My Dear Grandfather,
I am writing to you, inspired by new sentiments of post-war harmony, to ask that we may be reunited. Six years have passed since we last spoke, and nothing would please me more than for you and Uncle Phineas to meet my wife and son, who are both eager to know you. I imagine you are intrigued to meet your great-grandson, who is already showing signs of great wizardry.
With regards to the events of the past, all is water under the bridge. My mother's untimely death was a tragic shock to all. I imagine, for you, it was particularly painful. Now that I have experienced parenthood, I understand how unbearable it must be to lose a child. War has also shown me the value of family and togetherness, and so I sincerely hope to hear from you soon.
Best wishes,
James C. Potter.
"What do you think?" Lily asked James, taking the letter back from him.
"I think you're a very talented writer," he replied with a tired smile. "But they're going to know I didn't write it."
Lily shrugged. "As long as they get the message."
"Grandfather isn't even going to read it, you know."
"Well, if your uncle is the nicer of the two, that gives us a better chance of a friendly response."
James was sat in the living room, glad to be back playing with Harry. He had spent the past few days avoiding him, for fear of re-infecting him with whatever illness he'd suffered.
They had been living with Remus for four days, and were happy to be there. A peaceful house in a pleasant village was restorative to low spirits. Lily, though growing weary of Harry's restlessness, seemed content. It was a load off James' mind, but still he knew that until they found a home, their life would be in limbo.
Writing to James' grandfather seemed to stir a strong sense of determination in Lily; something James hadn't seen since the war. The letter itself filled James with dread. He had agreed to Lily's plan partly out of familial duty and partly out of curiosity. He wanted to see what the war had done to Uncle Phineas and his already-deteriorating Grandfather. Would Phineas' animate humour still border on the sinister? And his miserable, lifeless Grandfather. Alcohol was already starting to rot him from the inside out when James last saw him, six years ago. If the man was still alive, what in Merlin's name would he look like?
Phineas and Cygnus Black were brothers and sworn enemies. The fact that they'd lived together for decades was the only indicator of feeling between then. They were chalk and cheese. Phineas was flamboyant, outspoken and blunt. Cygnus was gruff, depressed and hate-filled. The Black brothers had just one thing in common: They had both bought their way out of Azkaban.
James had received a letter of his own.
Mr Potter,
I am writing to you to insist that you return to your Auror training as soon as possible. It is understood that your illness has subsided and the upcoming training sessions are essential for all recruits.
Your recent abandonment of the Ministry-provided safe-house has been noted. While the Auror Office respects your decision to refuse assistance, we are forced to assume not to help in future. I would also like to inform you that Auror Mavis MacDonald (who has been suspended from our programme) spoke highly of you and your family in her sign-off interview and wishes you the best of luck for the future.
I assure you that the upcoming training sessions will be theory-based, and therefore will not be physically taxing if you are not fully recovered.
I look forward to your return,
Etta Gamble, Senior Auror
Theory-based. Classroom stuff. It sounded as exhausting as combat.
"I miss coffee," Lily announced, distracting James from the letter. "I'm so knackered, I might fall asleep standing up."
James looked at her. She was standing at the dining table, where she'd written her letter. Her hair was a mess.
"Sleepless night?" he asked.
She turned to him and smiled sleepily. "Yes. But I'm not complaining."
She had crept into his room that night. They had decided that, for the benefit of both their babies, they would sleep in separate rooms until James was no longer sick. However, hormones will be hormones, and after a few short minutes of kissing Lily had slid her hand into James' boxers and initiated a long night of careful yet desperate sex. Silencing charms can only do so much. If the bumps in the night hadn't revealed their night-time activities to Remus, their smiles in the morning had.
It was concluded that James was fully recovered.
oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo
As soon as James arrived at the Ministry, he was alert.
The place was nowhere near as loud and bustling as it usually was. Instead, there were yards of space, echoing footsteps and the sound of a slight ruckus further away. The lack of hoards made the Ministry seem even more vast and impressive, but dormant, as though James had arrived on everyone's day off. The sound of a crowd round the corner, however, conveyed that something was happening to which James was oblivious.
A bald wizard in light grey robes walked past James. James reached out and touched his arm.
"Excuse me," James addressed the wizard. "But, um... what's going on? Where is everyone?"
The wizard shrugged. "No-one wants to come into work. Can't blame them really."
