"Sev, hold out your hand."

"Pardon?"

"I said, hold out your hand."

"No, I won't."

"Why?"

"Because I'm almost positive you're going to try to put some of that nasty smelling Muggle rubbish on my fingers."

"What, you don't like my nail paint?"

"As a matter of fact, I don't."

"Ugh, Severus Snape, you are such a boy."

"I suppose that epithet is better than the alternative."

"Come on, then, Sev. Just one nail."

"Absolutely not."

"Just the pinky nail."

"No!"

"I'll take it right off, I promise!"

"Somehow I don't believe you."

"You're such a meanie. And besides, David Bowie paints his nails."

"Who on earth is that?"

"Don't pretend, I know you know who that is."

"Well?"

"'Well'? He's wicked!"

"Are you really using Muggle slang at me, Lily? And to compliment some Muggle singer in the process?"

"I'M a Muggle!"

"No. You're a Muggleborn witch. There's a difference. Muggles without magic are..."

"Well? Go on."

"They're everything that's wrong with the world."

"Severus! That's a horrible thing to say!"

"Prove to me that it's not true, Lily!"

"My parents, for one!"

"And what about your sister? What about-what about-what about my filthy father?" Severus took a deep breath, went on "Even that stupid Damon Howie you like! They're all rubbish, Lily!'

"Shut UP!"

Lily picked up the bottle of nail paint and threw it at him, where it bounced off his shoulder rather painfully.

"Merlin's beard, that hurt!" Severus yelled, rubbing his arm. "What's the matter with you?"

"You're INTOLERABLE," Lily huffed, flopping down on her belly and plucking at a blade of grass, not even caring that it was ruining the sheen of pink paint on her nails.

When some moments passed and neither of them said anything, Severus repressed a sigh, then lay down next to her, took her hand.

"You've smudged it, you know," he said mildly, stroking his thumb along her index finger. Something within him shivered violently at his daring, but he was able to force his voice into nonchalance.

"I don't care," she whispered harshly, but she didn't pull her hand away. One lone leaf fluttered down from the heights of the tree above and landed between them; an early warning of the coming fall.

But then, he thought he saw her shoulders tremble a little, and before he knew what was what, she was sobbing in his arms.

"I hate what's happening to us, Severus," she wailed, burying her face in his shoulder. "I hate it!"

"Um?" Severus murmured dazedly, barely hearing her, for he was too stunned by having the scent of her hair in his nose, the feel of her lithe warm body against his, to be sensible of anything else.

"Sometimes I think that growing up is the worst thing in the world," she gasped. "One day, I'm afraid you're going to wake up and decide I'm a...I'm a Mudblood, and be done with me."

"That will never happen," Severus hissed, gnashing his teeth. "Never!"

"Won't it? We're both so different now."

"I'm not!"

"You are! And not just your cruel talk about Muggles, either, but you're also-you're taller, and your voice is changing, and you're-well. And me! It's horrid being a girl, Severus! I wish I were a boy! You don't know how awful it is, never knowing what your body is going to do next, then every month having a..." She abruptly stopped.

Severus felt his cheeks flush hotly. He and Lily sometimes could read each other's thoughts, and right then he suddenly knew exactly what she was about to say.

"Oh," he replied at last in a faint voice, then swallowed hard. This was almost more than his fourteen-year-old soul could take.

After a while, she finally calmed down a bit, her sobs leaving off into tiny sniffles. She drew back a little from him then, and with a bashful smile, she shook her head, said "I'm sorry I'm behaving like such a girl today, Sev. Forgive me?"

He couldn't even speak in reply, only nodded his head vigorously as he gazed into her tear-blurred eyes.

"Good." Then she sighed, and lay her head on his shoulder again.

"Is this all right?" she asked in a somewhat drowsy voice. "It's so comfortable like this."

He nodded again, then realized she couldn't see him from her vantage point. So instead he managed to croak "'Courseit'sallright." Naturally, his voice decided to crack right at that moment. Lily giggled, and Severus closed his eyes, his heart everywhere.

After a time, as the summer sun dipped down behind the trees and the sky was struck copper, he linked his pinky finger with hers, whispered into her hair "You can, you know."

"Hm?" she murmured against him, as though she'd fallen asleep.

"You can paint it, if you want."

She did. And he didn't remove it, either, till school started again two weeks later.

Hogwarts

June, 1995

As the semester came to a close, Severus, with a weariness that seemed older than words, unlocked the cabinet that contained the Pensieve, and from the shelf above it selected a particular bottle whose glass shimmered like tears.

There was one next to it, a plain alabaster bottle, that had never been opened since the memory within had been distilled from his mind. It would not do to look at its contents too much, lest it wear like a stone in the sea. That one, he'd save for when things were truly at a desperate pass, and he needed something of unusual power to fortify him. For now, it would be enough to sit under the cool shade of a tree by the river at Spinner's End with the scent of nail paint in his nose, and the light, warm weight of Harry Potter's mother against his shoulder.

The taste in his mouth when he stood before the Dark Lord once more this night was like slug slime, or basilisk poison. He felt as dead as Voldemort's soul was, not even shivering (the way the rest of the Death Eaters did) at Voldemort's hideous, snake-like face. For to Severus, Voldemort had long ago sunk beyond human reckoning, had perhaps never had been a man, even in the specious way that Severus had been. Oddly, he and Voldemort were quite similar: Severus, for having died and yet still existed, Voldemort for having never really lived.

But Severus wasn't afraid when Voldemort's red, slitted eyes stared directly into Severus's own. For, even before Voldemort had returned, Severus had removed from his mind every single last memory that could possibly reveal his motives if the Dark Lord managed to breach his Occlumency. In shimmering bottles they were locked away, leaving Severus's mind devoid of all traces of happiness or contentment. He knew to those who met him his face was a lifeless mask, his eyes two beads of flint, his mind a dark, dank cave, its shadows impenetrable to even the most skilled Legitimens in the world.

Now, though, once more in the sanctuary of Hogwarts, after the horrors of this night had threatened to crack Severus's iron stoicism at last, Severus locked himself in his chambers long after the castle had gone to sleep, and soothed his shriveled soul with a small taste of something even sweeter than mead.

It would not do to indulge too often; like any other intoxicant, one could grow dependent on it, and Severus now more than ever before had to maintain an unshakable resolve. But tonight, when he felt especially put upon and battered about by the Fates, he required some bright light to aid him, lest he drown in his own darkness.