Chapter Eleven-Veritaserum

11.1

"All students to your dormitories! And stay there!"

The shrill voice of Professor McGonagall, booming with magical enhancement across Hogsmeade, was steadying, enough for me to draw in a breath and march towards the nearest cluster of petrified-looking students to chivvy them on their way. But with the ugly, horrifying Dark Mark hovering above us, the students didn't need to be told twice.

At last the heavy wrought iron gate swung closed, barring access to the Hogwarts path. I leaned against the freezing metal, staring wistfully at the castle. Already the last of the students were nearly out of sight along the pathway. I curled my fingers around the bars, feeling a divide settle between me and the rest of the students as I was sanctioned away. I desperately wanted to find James and retreat into Gryffindor tower to try to forget grisly scene-but the office of Magical Law Enforcement wasn't through with me yet.

"Lily Evans?"

I turned, forcing a smile for the man who had clearly been sent to interview me. He was a young wizard, perhaps a few years older than myself, dressed in understated dark work robes suited to the Ministry of Magic. He returned my smile, but grimly and down-to-business, as he reached for the black quill that was tucked into his shoulder-length sandy-colored hair.

"Miss Evans," he repeated as he released both quill and parchment to levitate at his shoulder height. Distracted, I tried not to watch the quill zip through the air as it dictated his words.

I tightened my scarf around my throat and forced myself to stare at the Officer's face, vaguely noting that his eyes were green, like mine. "Yes?"

"My name is Ben Fenwick. I'm an Officer with the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. I'd like to ask you some questions."

I blinked at him stupidly, then took a moment to compose myself. "Of course. What do you want to know?"

He nodded encouragingly at me. "Several witnesses have noted that you were nearby the scene where the dark Mark went up. I'd like you to tell me what happened."

"I was just talking to a classmate, up there on the hill, when I heard the incantation." I shivered, and took a deep breath before continuing. The cold tearing at my throat and lungs seemed to snap some sense into me, and I realized I was mumbling. "Sorry, ah—" I touched my hands to my forehead, trying to focus. He needs details, Lily. You don't have time to be in shock.

"It sounded like a man's voice, sort of gravely. I ran around the other side of the shack to see what had happened, and I saw the body. The victim was lying face down in the snow. There was no attacker in sight."

"Who was the classmate that you were speaking to?"

"His name is Severus Snape." I frowned. "But I don't think he saw anything. The Shrieking Shack blocked everything except the Dark Mark above us. When we heard it, it startled both of us. I ran around to see what had happened and he tried to hold me back. Then he… ran away."

Ben Fenwick smiled faintly, his eyes crinkling at me. "You know, it says a lot about a person."

"What does?"

"Whether you run toward the scene, or away from it."

I crossed my arms around my chest, feeling flushed and hot despite the frigid wind. My brain felt suddenly full of cotton. What had I been thinking, running toward a Death Eater like that? I thought about Snape holding me back, and of Alice and Gideon Prewett charging up the hill after me.

"I guess it does, doesn't it." The thought made my head spin.

I sat down in the snow as my legs suddenly went out from under me. Ben Fenwick tried to slow my abrupt fall but missed, and ended up in an awkward half crouch over me, his grip tight on my arm. His eyes flashed, evaluating my physical and mental state with intense clarity.

"No, I'm fine, I'm fine," I said, unthinkingly waving away his attempts to help me as I pushed myself back to my feet, embarrassed. "I think I've only just realized what—what happened." I glanced back toward the Shrieking Shack. "Who was that man they killed, and why?"

Ben Fenwick frowned, apparently not satisfied by my claims that I was fine. "Let's step out of the cold," he suggested, steering me toward the Three Broomsticks. "We can finish up in there, all right?"

I nodded, figuring that he'd probably done this hundreds of times and could judge people's reactions to trauma long before they could themselves, and followed him past the gaggles of Ministry Witches and Wizards interviewing the inhabitants of Hogsmeade. The pub was practically empty, now—even the barkeep had abandoned her post and sat now at one of the booths nursing a Fire Whiskey as she answered another Officer's questions. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick clustered together at the bar, talking in low voices. Professor McGonagall met my eyes as I slid into a booth, gave me an encouraging nod before turning back to her conversation.

Ben Fenwick didn't keep me there long. He wanted me to focus on that moment and describe it with the utmost detail, something I wasn't keen on doing. But I forced the words out, and then he thanked me, shook my hand, and left to gather the next in what was probably a long line of required interviews.

I sat there in the booth for a moment, feeling drained and wishing for a strong drink, before pushing myself to my feet.

"Miss Evans, a word."

Professor McGonagall's voice drew me inexorably into her group. "As Head Girl, I want your opinion on the matter of Quidditch."

"Quidditch?" I repeated, not understanding.

"I think that under the circumstances, the game should be cancelled," she explained patiently.

Professor Flitwick, who was decked out in Ravenclaw blue, shook his head. "But I think that will lower the students' morale."

"Filius," Professor McGonagall said with exasperation, "it's a matter of security."

"No," Professor Flitwick said staunchly, the wisps of his hair waving as he shook his head. "We can't let them scare us into not living!"

Professor McGonagall, poised to deliver her next argument, gaped at him as though his words had physically struck her in the stomach, knocking the air from her lungs.

"What about rescheduling it for tomorrow?" I suggested into the silence, knowing how crushed Gryffindor—and James most of all—would be if the game was cancelled. "Then the Ministry can crack down on security tonight, and the students will still have something to look forward to."

Professor Flitwick nodded enthusiastically, and glanced up at Professor McGonagall. "Minerva…"

She sighed. "Alright. I'll talk to the Headmaster about it." She craned her neck, glancing out the pub's windows. "We should be getting back."

The wrought iron gate leading up to Hogwarts drew open for us of its own accord as we approached. I shoved my hands into my pockets, trying to burrow down into any scraps of remaining warmth. Beside me, Professor Flitwick paused to tap his wand against the gate. He murmured something, and my skin prickled as the magic rushed down the perimeter gate in a blue hue, the air crackling as magic met the cold.