"How come?"
The wizard looked confused. "Haven't you read the Prophet?"
"No..?"
The wizard pointed in the direction of where the sound was coming from, round a corner. "Take a look."
The wizard departed. James followed the sound, tense with apprehension. Round the corner, a small crowd was gathered around the newspaper stand. They were jostling with each other, reaching for copies of the Prophet. Some broke from the herd having claimed one, and were reading it with intrigue. James walked towards them, and read the headline on the front of one man's Prophet.
LESTRANGE SLAYS EIGHT
James' stomach twisted.
"James?" came a voice. James spun round and ducked.
The wizard who'd spoken his name raised his hands up. "Be calm, friend."
He was Ammon, the Algerian wizard on the training programme with James. James relaxed.
"Have you seen this?" James gestured to the news stand and the crowd.
Ammon nodded solemnly. "I have read the article. They were found in the bathrooms at the Muggle Artefacts office. Hence..." Ammon looked around at the deserted hall.
Muggle Artefacts? James lunged into the crowd, irking several wizards, and grabbed a copy of the Prophet.
His heart raced as he scanned the article, seeking names.
"Please not Ted..." he said aloud. "Please not Ted..."
"You know someone in that department?" asked Ammon. "They have closed it. I am sure your friend is unharmed."
James found the names. They were all people he had not heard of.
"Thank God..." he sighed. He instantly regretted it.
Somewhere in the crowd, a woman was crying. James peered through the gathered wizards to see a woman, whose back was facing him, being consoled by another witch.
"The wizarding world is surprisingly small..." Ammon contemplated.
The woman was lead away, towards the Ministry's exit.
oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo
Cadwal had brought the Daily Prophet to Lily, and after reading it she'd had to place it upside down on the dining table. The picture of Bellatrix on the cover was the same sinister picture that had accompanied every article about her since the beginning of the war. That, combined with the headline, was unbearable to look at. It made her sick. Bellatrix Lestrange was a tornado of death and pain and she was still out there, killing for sport. Creating orphans.
She wondered what Snape thought about the murders. She hated that he'd become 'Snape' in her mind, but her life was with the Marauders now. Phrases caught on. Plus, she'd surrendered any familiarity with him.
She was bored. Harry was upstairs, sleeping off his own boredom. All Lily had for company was a snoozing cat, an unsociable owl, an irritatingly loud ticking clock, and her thoughts.
Four faces flashed in her mind in constant rotation. Severus Snape's low demeanour was one of them. She could picture him crying, alone in his mother's old house, hopeless and afraid. She could also picture him sneering. He had never been one to sneer, but his implicit threats towards Harry turned him into a devil in her mind. She trusted Snape with her life. She did not trust him with Harry's. In ten years' time, Harry's life would be out of her hands and into Snape's.
She felt like a mother in a fairy story, tricked into relinquishing her baby to an evil goblin.
The second face belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange. It was hard to avoid her face at all these days. It was splashed all over the wizarding world, people desperate to memorise every hair and every wrinkle of her profile lest she come near their families. The vision Lily had of her now was akin to that of a rabid dog: screechingly loud, manic, lost, vicious. She had a child inside her, too. She was undoubtedly as unattached to this child as a feral dog is to her rejected litter. The Prophet had reported her pregnancy long ago. The child was already being condemned as a psychopath before even being born. Lily adamantly disagreed with this sentiment. No-one was born a murderer.
If Bellatrix's child survived, it would grow up with the disdain of the wizarding world as a replacement for a mother's love.
The other two faces were the ambiguous profiles of Cygnys and Phineas Black. Butterflies had fluttered in her stomach as she sent Cadwal away with the letter. She expected the white-haired blood purists she'd seen so many of in the wizarding world. She also expected disapproving looks and snide comments about heritage, but it was still important to her to know who they were. Lily's own ancestry was a mystery, thanks to her grandmother's disappearance and the bombs that killed both of her grandfathers. James' ancestry, however, was in history books. If there was a fragment of the Black family that could accept her marriage to James, she wanted to know.
Loud, irritant thoughts. The loud second-hand ticking of the clock signified another switch in focus in her brain. Tick, Snape. Tock, Bellatrix. Tick, Phineas. Tock, Cygnus.
Lily took a book from the shelf in the lounge without looking at the spine and sat in the armchair with it. She tried to read it. It was something about Animagi; a debate about life spans.
