat Vernon. His moustache was bristling. "I fear I must seriously reconsider my proposal of marrying a member of this family."

"Vernon –" Petunia's arm had dropped from her boyfriend's arm and she looked on the verge of tears or simply fainting. "What are you saying?"

"What I said," he told her shortly, not looking at her even as tears began to spill down her cheeks in earnest, smearing her mascara. "Thank you for the dinner," he added to nobody in particularly and then pushed past Lily into the doorway. A second later, the front door slammed and there was utter silence.