As though not to be outdone, Professor McGonagall waved her wand toward the castle. I could feel the very earth move with the rumble of stone, and wondered what she had done.

When we reached the castle, I couldn't see that anything had changed, but I could feel it. The very stone of the castle felt on guard, as though the eyes of every statue and gargoyle were actually watching my every move. And, to my astonishment, Professor McGonagall had to demand that the doors of the Entrance Hall open to let us in.

"Really, Filius," Professor McGonagall said with severe arch of an eyebrow before she swept ahead of us towards the Great Hall.

Professor Flitwick winked at me, looking satisfied at the strength of his Charmwork, before tottering off after her. I grinned at his back, and with a last impressed look at the innocuous-appearing doors of the Entrance Hall and the suits of armor flanking them, I headed up towards Gryffindor tower.

11.2

When I pushed open the Fat Lady's portrait, the nervous chatter of the common room cut off as abruptly as though I had cast a Silencing charm over Gryffindor tower. It looked like every pair of eyes was on me as I stepped through the portrait hole.

Nearly every Gryffindor was there, from what I could see, clustered together by year as though seeking comfort from one another's closeness. I looked for the tall, dark-haired figure that was so comforting for me, searching for him where the other Marauders were crowded around one of the tower windows as though hoping to see some of the unfolding drama. But he wasn't there.

Somehow I wasn't surprised. There was a whole host of places James could be, in bounds or out of them. But no doubt it was where he believed he should be. It was that single thought that kept me from trying to harangue Sirius into telling me where James had got to.

Instead, Alice waved at me from the fireplace, beckoning me over, and I went to her. I could practically feel the nervous energy radiating from the students as they all trained in their thoughts on me, mentally begging for news.

I cleared my throat. "We're all to wait here until Professor McGonagall comes to talk to us."

As though my words had burst a dam, they started shouting questions at me all at once.

"Hey Evans, what happened-?"

"What did you see?"

"Did they catch the Death Eaters that did it, Lily?"

I held up a hand, and miraculously they fell silent. Apparently it had already gotten around that I'd been interviewed by an Officer of the Magical Enforcement Squad, and it had made quite the impression.

"I don't think they know anything officially yet. Professor McGonagall will let us know when they do." I forced a smile. "On the other hand, I convinced them to only postpone the Quidditch game until tomorrow."

There were a few feeble cheers, but the following silence was awkward as I strode toward my accustomed seat near the fire place. Young Alban jumped up, forfeiting his right to the best seat in the common room out of some sort of misplaced chivalry—or perhaps because I looked like I could use the warmth.

Alice plopped down onto the arm of my chair, hugging a pillow to her chest as she leaned back against the overstuffed upholstery. Her wide eyes shone brightly out at me. She looked wired, as though the ligaments and muscles of her body were so taught they were on the verge of snapping. She was trying to carry herself off with calmness, but I could see through it. Her knuckles stood out whitely as she crushed the pillow in the tight grip of her hands.

"Well that was interesting," she said mildly, looking down at me in a way that reminded me of an overstimulated owl.

"Tell me about it," I grunted, pulling my legs up to my chest so that I could rest my chin on my knees. "Did you get interviewed by someone from the Ministry?"

"Since I was with Gideon the whole time, they didn't make me. What happens now?"

I shrugged. The murder scene had still been chaotic when I left it. Despite how morbid it had been, I regretted not being able to stay to watch the proceedings. "Nobody knows. Maybe James will hear something from his dad about it."

Her eyebrows rose at that. She tilted her head, considering whether she thought Mr. Potter would divulge Ministry secrets to his son, and then shook her head. "But Gideon must think we're both crazy after how we behaved tonight. Charging up the hill like that." Her leg jerked over the arm of the chair, a quick kick to reveal how wound up she was, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Maybe he thinks we fit in with Aurors," I said with a wry grin, trying to lighten the mood. "Frank would be proud."

She rolled her eyes at that. Leaning in so that the warmth of her arm pressed against mine, she asked, "So what did Snape want?"

"I truly have no idea," I said with a sigh. "To ask if Gideon was an Auror of all things. He says, and I quote, that it isn't safe to be around people like him."

Alice opened her mouth, seeming on the point of saying something, but the only thing that came out was a disbelieving laugh. "What a little—"

"I know. He's unbelievable." I pushed myself to my feet and stretched. "I should go find James. He's probably doing all the Head duties without me, stealing all the glory."

She snorted. "At least he'll know what's bloody happening out there."

11.3

I stepped out of the Common Room in a surge of self-confidence and bravado, but soon the silence of the castle enveloped me, slowing my stride. I tried to recall the sense of strength I'd felt when Professors Flitwick and McGonagall had reinforced the castles defenses, but now that I was alone, paranoia crept in.

The bracketed torches lining the halls shone as brightly as ever, but my eyes convinced me that the shadows grew darker and deeper as I wound my way toward the Grand Staircase. The shadows twisted into sinister figures that crouched behind the familiar suits of armor, waiting to pounce. I glanced at the paintings for reassurance, but they all watched me with solemn faces, or whispered behind their hands.

"Have any of you seen James Potter?" My voice sounded obnoxiously loud into the abandoned hallway.

Instead of answering my question, a painting of a matronly woman in a dark dress, standing alone before a lake, narrowed her eyes at me. "Shouldn't you be in your Common Room with the other students?"

I shook my head, trying to appear confident. "I'm the Head Girl. Helping the Professors patrol. He's the Head Boy, and I need to talk to him."

"You shouldn't be out alone. Not even in the castle," the woman in the painting insisted. Her eyes looked haunted. I shivered as she turned aside to resume her lonely circuit of the lake. I didn't need to ask her to explain her fears for my safety; the murder at Hogsmeade had hit startlingly close to home.