Tick, James. Tock, Sirius. Tick, Bellatrix. Tock, Voldemort. Tick, James.
She closed the book and returned it to the shelf.
She paced the room. She felt a wave of queasiness. She put a hand to her protruding stomach.
Another ambiguous face to add to the mix of people that plagued her thoughts.
Tick, baby. Tock, Harry. Tick, baby.
It was as though the house was no longer silent, and instead was filled with invisible party guests, suffocating in the lack of space, all talking at once.
Her head felt claustrophobic. Was there some magical way of draining your mind out through your ears?
Lily's eyes widened. "Parchment."
She scoured the room, opening cupboards and searching drawers, excited by the itch in her hands to put pen to paper. The swarm of thoughts in her head was no longer painful, but resourceful. She let her mind gather as she searched.
She opened one of the drawers underneath Remus' potions cabinet. There were reams of parchment in there, but many were already written on. Lily pushed through them, inspecting them, seeing if any were blank. She picked one up and almost discarded it, but her eyes lingered. She read it.
If the moon calls a signal of celestial beings,
And for children under bed clothes inspires fright,
Why do some gaze upon its solemn watch,
And wander through the darkness to bask in its delight?
A poem. Written by Remus. Lily smiled in amazement and read on.
'Tis uncommon that a blue hue burns the skin,
And I certainly cower from its stolen light...
No. These were private. She put it back. She kept looking. Next drawer.
The contents rattled loudly as she opened it. Inside were dozens upon dozens of small glass vials full of a dark substance. Lily dragged her finger through the contents of the drawer, hearing the chinking of glass. The vials were hot to the touch.
Wolfsbane Potion. Hundreds of vials.
Behind her, a dog barked.
This no longer scared her. Though it made her jump, she turned calmly to see Sirius standing in the middle of the lounge in dog form, with a newspaper between his teeth.
"I wasn't snooping," she told him. "I was looking for parchment."
Padfoot dropped the newspaper on the floor. With it, a letter. The envelope was already torn.
Lily picked them up. The newspaper was that day's copy of the Daily Prophet, which she already had. The letter, she pulled out of the envelope and read.
Padfoot,
Go to Lily. Make sure she knows about B.L. Stay in dog form. B.L mustn't find you.
Prongs.
"I know about Lestrange," she told the dog. "I'm sure this means they'll find her soon."
Then, from upstairs, Lily heard Harry whine. She sighed.
She looked at Padfoot. "Walkies?"
oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo
At the Ministry, the morning had been unproductive for everyone.
The Grettadam Chamber had been transformed to resemble a large black marble lecture hall. James was glad of it at first. He doubted he could bear being back in the classroom. But there was something tense and pretend in the way Etta Gamble delivered her lecture. At first, James had thought that it was Rufus Scrimgeour's presence that threw her. He had informed the trainees on arrival that he was conducting an observation on Miss Gamble's teaching. But as the lecture went on, James knew that Scrimgeour was not observing her at all. He was observing the class.
James feigned interest. The topic was boring. Laws that a ten-year-old would guess at. Unforgivable Curses are illegal. Fatalities would result in an inquiry. Defend, don't attack. Restrain, don't injure. Daily reports. Yearly exams.
Etta Gamble's wariness made James uncomfortable. She was no longer sultry and droll. She was robotic. He guessed this was something to do with Bellatrix Lestrange. But what struck James even more was that he saw his future in Gamble and Scrimgeour. He knew that these two people were Auror leaders. He knew that training recruits was an additional responsibility for them. But now, he saw that it was a burden. And he understood. Gamble was in here, giving lectures, when there were witches and wizards being slaughtered by a madwoman. It seemed pointless, and James felt guilty for burdening her. However, it also made him resent her for resenting him. Eye for an eye, and so forth.
Lunchtime could not have come sooner. In the Auror Department, there was square hall connecting all the offices, at the centre of which was a large stone statue of Eldritch Diggory. Around him were several benches, upon which James sat with Ammon and Bertie. While they ate, all three of them were examining copies of the textbook Gamble had given out to them in the lecture.
Auror Training, Stage Two: Determination and Skill
"What happened to Stage One?" asked James.
"We have completed it. Hence 'Stage Two'," replied Ammon.
"I didn't get a book for that..."
