Get his wand.
That night, Sirius' words hang with her in the air like fairy lights over her bed. She doesn't have to take out the parchment now. She taps out the letters of each name-Harry on the right and James on the left-into her thighs, her ribs. She taps the e of James so often she feels something, some sign, some searing emptiness must appear on her left ring finger. There must be some better way to find the truth than betrayal. She strokes the inside of her left ring finger with her thumb, as if to turn some invisible ring.
But if what Sirius said is true-it's not coming. There will be no sign. It will just go on as it has if she does not change things. And the dog knew the names. He knew them like they were written out on her fingertips already, as if the ring were there.
And there was the other accusation, the one that is keeping her from sleep.
Severus doesn't talk much about what things were like outside of the house. But the way others-Mulciber and Yaxley and others-leer at her tells her what mudbloods are good for. That the helplessness of a muggle woman might be nothing compared to the impotence of being capable of fighting back, of being capable of magic and yet denied the means. She knows what they think Severus uses her for. Getting her to play house-elf is just a perk, something to keep her busy while he is away.
She has to get up. Lying here thinking will make her mad. She stands, turns on the lights. Though the room lacks windows-another safety measure-there are flowers everywhere. Morning glories scale the bedpost with their throats turned to an unseen sun. Snapdragons line the corners. Honeysuckle dangles heavy tendrils from the corners and celling. It's an intricate bit of charm work. She knows Severus did it himself-and that there are other curses around the door, curses that will only let them through, dissillusionment charms to hide its location, glamours to make it look like a dark, bare cell. He has gone to such lengths to protect her. No, that's not quite true. She plucks a morning glory bloom from the vine as she sits up and crumples it in her fist. He's gone to these lengths to keep her. Like a bird in a bell-jar.
She sits at a desk and brushes her hair. There are no mirrors in her room. She wonders why. Perhaps so she doesn't see the spoils of war staring back at her.
There are two problems. Firstly, a memory charm strong enough to block all that is probably too strong to break and leave her whole. Simply breaking it is not quite an option.
The other problem is, Severus doesn't ever let his wand go. He keeps it up his sleeve or in an inside pocket of his cloak, and she doubts her ability to sneak into his bedroom and steal it while he sleeps without him waking. He probably places protective spells, she thinks darkly. There's no way it could be so simple. No, she will have to get his guard down.
Lily sits through the night and makes a plan. It's uncomplicated. It answers each question without a shadow of a doubt. She must simply do it.
This, she thinks when dawn finally comes, this is not the hard part. The hard part will be what comes after.
He is in his laboratory. He makes a frustrated sound, and she touches his shoulder. He starts.
"I could help," she offers.
"You know I can't let you." He rubs his temples for a moment, and Lily is struck by how drawn he looks, how old. His birthday is coming; he will be twenty-three, but he looks as if he's been left out in the rain, weathered like wood at sea, older than his years. The light catches a single silver strand-like a memory-in his lank, dark hair as it falls around his face.
"Why is this so important?"
His mouth twists ruefully. "The Dark Lord asks this task of me personally."
"What is it?"
He moves his hand across his brow as if he wishes to wipe it clean or even, to smooth out the wrinkles of worry forming there. "Please don't concern yourself."
But Lily is reading the parchment over his shoulder. "It looks like a potion to make the victim vomit. Specifically, something of a nightshade strain-but you've made changes, of course."
Severus purses his lips. "You're too clever for your own good."
"For my own good," she repeats back to him, mugging for him, a smile stretching her mouth wide. "Who are we making sick up their lunch into the china today? The Dark Lord suddenly developed a taste for pranks?"
He looks up at her, and something almost like a smile crinkles at the corners of his eyes, but it's gone as soon as it passes over him. "Beauxbatons," he says, and his eyes won't meet hers. "They draw their water from an underground river that in turn draws from this river." He traces a thin blue line on a map before him. "But it must be able to get through undetected by any of the protective enchantments."
She is perfectly still. She focuses on breathing. Her thumb strokes the inside of her left ring finger. "It's not just going to make them ill, is it."
His face hardens. "It is none of your concern."
"There are children in that school, Severus. Eleven year old boys and girls."
"I know." The defeat in his voice rings like a knell. He rubs his knuckles in his eye sockets, and stands. "You shouldn't be in here."
She looks down at the notebook again, and he snaps it shut. He spreads his hand on the cover of it, as if to hide it, and she watches him straighten, draw himself up.
She walks to the door and opens it, but thinks better of it. "Based on the charms you had listed, it should work." Lily doesn't mean it as cruel as it comes out, but there's an edge there, just the same.
His face may as well be a tombstone for all it tells her. "I know."
She thinks again of being Head Girl. How strangely hazy the memory is, in parts, like a television with the volume turned way down. But she remembers shepherding First Years. She remembers how they looked at her, with huge, hopeful eyes. How they might drink down water with the trust born of having never worried about death and how quickly it might come for them.
She shuts the door to the laboratory and drums out the names, quickly, together, on her elbows as she walks.
Tonight, then. It must happen tonight. It could have waited weeks-months-years, even. Lily Evans has the capacity for endless patience when it comes to something this important. But not now. She hardens her heart, like she has before, against him. He would charm her flowers and poison children. She must act.