I checked that my wand was still in my pocket and turned away, continuing my progress down the Grand Staircase. Trying to find James was practically hopeless. He knew the castle far better than I did. Whatever he was doing, no doubt he'd have taken precautions—he'd have the Marauder's Map and his Invisibility cloak. And if he was truly desperate to move about the grounds even though they were sure to be crawling with Ministry officials, he could just turn into a stag and—

"Miss Evans! What do you think you are doing! When I said all students to their common rooms, I meant all students."

Professor McGonagall's voice lashed out like a whip. I whirled toward her instinctively, knowing that I looked guilty even as I opened my mouth to form a lie. A tall man strode behind her, dressed in dark Ministry robes. His hood was pushed back, revealing a handsome face—notably, with a very fine-looking dark beard neatly trimmed to frame a square jaw with a cleft chin. But my attraction ended when I noticed the cool, superior look in his brown eyes.

"Spare me," Professor McGonagall said before I could speak, gripping my shoulder like a vice and steering me back toward the Common Room. She half-drug me up the stairs behind her. The Ministry official followed wordlessly. "I know exactly what you're going to say."

True, the excuse of patrolling was likely to be a poor one with Professor McGonagall, who knew it to be an outright lie. And it wouldn't do to point out that James Potter was missing from the Common Room as well. Still, curiosity got the best of my guilt and prompted me to ask, "What's happening out there, Professor?"

"Chaos, Miss Evans. That's what always happens when the Dark Mark is involved." But the look she slanted sideways at me as she stationed herself in front of the Fat Lady commanded me not to repeat those words. "Oh for Heaven's sake," she said impatiently when the portrait didn't open automatically for her. "Droobles-Best Blowing Gum."

"Rules are rules," the Fat Lady said archly as the portrait swung open. She eyed the newcomer suspiciously, but didn't protest as he followed Professor McGonagall into the Common Room.

I ducked into the Common Room, marveling at the feistiness the attack had riled in her. I joined the ranks of students staring eagerly at her and the dark Ministry man as she cleared her throat.

"It appears, so far, that there is only one victim, an old wizard who lived in the village. The Ministry has launched an investigation into the circumstances of his death. This is Thorfinn Rowle, he works for the Magical Law Enforcement Squad."

She gestured to Rowle, and he stepped forward.

"It's been a long time since I had the pleasure of stepping into this Common Room," he said, glancing around. He had a rolling, amiable voice, and a natural sort of charm about him when he smiled that was almost enchanting. "I was in Gryffindor myself, back in my day. I wish this homecoming was under more pleasant circumstances." He pulled a small vial of a clear liquid from his robes.

"Veritaserum," he announced, holding up the vial for all to see. "The Ministry has determined that we must ensure there are no Death Eaters hiding in the castle."

The students shifted, bending to whisper to one another. My skin went clammy at the implications of his words.

"You want to give us truth potion?" I blurted, unable to contain myself. I snapped my mouth shut in the next moment as Professor McGonagall gave me a severe look, but my words had already triggered another round of whispered unrest among my fellow Gryffindors.

"I thought it was heavily regulated by the Ministry," one of the fourth years said with a frown, and I nodded at his words as though that would be proof enough not to dose us with it now.

"The Ministry has deemed that, in the face of a potential security breath, this is an appropriate precaution."

The words security breach riled up the Common Room again until Rowle whistled sharply, drawing our attention back to himself.

"Just a drop on the tongue. Answer a quick question or two and you'll be in the clear. Painless. Harmless." He raised the bottle so it caught the torchlight and he glanced over at me, the first dissenter. "Why don't you display your Gryffindor courage by agreeing to go first? To set a good example."

I frowned, looking over at Professor McGonagall. Her lips were pressed in a thin line, a look I knew to mean that she was disapproving but couldn't voice her opinion. No wonder she was angry, I realized.

The other students had gone quiet at Rowle's challenge, and were watching us closely. My stomach knotted but I took a step toward him, feeling like some sort of criminal about to be interrogated by the Wizengamot. A niggling thought in the back of my mind suggested that this was something that Dumbledore would never condone, sparked disbelieve that Mr. Potter would initiate such a policy—and yet there the Veritaserum was, waiting for me and all the other students to take a taste.

"Of course she won't go first," Professor McGonagall said, stepping between me and Rowle. He looked surprised as she added, "You did say everyone in the castle was to get dosed?"

"Those were my orders, yes," he said, still seeming skeptical.

"Well then." She pursed her lips, and then stuck out her tongue to receive the potion as though daring him to do it.

But he wasn't daunted. Rowle fumbled at the jar, unscrewing the lid to reveal a glass dropper floating within. Carefully he raised the dropper to her face and squeezed out one drop onto her tongue.

She straightened, tasting the drop. Her face scrunched as though she'd eaten something horribly sour. Veritaserum was supposed to have no taste, but I guessed it was the idea of the potion that she was finding so repellant, not the potion itself.

"Very well," Rowle said. For the sake of privacy, he leaned close, whispering into her ear. She answered his brief questions in monosyllable—"Yes. Yes. No."—and he nodded in satisfaction.

"You see?" he asked, turning toward the students. "That's it. Easy."

"I'll go," Sirius said brusquely, pushing his way to the front. He touched my arm in a sign of solidarity as he passed me by, his shoulders thrown back with all the pride and confidence he could muster. He seemed to pose, his hands on his hips, his chin raised to a haughty angle, as he received his dose of Veritaserum.

When he was done, he turned to face the students as Professor McGonagall had done. "It's not bad," he promised.

"Line up by year, First Years first," Professor McGonagall decided. The students shuffled into order, some looking excited at the prospect of trying the Truth Serum, others looking dubious or even scared. I tried to comfort the students as I took my place at the back of the line, but the truth was, the whole ordeal didn't sit right in my stomach—and the others could tell.

The Common Room was uncommonly quiet by the time my turn came around. Either the others had gone up to their dormitories or they were sprawled before the fire, posing questions to one another to judge whether or not the serum had worn off yet. Nobody seemed to want to hang around Rowle longer than they had to.