"Of course you didn't. We were judged on our performance in training. We have to study for this one."
James opened the front cover and scanned the contents. There were chapters on history, laws, oversees Auror programmes, the Wizengamot, Azkaban, Ministry-exclusive spells... and Exam Tips.
"There's a fucking exam?!" James exclaimed.
Ammon looked at him curiously. "Of course... did you not know?"
"No!"
Ammon shook his head. "You seem to be oblivious to the workings of the Auror department."
James straightened his back. "How do you know everything, then?"
Ammon raised his eyebrows. "I did my research. I studied."
James leaned over Ammon to address the third member of their party. "Bertie? Did you know there was an exam?"
Bertie, who had been busy staring at the statue of Eldritch Diggory, was startled.
"Exam? When, now?! I haven't studied!"
As Bertie stood up and panicked, James deflated.
"You have a year," said Ammon, scrunching up his food wrapping and standing up. "Study hard, my friend." He walked away.
Ammon was not his friend. He was a sore loser in practical tasks and smug and annoying the rest of the time. He hated people like that.
oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo
Lily had almost begun writing that morning. She'd even reached for the parchment and quill. Her mind had been so awash with racing thoughts that she'd needed to put them onto paper. Her mind would have burst otherwise. But now, hours later, sitting on the tarmac surface of a children's playground, her mind was empty.
Perhaps her brain had exhausted all emotion and thought in that strange moment earlier, which she could only describe as a literary panic attack. Was that it? She didn't care.
In one morning, her life had become heavier. Murderers, relatives, storms of thought... it ached to think about them all.
Wind ripped through the trees and stirred a sound that reminded Lily of the sea. It was freezing, but neither Harry nor Sirius seemed to care. Harry was content to sit on the spring horse rocker while Lily absentmindedly rocked it. Sirius was sat beside her. Harry's attention was on Sirius. Sirius' attention was on Lily. The fog that was clouding in her brain prevented her from assuring either of them that she was okay. She knew her blank stare was troubling, but she could not will herself out of her slump.
"Excuse me! Miss?" called a man.
Sirius stood up and tensed. With effort, Lily followed the source of the voice to see a chubby middle-aged man opening the gate to the playground.
"No dogs allowed in this part of the park, I'm afraid! But they're welcome in the grass area!"
Sirius did not make a move. Neither did Lily. She was mesmerised by this man's resemblance to her late father. He wore the same beige pea-coat (the one she wore now), the same flat farmer's cap and had the same dark boot-brush moustache. Both this man and her father both resembled what Lily imagined Peter Pettigrew to look like in the future.
"Sorry..." she mumbled, though the man was too far away to hear her. When she made no move to take the dog away, the man grumpily exited the playground.
Harry dismounted the horse rocker and ran toward the roundabout. Sirius followed him. Lily heaved herself up from the ground and meandered over to a nearby bench. The bench was metal and cold and quickly numbed her bum, but she was too distracted to care about anything. Too distracted by nothingness.
Surely this was not depression. How could she be depressed? She was soon to be a mother of two. She had a wonderful husband. She survived a war.
The faces that plagued her thoughts started to re-emerge in her mind, and for a second Lily was relieved to be actually thinking. But the faces were accompanied by sounds, this time. Bellatrix Lestrange's manic laugh tangled with the sound of the wind in the trees and Severus Snape's deafening silence seemed to coil into a more agonizing presence in her heart with every squeak and groan of the roundabout that Harry was playing on.
The baby was low in her womb. Practically nestled in her pelvis. It hurt to be upright. She lay down.
She was tired. When she closed her eyes, the faces were brighter and sounds were louder. Lestrange's laugh. Screams from dozens of tortured souls; souls she'd trapped somewhere. In the distance, Harry giggled.
She was curled up like a baby. Foetal position. Like the baby inside her. A paradox.
Suddenly, she was in someone else's memories. A nurse, perhaps. Her father was slouched in a chair in a muggle hospital room with Lily sleeping on his stomach, red and wrinkled with pencil-thin limbs. Her father was too busy cradling her to wipe his tears. In the room next door, his wife howled like a wounded animal. She cradled her son, much like Harold Evans cradled his daughter, only his daughter was breathing little gasping breaths and reaching with her tiny hands for something to grasp onto, the energy she was exerting turning her redder and redder. His son, limp on his wife's breast, grew paler and paler as minutes ticked by in a world he'd left behind.