"Last but not least," Rowle said, swooping down on me like a vulture. The Veritaserum was tasteless, as all the Potions books proclaimed. I sucked on my tongue, trying to draw out the potion and dilute it in my saliva before swallowing it. I licked my lips. I didn't feel any different, but after a moment Rowle nodded. After all the build-up, the questions, when they came, were quite inane.

"Are you who you claim to be?"

"Yes." The word was drawn out of me before I had a chance to think about it,

"Are you enrolled as a student here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

"Yes." I actually tried to hold my mouth shut against the word, experimenting the serum's limits, but my mental power was nothing compared to the power of the potion.

"Are you a Death Eater?"

"No."

Rowle smiled and nodded to himself in satisfaction. He tucked away the vial of Veritaserum, clearly pleased that he had dispatched his orders so efficiently. Then he seemed to think of something, and he met my eyes again.

"Do you know where James Potter is?"

"No."

The word slipped out more as a question itself than a proper response, because I was so surprised by it. He nodded again, his forehead creased as he considered my answer. "I know he's a Gryffindor, his dad brags about his Quidditch all of the time," Rowle explained with a laugh a moment later. "But I don't see him here."

I shivered, hugging myself. I felt violated by this whole ordeal, and didn't dare offer a response even though he hadn't directly asked me a question. It just wasn't right.

"Mr. Potter is also Head Boy. It certainly keeps him busy," Professor McGonagall said, stepping forward to usher Rowle from the room. "Let's let the students alone, it's been a long day."

Rowle inclined his head at me, and then turned away, escorted by Professor McGonagall. I stared after him, feeling unsettled as though a set of malicious eyes were watching me. "You're a bastard," I breathed. The words came unbidden, as though dredged up by the potion. But even without understanding why, I knew with certainty that it was true.

I felt a stirring of the air behind my shoulder a moment later, and turned to find Sirius standing at my shoulder, arms crossed and looking awkward.

"I know you're probably wondering where James is and if he's alright," Sirius said gruffly. He cleared his throat. "Well he's fine. I talked to him."

"How?" I blurted. "When?"

Sirius looked startled for a moment, and then grinned maddeningly at me. "The Potion's worn off. Looks like I don't have to spill all of my secrets." He clapped a hand on my shoulder and then moved off toward his customary place by the window. "Just trust me, Evans," he called over his shoulder.

Incapable of firing off the sarcastic reply that first shot to mind, due to the potion, I settled on glaring at him instead. He lounged back onto the couch with his hands resting behind his head, looking delighted at my silence. "Ouch, Evans," he said, interpreting my expression with a grin. He placed a hand melodramatically over his heart. "You've wounded me, truly."

I drew in a breath—several in fact—before replying. "Thank you for the reassurance," I managed, before retreating in utter defeat to go sit before the fire and wait for the Veritaserum to bleed from my system.

11.4

My enthusiasm for staying up all night with some of the others to wait for news began petering out just after midnight. At 2 am I finally abandoned my post by the fire in favor of my bed, figuring that if there hadn't been any updates by then, then there probably wouldn't be any until breakfast the next morning.

And James still hadn't returned.

"What are you up to, Potter?" I asked the open doorway to his room before turning and crawling into my own bed. I left my door invitingly open, hoping he would come to me once he was safely back in Gryffindor tower. Despite Sirius' attempt at reassuring me, I felt almost nauseated with worry. It overrode the memory of the murder scene; I felt selfish at thinking it, but that death was assured, but James' still hung in the balance out there somewhere.

Predictably, I slept poorly, plagued with nightmares. I was still grumpy about being forced to take Veritaserum the next morning when I descended down to breakfast in the Great Hall, decked out in my most festive Gryffindor maroon and gold clothing. The normal air of excitement proceeding a Quidditch match was understandably diminished, but still the students were making a go of it, putting on a front of eagerness and excitement that I hoped wasn't totally feigned. After all, there would always be more attacks—and we would have to carry on.

Alice and I were hurrying down the path to the Quidditch pitch with the rest of the students when I finally saw James, hovering on his broomstick high in the air with the Gryffindor Quidditch team, drilling various moves and plays just outside the goal posts, warming up. I stopped in the middle of the pathway, oblivious to the shoving of students around me as I raised my omnioculars to my eyes.

"Lily, what are you doing?

"I found James."

It was hard to focus on James' face while he carried out his aerial acrobatics, but I did my best to track him. He looked hale and hearty enough, I decided, but frowned as I squinted into my omnioculars, trying to determine whether or not he appeared injured. He didn't even look all that tired. His eyes were bright with adrenaline as he caught the Quaffle, then yelled something to one of his players before throwing it as hard as he could to another Catcher.

"He looks fine. He seems focused." I let out a breath.

Alice smiled and prodded me toward the stands. "Good. You can ferret an explanation out of him later."

"Oh I wouldn't dare risk making us lose this game," I said, only half-sarcastic as we pressed through a line of Gryffindors until we found an open gap in the stands. There was something Emmeline-ish about the way Alice didn't want me to distract James from focusing on the game, and I smiled wistfully. I wondered if Emmeline had yet begun Auror training, and hoped she was safe.

"You know what I mean. We—Gryffindor—need this win."

I stared stunned at Alice for a moment—at Alice, who never much cared for Quidditch outside of House loyalty. But I understood what she was trying to say: she didn't care about the House Cup. She knew we simply needed an excuse to be happy, needed something to bond over. A defeat now would feel crippling after yesterday's events.

I threw an arm around her shoulders. "I hope it's a great game."

The school seemed equally divided in its loyalties, with various visitors bridging the space in the stands between the two groups. Students from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw pressed in around me as we watched the Gryffindor team's complicated formations shift above us; the Slytherin Quidditch players were warming up on the opposite end of the pitch, above the cheering of the Hufflepuff and Slytherin. The stands were packed—it was no secret that recruiters were hiding amongst the other Hogwarts Quidditch enthusiasts.

I raised my onmioculars again, scanning the crowd for any familiar faces. I gasped as I spotted Rowle sitting in the stands behind James' father. My stomach knotted with anger immediately, but was just as quickly replaced with shock. Because in the row in front of him, next to Dumbledore, sat—

"The Minister of Magic!" I hissed in disbelief, clutching at Alice's arm. "The Minister of Magic is here."

"What? Really?" Alive grabbed my omnioculars, and we huddled together, sharing the eyepieces as best we could as the crowd jostled us. And there he was, dressed in dark robes, his shaved pate gleaming in the winter sunlight. "Must be a public relations stunt."

"I would have thought that the Magical Law Enforcement Squad has better things to do than to guard the Minister because he decided to come to a Quidditch game."

"Security was going to be outrageous today either way," she said dourly, drawing back from me as Madame Hooch flew into the middle of the pitch with the Quaffle tucked under her arm.

The crowd roared in anticipation as she whistled for the game to begin, threw the Quaffle into the air, and then dodged the explosive release of the Bludgers. An impossibly quick glint of gold flashed in the air and the Snitch was gone. The Quidditch players dissolved into organized chaos, twisting and whirling around one another as they struggled for ownership of the Quaffle.

I drew in a breath, hoping as I always did that James wouldn't hurt himself too badly this time.

11.5

"That. Was. Amazing."

"Did you see the way she caught the Snitch—"

"Forget the Snitch, were you watching our Chasers? Potter's heading straight for the pros, has to be."

I smiled at the reactions of a gaggle of Gryffindor first years as they boisterously exited the stands after the game. The Quaffle-handling of the Gryffindor chasers had been almost unbelievable, spear-headed by James, and they'd racked up the points against Slytherin fairly early on. But in the end, the blow-out game had been narrowly won; the battle for the snitch had been intense, and unable to prevent the Gryffindor Seeker from catching it any other way, the Slytherin Seeker had been forced to catch the Snitch with a tricky bit of feinting, ending the game with Gryffindor twenty points in the lead, but without the honor of catching the Snitch.

I hesitated on the pathway, half-turning to look back at the Quidditch pitch. "Go on without me," I told Alice, staggering a little in an abrupt burst of icy wind. "I think I'll wait for James. I need to talk to him."

"Go gently on him," she said with a smile, and melted back in with the crows. I tightened my scarf against the cold as I briskly walked around the pitch, heading toward the broom shed and adjoining locker rooms.

As I milled around the rickety magically-elevated wooden structures of the spectator stands, waiting for James to finish his post-game ablutions, a pair of Slytherin players—their Seeker and a Beater—emerged from the women's locker room. The younger of the two, their prodigy Seeker who was only in her fourth year, glared up at me through eyes red-rimmed from crying. I wondered if her team Captain had had berated for her for ending the game while they were still behind in points. A shame, if true. The other woman, a sixth year, smiled at me and shrugged as she fiddled with putting her damp hair up into a bun, as though silently apologizing for her teammate's behavior.

"It was a good game," I said to the sixth year. She looked familiar to me, as all sixth years did by this point, but I'd never met her in person. Inspired by her apparently friendly nature, I stepped forward and offered her my hand. "Lily Evans."

"Yeah, I know who you are," she said, her surprisingly thick Scottish accent enhanced by a pleasant burr. "I'm Rhona Wood." She clasped my hand. The fourth year gaped, looking betrayed, apparently too immature to understand that there was more to people than simply Quidditch, or what House someone had been sorted into. Or maybe, I thought sourly, it was my blood status that she found so disgusting.

Behind us, the men's locker room door banged open as though joyously kicked, and several members of the Gryffindor team came spilling out, cursing at how bitter the cold felt after their hot showers.

"That Bludger nearly took my head off, you great arse," Rhona said, raising a devious eyebrow at Loring, one of the Gryffindor Beaters. Beside her, the younger girl blushed as she looked over at the burly Beater, and I smiled to myself at the thought that maybe the girl wasn't so staunchly against inter-house relations after all.

"I'm surprised I missed such a huge target," Loring shot back over his shoulder as the group of men continued by, eager to be out of the cold.

"My brother's bairn has better aim than you do," she countered, crossing her arms. Now that I was paying attention, I could see the purpling bruise beginning to darken the side of her neck. I tried to think back on when in the match it had happened, but I couldn't recall when—I'd been too absorbed with watching James.

He laughed, turning to walk backwards up the path so that he could face her as he said, "You want to ask the recruiters what they think about my aim, Wood? Give me another year of development and I'll be ready for the pros."

Rhona smiled, a manic look in her eyes. "Oh aye? Next time I face you in the pitch they'll see which of us is the better Beater. That is, if you survive Ravenclaw flattening you in the House Cup."

Loring opened his mouth to reply, but in that moment he slipped on a patch of ice and his muscular frame dropped like a pile of rocks, flinging snow in all directions. Laughing, his mates pulled him up and out of the snow, and he didn't look back as they continued to the castle.

Rhona smiled, faintly amused, but the younger Slytherin elbowed her in the ribs. "You were so rude to him, Rhona," she complained, looking mortified.

"Loring and I have an understanding," Rhona said. "Do you know how many Beater spots open up in the League each year? Not enough for us to go easy on one another."

"I guess…"

Rhona sighed. "Well come on then, and I'll introduce you so you stop mooning over him, and then maybe we can get some dinner."

The two girls moved off, following the others up to the castle. I shoved my hands into my pockets, my spirits bolstered a little by the surprisingly pleasant interaction with a Slytherin—not a common thing, these days. But my pockets weren't empty. Surprised, I pulled out parchment that Gideon Prewett had brought me the day before. In all the excitement, I'd totally forgotten about it.

My stomach gave a great leap of excitement as I unfolded the letter, but it was disappointingly short and hastily written.