Twins. Together forever, in different worlds.
She could see him now. He was never the same age as her when she pictured him. Always a little boy in shorts and a knitted jumper. His parents would be with him now. If Lily had died when Voldemort had intended for her to die, she'd be with him too. Did muggles and wizards end up in the same Heaven? She could picture her parents now, up There, separated in love but united in their new understanding of those who stood around them. Wizards. Witches. Centuries' worth of them. Her parents would clutch their boy's shoulders and look around at the witches burned in Salem and drowned in duck-ponds and the wizards destroyed by their own magic...
Out from within the crowd of wizards Lily imagined now, came Marlene. Marlene looked at her, bent down to her level, and placed a cold hand on her shoulder. Wake up.
"Wake up, love."
Someone was shaking her shoulder.
"Come on. Sit up."
Lily hauled herself upright and blinked. The bright light filled her eyes.
"You should be looking after your child when you're in public, love. If you can't look after him alone, find someone who can."
A woman was speaking to her, and people at the gate were watching her. Harry looked happy. He was trying to climb up the slide.
"Sorry," Lily muttered. "Pregnant." As if that would bloody excuse her.
"There are no excuses for bad parenting, I'm afraid," said the woman, as though she'd read Lily's mind. "I know motherhood is hard, but you just have to toughen up and do it. For your child. There is no shame in asking for help."
"... yeah,"
In the sky, Lily could see the full moon. Or, almost full. She couldn't tell. But it was there, looming.
"Go home. And control your bloody dog."
"...okay... Sirius, it's a full moon." She looked at the Sirius, who was looking at her. "I didn't see Remus get out of bed this morning."
The woman did not say another word. She merely walked away quickly, ushering the gathered spectators away.
Her baby was kicking her. It didn't hurt. Gentle nudges, like Harry used to do. Gentle reminders to be present and wake up.
She stood up and shook her hair out, breathing in the cold and forcing her foggy mind to clear. She approached Harry, who had dismantled the slide and was watching her confusedly.
What is wrong with me?
She went to pick him up, but a dark swooping object in the sky distracted her.
Cadwal flapped his enormous wings as he landed on one of the roundabout railings. Lily looked around, fearful of watching muggles. They had all dispersed.
The owl had a letter in his beak. She took it, and knowing who it would be from she took a deep breath. She opened it.
Dearest Lily!
To be re-acquainted with my grandson and his family would gladden my old, blackened heart. Do please visit at your soonest convenience. I shall provide Elf Wine!
All the best,
Cygnus Black
Shit. He knew James hadn't written the letter.
It did not alarm her to see that he'd addressed her personally, however. Because judging from what she'd learnt of Cygnus Black from James and Sirius, he had not written this letter either.
oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo
Night fell, and the boys were gone.
She was sat on the floor with Harry, supervising him while he teased Tuppy with a piece of string. She was immersed in this time with him. She had to be. She had failed him in the playground earlier. She had neglected her child. But she loved him, and could not think of anything better than watching him play and laugh and learn. This lead Lily to understand that falling asleep in a public playground was something she could not have controlled, and whatever had caused her autonomy to slip could very easily cause it again. Thus, she would have to ask for help. For Harry's sake.
The lounge was dim. The floor lamp in the corner was light enough for the evening, and the moonlight did the rest.
The full moon was so bright, it made Lily's eyes water. It had a nagging presence in the corner of her eye, out of the window. She would have closed the curtains, but Harry liked them open. She had no idea why.
Whenever a full moon hung in the sky, Lily's human husband was no longer on Earth. During a full moon, Lily was married to an animal. Though she didn't find this disturbing (it was actually odd and amusing to say out loud), she always fretted over her husband's return. She knew Remus would not hurt him. That was something that used to cause her great anxiety. Now, years later, knowing the effects of the Wolfsbane potion, Lily's main concern was how well James actually knew his own animagus, and whether or not he would come home one morning stuck in his stag form. Then there was the additional fear of James' potential sentencing to Azkaban if he was ever caught.
"Mummy," said Harry. "Water."
Lily kissed her son on the head and stood up to fetch him some water.
The doorbell rang.
She looked at Harry, who was distracted by the cat again. She then grabbed her wand and answered the door.
Severus Snape was stood on the doorstep.