~L,

Sorry no time to write, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity when G mentioned he would be in the area. I'm doing well—mostly orientation so far but I'll start my in-house training next week. Hope to still come to A's wedding. Burn this after you read it, I'm still trying to figure out what's safe. We should come up with a cypher. -E~

Obediently, I held up the letter, prodding it with the tip of my wand. "Incendio!"

I was glad for her, I reflected to myself as the parchment darkened, lit on fire, and then crumbled into ash. I was glad that she was doing what her heart told her to do, but I still missed her. She would have loved watching today's game, and picking over every detail of it with Peter Pettigrew for hours afterward.

The locker room door jerked open again and I jumped, grinding the ashes of the letter into the snow with my foot as I turned towards the locker rooms. James emerged, his hair damp from his shower, his cheeks flushed, looking relaxed in Muggle clothing of jeans and a heavy brown sweater that brought out the amber highlights of his hazel eyes. His precious broomstick was clutched protectively in his hands.

He flashed a grin at me, looking pleased that I had come to find him, and my residual annoyance with his absence the night before began to fade. "Lily," he said, stepping over to wrap me in a hug. "How long have you been waiting for me? It's bloody cold out here."

"Oh, not that long." I leaned into the hug, clutching him tightly to me so that I could absorb his warmth and smell the soft scents of soap on his skin. My heart began to race as I considered what to say, how to tell him how I felt without turning it into a fight. I drew in a breath heavy with the scent of him and finally said, "Where were you yesterday after the attack?"

He pulled back from the hug and looked down at me, his expression soft. "I know what you're thinking. I know I'm a sorry bastard for not finding you sooner," he said. "I tried. When I heard what happened, I tried to get to Hogsmeade, but they wouldn't let me pass through the gates. So I went back to my room and grabbed my cloak, and snuck down one of the tunnels into Hogsmeade. When I got there you were gone, but dad was still there with his team. After a discussion and some persuasion," James said with a grimace, remembering, "he let me stay and watch the investigations on the promise that I wouldn't talk about them. They finished up 'round dawn, and I came to check on you but I didn't want to wake you."

I imagined him peering into my room, watching me sleeping as he checked to make sure I appeared to be okay. But still. "James Potter," I said, glaring up at him. "Next time wake me up. I was really worried about you." And I could have used the comfort of your presence. But it felt too raw to admit that.

He hugged me again by way of apology, and I buried my face against his chest. I resisted the embrace at first, and then slowly accepted it, relaxing into his arms. "When dad told me that you'd been interviewed because you were so close to the scene," James said, talking into my hair, "I nearly lost it."

I tilted my head up and kissed him, a simple reassurance that we had both come through unscathed despite the worries otherwise. He leaned into the kiss, pulling my hips tightly against his so that my breath caught in my throat. Suddenly I wanted to be somewhere a lot more private with him.

Then James gave a little yip into my mouth as though something had stung him, and he broke off the kiss to reach down into his pocket and pull out a small mirror. He held it off to the side so that I wouldn't be reflected in it when he said, "Shove off, mate."

Sirius laughed, his voice sounding thin through the mirror. "So should I tell your dad that you don't want to see him, then? He managed to wrangle enough time away from the investigation to come have lunch."

James hesitated a moment, looking swiftly down at me and then back into the mirror. "Tell him I'm just finishing up at the locker room. I'll be up at the Great Hall in ten or fifteen minutes."

"Right."

James shoved the mirror back into his pocket. "Sorry," he said again, taking my hand in his. "But we might as well go in. You look frozen through, and I'm starving."

"I'll carry that for you," I said devilishly, reaching down to take his broom from him. Feeling brazen from the kiss and the frigid cold and the fact that the Quidditch pitch now seemed deserted aside from the two of us, as I grabbed the broom I let my hand brush suggestively against his crotch in the way that I knew drove him crazy. He groaned, but let me take the broom from his hands.

"If my father wasn't waiting for us up at the castle," he said, his breath warm against my cheek as he leaned close to threaten me, "I'd take you right here behind the broom shed." And then he blushed, as though that actually was a fantasy of his.

I grinned at him, the thrill of lust shooting down my gut. It was risky, unsafe, and totally out of bounds, but the tension growing in me from the night before needed some release and it was making me reckless. I leaned into him and, hardly believing what I was saying, challenged, "Don't they call them 'quickies' for a reason?"

He suppressed a smile, and tugged on my hand, pulling me to follow him around the back of the broom shed. The small building blocked the worst of the wind, but still we had to trudge through knee-deep snow to reach the locked door. It looked out over a lonely snow-covered field that eventually disappeared into the Forbidden Forest. No one would be able to see us here unless they came round the shed.

He laid his broomstick gently on the snow, pressing it down out of sight. "There'll be hell to pay if we get caught," James said, but pressed me back against the wall anyway, cupping my face in his hands and bending to kiss me.

I turned my head at the last moment so his kiss landed on my cheek. "Do you have your Invisibility cloak?"

"Isn't the risk of getting caught half of the point of it?" he asked half-joking, his voice low against my neck. But a moment later he pulled the folded cloak out of his pocket, and shook out its glimmering fabric, letting the soft folds fall over us.

"The grounds are crawling with Ministry personnel," I whispered in explanation, helping him tuck the cloak around us before shimmying my pants down over my hips and kicking them off. "And it would be nice not to ruin my chances of getting a job."

"Mmm."

His hands slipped under my shirt and rose to cup my breasts under my bra as I reached down to undo his britches. I hissed at the cold touch of his hands, but was distracted in the next moment as he hoisted me up by my hips and braced me hard against the wall to help support my weight. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, afraid of being dropped, and he groaned in his throat as I pressed close against him. His fingers clenched against my hips, digging roughly into my skin as he held me up, and he buried his face against my neck, breathing hard. The thin material of the cloak didn't do much to protect my bare arse against the frozen metal siding of the broom shed, but it did trap our hot excited breaths to warm the close air between us. When we finally joined together, both aching for it, I forgot about the cold entirely. I bit my lower lip, determined not to make a sound, determined not to cry out even though the feel of him was so damn good that I couldn't bear it all in silence.