Lily could feel a battle coming on. "Stalking is unbecoming, Severus. Please leave."
"No. I need to talk to you. It's important for us both."
He did not look as miserable or nervous as before. Instead, he looked resolutely determined.
Lily looked up at the full moon. "You came here tonight because you knew I'd be alone," she observed.
"It seems I cannot say my piece while your body-guards are present."
Lily ignored him. "I suppose I'm not surprised that you'd be so cruel as take advantage of Remus' lycanthropy."
"You aren't seriously suggesting that I'm the cruel one..."
She raised her eyebrows. "Is that a joke? After everything you've done, you want to try and take the moral high-ground?"
Severus suppressed a sigh. "You're nit-picking my words to avoid having an actual conversation with me."
"I don't want to have a conversation with you."
"Lily, we have to talk. We both need answers. I know there are things you want to talk to me about. I don't expect any sort of friendship after this. I just want us to talk. Properly. Then, if you want, I won't come near you again."
He spoke the words like he was reciting poetry.
She stared at him for a long time. She rolled her eyes.
"I'll let you in. But I'm not putting my wand away. If you touch my child, I'll curse your arm off."
She could tell he wanted to dismiss her threat. It hurt him that she still thought he was dangerous. That's how she wanted it. Her allowing him into the house would be his first and only victory.
"I shouldn't be letting you in at all," said Lily, shutting the front door and leading him into the lounge. "This isn't my house. You can't stay for long."
"We have all night."
She cringed at his wording.
"Mummy!" Harry toddled towards her feet. "Water!"
She picked him up and looked into his eyes. She knew that Severus was staring at Harry in the strange way he always did. Harry looked like James. That alone would give her strength to deal with the man she'd let in the house.
"Water!"
She led Harry by the hand into the kitchen. She would not leave him with Severus.
"If you hurt my cat, I'll hurt you too!" she called out to Severus as she filled a beaker of water from the tap. She heard him mutter something in response, but decided to ignore it.
When she returned, he was sat on the sofa. Lily sat opposite him, in the armchair, as she sat Harry on his lap and helped him drink the water.
"Right. Ask away," she prompted Severus.
"I, um... when I..." he trailed off. He was staring at Harry again.
"What is your problem with him?" she asked. He looked up at her. "He's just a baby. He's not a marauder."
"I know..." he cocked his head slightly to one side, observing Harry. "He looks like you," he said in an uncharacteristically soft tone. "You and Potter."
She would have said something sarcastic about the wonders of procreation, but it would have been a redundant kick in his gut.
"Are you happy?" asked Severus. "Does Potter make you happy?"
"Severus, you asked me that when we were at the graves. I told you, yes."
"It was an ambiguous 'yes', and you weren't living in a spare bedroom at that point."
"Technically, we were," she replied, remembering the sparse out-house lent to them by the Tonks family. "And I stand by my answer that I am happy to be with him."
"That doesn't quite answer the question."
"It doesn't answer the question because your question is too complex for a 'yes' or 'no' answer. I lost my home, my friends are dead, there's a madwoman on the loose, my friends are gone and I'm raising my son out of a suitcase, so I wouldn't say that I'm happy."
Severus surprised her by looking horrified.
"But I have James. And Harry. I always will."
"But are you-"
"I'm in love with him, Sev," she said plainly. "We're in love and I love being his wife."
Severus grew pale. "I see."
"That was the longest 'Are You Single?' query ever."
Severus grimaced. "That's not what I was asking."
"Isn't it?"
"No. It might be inconceivable for you to understand, but I do actually care about your happiness whether I'm involved in it or not."
Lily looked at him pointedly. "Do you blame me for not believing that?"
"All those years of friendship and you think I don't care?"
Lily suddenly felt frosty. "If you cared about me at all, you would not have joined the Death Eaters and you certainly wouldn't have let my best friends be killed."
Severus leant forward. "Lily, I had nothing to do with Meadowes or McKinnon's deaths. I swear to you."
But he must have been responsible for someone's death, though. Did he know who? Did he care?
"Why did you join them?" she asked quietly.
Severus closed his eyes. "Because I was just a boy, and I was stupid and I thought I could like myself if I became someone else."
"You wanted to kill muggle-borns to feel better about yourself?"
Severus' head drooped. "I didn't know their full intentions when I joined. I only stayed because Dumbledore wanted me there as a spy."