11.6

The encounter was short and rough, as planned, but it was still utterly exhilarating. After we stilled, I slowly slid down James until I was supporting my weight on my own two feet, and we breathed heavily against one another for a moment as we tried to regain our composure.

The broom shed shuddered as the door to one of the locker rooms slammed, and I froze, afraid of being discovered, as I listened to several more Quidditch players tramping up to the castle. Once they had gone I let out a long breath, and set to straightening my clothes. My jeans had been trodden on and were uncomfortably damp with snow, but I pulled them on anyway and dried them with a wave of my wand. As we dressed, I was afraid to meet James' eye lest I burst into rebellious laughter. It wasn't until the Invisibility cloak was hidden once again in his robes and we were speed-walking away from the locker rooms that I finally looked at him.

He grinned at me, and jauntily hoisted his broomstick over his shoulder. "So can we do that again? Preferably as soon as possible."

I laughed, and blushed, but nodded. "Maybe something a little more thorough, tonight," I said, running my hands through my hair to make myself presentable. I still ached for him, yet the remembrance of how he'd felt inside of me was enough to sate me for now. "You're a bad influence on me, Potter."

We walked at a fast clip towards the castle, and by the time we reached it I was out of breath again. The Great Hall was full of students loudly discussing the game, with visitors sprinkled throughout the benches. The Minister of Magic sat at the high table with Dumbledore and the Professors, but it was easy to spot Mr. Potter's white shock of hair sitting in among the Gryffindors. I caught his eye and waved awkwardly, and he smiled, gesturing for us to take the nearby seats.

"I enjoyed watching the game," I told James belatedly, forcing conversation as we strode down the gap between tables in an attempt to regain normalcy. My heart was racing. Could anyone tell, did anyone suspect, what we'd just done together out behind the broom shed? The thought of it sent a thrill up my spine. Damn you, Potter, I thought again, feeling flustered. "I think I spotted the Snitch a full minute before either of the Seekers did, though."

"Oh yeah?" James said, nonchalant, as we sat down next to each other at the Gryffindor table, opposite Sirius and James' father. He gestured to the omnioculars poking out of my cloak's pocket. "So you're enjoying them, then?"

"It was like watching a totally different game," I said, and thanked him again for the omnioculars, which he'd ordered for me for my birthday. I had almost not accepted the gift on the grounds that no doubt they were far too expensive, but now I was glad I had. "I had it recording the whole time so you can re-watch the game later if you want."

"Brilliant Lily, thanks," he said, grinning at me before turning to greet his father. "Hey dad."

As we ate, they chatted a little about the game, and how James felt about the win, before Mr. Potter turned to ask me, "I heard you say you spotted the Snitch early on. Did you ever try out for the House team?" He poured two cups of hot chocolate from a large carafe before sliding one of the cups in front of my plate.

I hoped I wasn't blushing as I met his blue eyes, and picked up the cup if only so he couldn't see how my hands were shaking, still feeling paranoid that he'd be able to sense that I'd just ravished his only son.

"No, Mr. Potter. And it's good to see you again." I took a small sip of the rich, warming drink, and nearly jumped as James sneaked a hand over to rest on my thigh. I stepped on his foot under the table, as hard as I could manage without being obvious, and he choked on his own drink.

"I'm Muggleborn," I explained, in case Mr. Potter didn't know. He raised his eyes, nodding to himself as though I'd confirmed something, but didn't comment on my blood status as I continued on. "So I didn't grow up playing Quidditch. I was rather more fascinated with magic itself once I get here, and was quite involved with the Charms club until this past year."

"So do you think that you'd like to find a job involving lots of charm work once you've graduated? Gringott's can always use more Curse-Breakers, and they pay them well," he said, his eyes twinkling at me in jest.

"I don't think Curse-Breaking suits my desired lifestyle," I said dryly, leaning back in my chair to stretch, feeling full and heavy and warm after the meal. "I don't like crawling around in tight places. Honestly, I'm still not sure what I want to do. Although," I said, chewing on the word. "I know what happened yesterday was horrible, but I was really intrigued. I found myself wishing that I could have stayed to watch the proceedings. You know, to see how the investigations work." It was the first time I had admitted it out loud, and found myself blushing at the admission, fearing that it made me sound callous.

Mr. Potter dabbed at his mouth, quite business-like, with a napkin. "Well if you're interested in learning more about law enforcement, I could certainly arrange to let you come visit the department for a day and see what we Hit Wizards get up to. We call it 'shadowing'. We usually have a handful of students come throughout the year."

"Really?" I said, raising my eyebrows. I leaned forward, interested. "I didn't know we could do that. I'd like to, very much. To see whether or not I'd like it as a job."

"I'll have a chat with our Secretary when I get back to the office, and have her contact you to arrange a date," he said, and then tilted his head at his son. "What's that dark look for? You don't think Magical Law Enforcement is good enough for your girlfriend?"

He softened the words with a wink, but I looked sideways at James, and found him frowning. He forced a smile in the next moment. "I just don't think she'd like working under such a tyrant," he joked, poking fun at his father.

"And tell me, how well did your new broomstick fly? The one your tyrannical father bought you."

"Since I was the one flying it, of course it did an amazing job."

I groaned, and was on the verge of saying something about James' giant ego when Sirius suddenly brightened as though remembering something.

"Since when," Sirius said, interrupting the banter, "has the Ministry okayed giving a lot of under-aged wizards Veritaserum during routine investigations?"

"Wait, what?" James asked, so surprised that he forgot, for a moment, that he was on a mission to eat all of the food on the table. His forkful of beans paused in the air, midway to his mouth, as he looked intently at his father.

"You missed the excitement. Last night they dosed us all and asked us questions to make sure we aren't Death Eaters," I said flatly. "The Hit Wizard was a bit of a berk about it, actually. Thorfinn Rowle," I said, frowning with distaste at the memory of him.