Lily nodded, not in agreement but in acceptance that this was the statement he was sticking to.
She wanted to ask him about muggle-borns, and what he thought of them, but she knew his answer would be pointless. He'd plead tolerance and innocence no matter what he thought of blood purity.
The ticking of the grandfather clock prompted her next question.
"Do you know where Bellatrix Lestrange is?"
Severus sighed. "No."
"If you do, I won't tell anyone you know. I'll just-"
"I don't know where she is," he emphasised. "I haven't seen her since long before the war ended."
Lily looked at him questioningly. "How come?"
He shrugged. "I didn't like her."
She suppressed a smile.
"Mummy?"
Lily looked down at her son, who was still sitting on her lap. He pointed at Severus, who seemed taken aback by the toddler's attention. Harry held out the empty beaker to him. "My cup."
Severus looked at Lily. "Does he want me to get water?"
Lily stroked her son's cheek. "No, he just wants to show off his cup."
It wasn't Harry's cup, but it was his favourite colour. Red. Therefore, it was his.
"How very like his father," said Severus. "I recall Potter taking his quidditch tournament cup with him to lessons."
"Please don't criticise him," Lily said wearily. "Why would I accept that?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean... it was just an observation."
Silence fell between them. Lily resented herself for how she saw him now: a beggar. A slave to his own misery. It occurred to her that she'd never pictured his future. Not once, not even when they were friends. It wasn't ambitious. Not unmotivated, just... uninterested. There was nothing he wanted, except for something that made Lily feel claustrophobic.
"You feel betrayed by me," she guessed. He looked up at her, and did not look shocked. "It's because I married your enemy."
Severus struggled to formulate her next words. "I'm sad that you changed for him."
Lily sat back in the armchair. Severus did not understand at all. But she would not explain love to him. Neither of them would benefit.
"James never asked me to change. Never wanted it."
"He turned you into a housewife."
Lily narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm starting to suspect you of misogyny, Severus."
"Don't be silly," he dismissed. "I'm saying that you don't shine anymore. You used to be so alive and hopeful... when we were friends. And now, you're... not the same."
Lily wanted to kick him out. She wanted to shout at him, and she might've done if Harry wasn't with her. Blood purity had dropped a bomb between her and her old best friend, and now they would grow old parallel to each other as she always imagined, only much further apart.
"I was a teenager back then," she reminded him. "Of course I was hopeful. But then a bloody war happened, Severus, and people like me were being stamped out. Parts of me are dead. All my hope is in my arms right now."
Severus looked at Harry with deep sadness. "A mother of two..."
"What is so terrible about that?"
"I never pictured you as a mother. I thought you were more... academic."
Lily raised an eyebrow. "Can a woman not be both?"
"I suppose they can."
"Definitely a misogynist. It seems outdated views are your forte."
Severus rolled his eyes.
"Why is it so difficult for you to accept that I'm happy?" she asked.
"Because you just told me you aren't."
Lily sighed. "Alright. Clearly, love and happiness are concepts too complicated for you to understand."
Severus looked at her as though she'd spat at him.
Lily stood up, hitching Harry onto her hip. "You have a lot of hate in your heart, Severus Snape. You gave into it, and joined the Death Eaters. I married someone who stood up for what was right regardless of what anyone thought of him, including me. That's the real difference between you and James Potter. You surrendered yourself to hate, and he fought it off."
Severus looked like he wanted to argue. That was exactly why her respect for him was gone.
"Go, Severus. I think we're done."
He stood up, and without a word followed her out to the front door. She opened it, and let him out.
"I thought..." he began, turning back to face her. "I thought he'd killed the best parts of you. I was... I was wrong."
"He's a good man," said Lily. "And I'm sorry that I embarrassed you in front of him and Sirius the other day. But I'm not sorry for what I said. Friend or foe, I'll hurt anyone who hurts my children."
Severus Snape's expression, which had until now been apologetic, turned disturbingly sour. "Like you said, Lily. I have hatred in my heart."
He turned and disappeared, in the plume of black smoke that was signature of a Death Eater.
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A/N: thank you for reading. Hope you had a good Valentine's Day. Most of the reviews so far have been lovely, so thank you for them.
N x
P.S: Just because you and I might understand depression, doesn't mean Lily does.
P.P.S: I'm British. British spellings, here.