Mr. Potter sighed. "That policy is new, and quite controversial," he said diplomatically, not revealing his own opinions on the matter. "I hope it wasn't too unpleasant."

"It wasn't unpleasant, exactly, it just made me feel like a criminal. And then the questions were ridiculous. It doesn't take much imagination to figure that with a little bit of forethought a Death Eater could word their answers in a way they'd appear innocent-" I stopped speaking abruptly, realizing that I was insulting Mr. Potter if he had been involved at all with writing the required questions. "Er. Sorry."

"No that's alright," he said, smiling faintly. "We always appreciate feedback. And perhaps we can coach Rowle to be more gentle in his administration of Ministry policy."

"You should have seen her trying to come up with something nice to say about me while the potion was still working," Sirius said, obviously intending to lighten the mood. "She nearly choked."

I pressed my lips together, fighting back a retort, and shook my head, but that only made the three men laugh. I grinned despite myself, and glanced over towards the high table where the Minister was leaning intently in toward Dumbledore, gesticulating so wildly with his wine goblet that his drink nearly splashed onto the table. Dumbledore nodded at whatever the Minister had said, and turned to look out over the students. He must have sensed me looking at him because he met my eyes. I bit my lip and then gave him one decisive nod. Yes, I mouthed, and he winked at me in understanding, and I turned back to my meal.

I wondered if my induction to the Order of the Phoenix would be as simple as that, a simple acceptance of the risk and then on to business. I had nothing to do now but wait for orders.

11.7

"Miss Evans?"

Professor McGonagall's voice, so unexpected, made me jump. I looked up from the stack of textbooks I'd been musing over, trying to decide which were worth borrowing for my Defense Against The Dark Arts essay. I should have been at breakfast, but the Professors had been keeping us so busy with schoolwork in an attempt to gear us up for N.E.W.T.s that breakfast was my only opportunity to make the quick trip to the library. I marveled that she'd found me here at such an odd hour.

The cold light streaming through the windows illuminated the gray strands of her hair and lit the ever-present dust motes floating in the air as she approached my desk. She looked worried.

I stood, horrible thoughts chasing themselves around my mind. Was it my parents? Had there been an attack? She had a letter in her hands, the purple wax seal broken. I caught my breath as the world seemed to spin around me. "Yes?"

"No need to worry," she said in a belated attempt to reassure me as she held out the letter. "The Headmaster received a letter from the Wizengamot, about you."

"About me?" I turned the light scroll over in my hands, running a finger over the broken seal of the Ministry before inspecting the delicate cursive of the short missive, penned in purple ink. I had to squint to read the thinly slanting letters.

"It appears they are summoning you to testify as a witness to the murder that took place in Hogsmeade two weeks ago," she said as I quickly skimmed over the letter. "In front of the full Wizengamot. The date is to be determined."

I blinked, re-reading the letter three times before saying simply, "Oh." I could already feel my blood pressure rising.

"It should be nothing to worry about. They're summoning several students, actually," she said, resting a hand on my shoulder. "But if you'd like, you can meet with the school's counselor of law to help prepare."

"That would be helpful. Thank you," I said distractedly, rolling up the letter and shoving it into my bag. If there was ever something I didn't want to think about, it was lawyer-speak. My blood was roaring in my ears and black spots danced across my vision, but Professor McGonagall didn't seem to notice. She smiled, and then glanced down at her watch. "Class starts in five minutes, Miss Evans. I'm sure Professor Slughorn wouldn't want you to be late to Potions."

"Right. Thank you. I should go," I rambled. I waved my wand at the stack of text books, and they flew across the library to the check-out counter.

I barely made it to class on time, slipping into my seat next to Bertram just as the bell rang. I busied myself with pulling out my potions ingredients, but found myself staring at my school bag as though the letter was a viper waiting to strike. I waited impatiently while Professor Slughorn lectured us on the Blood-Replenishing Potion that we would be making today. I barely noticed as he stopped by my table, and made a bad joke that I was looking so pale that no doubt I'd try to dose myself with the potion when it was done.

Finally Slughorn released us to begin working. On the pretense of needing to visit the store cupboard, I slipped the letter onto James' lap, with a hastily-written plea scribbled at the bottom. He was a Purebood, with a wealthy well-connected family. His father was the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, which might, I admitted, present some sort of conflict of interest. But I needed a superb lawyer, and no doubt James could connect me with one.

Because I didn't want to testify. Something deep in my gut told me that if I did—me, a lowly Muggleborn with no professional connections whatsoever—the Death Eaters would kill me in retaliation. Did that make me a coward? Did it make me unworthy to take a place in the Order of the Phoenix?

I made another unnecessary trip to the store cupboard, and stood idly shifting the glass vials of alligator hearts and beetles and other miscellaneous ingredients until I heard someone step up behind me. I turned—but it wasn't James. It was Snape.

"I told you," he said, reaching over my shoulder to pluck one of the vials off of the shelf. He was standing uncomfortably close to me, but I could still barely make out his muttered words. "I told you it wasn't safe to mix with Aurors."

I sniffed at his concern. "Did the Wizengamot summon you, too?"

He nodded. "Someone must have told them I was near the scene."

"Well," I said icily. "I don't envy you."

His lip curled in a sneer. "What do you mean?"

"You're going to have to give evidence against your gang of friends. I imagine they won't take kindly to that."

"Why do you persist on putting yourself in harm's way?" He said, ignoring my attempt at getting under his skin. "You can't testify, Lily."

"What I do or don't do isn't your concern." Annoyed that he would try to give me unasked for advice, I tried to walk by him, but he stepped aside, blocking my path.

"They'll kill you," he hissed as I surged forward anyway, my shoulder banging roughly against his. But his warning didn't falter my step. If anything I stood straighter, my lips pressed in a firm line of determination.

Because he had just changed my mind. I would testify, just as I would fight for the Order of the Phoenix. And I would deal with any consequences as they came.