Chapter 17: Complications
Life at Hogwarts really falls into the school year routine as October breezes in, crisp and golden, and I barely have time to feel guilty about demoting 'James my friend' to 'Potter my professional acquaintance'.
For one, none of our professors will let us forget this is our final year of school and that our NEWTs at the end of the year will have a huge effect on our professional aspirations after Hogwarts.
"If any of you wish to amount to anything in your next few years, you will have to step up your effort!" McGonagall lectures us one Friday after a particularly disastrous week of trying to learn Self-disguising Spells.
They – the professors, that is – also seem to be on the same page about class projects. Slughorn pairs Sev and I together to research and present on the pros and cons of Memory Potions. Meanwhile, Alice and I are entrenched in our lengthy Ancient Runes project with Angela Stoker, and Em informs us that Professor Vector has been hinting heavily they have something big coming in Arithmancy too.
When I'm not in class, doing homework, or meeting with my study groups, I'm wrapped up in Head duties – prefect meetings, evening rounds, tallying points, tutoring Timothy. I don't forget my and Potter's additional hush-hush assignment from Dumbledore to keep an eye out for trouble, but I'm so busy I don't have time to go racing across the school grounds to track down Rosier and Lestrange, and I haven't seen anyone else acting Dark. Plus, Sev and I finally feel like friends again since we're spending time together outside of class working on our Potions project, and I feel confident he'd let me know if there was something going on I should know about. We have the same free period at the end of the day Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday, and we've taken to spending it the Great Hall, working and talking and congratulating ourselves on always being the first to dinner.
Meanwhile, in tutoring, Potter bravely agrees to take on human Transfiguration with me. But while Severus and I are getting along better than ever, mine and Potter's friendship has stalled. We get our tutoring sessions in and are model Head students, but not much beyond that. I'm sticking to my resolve that nothing more is going to happen between Potter and me, and to be sure of that, I keep things very professional between us: no excessive laughing, no teasing, no heart-to-heart talks, nothing. I used our first tutoring session of October to set this new tone. I'd arrived in the library right on time, per usual, sat down in my seat across from him, taking out my wand and leaving my textbook in my bag. "Teach me human Transfiguration," I'd said. That was the day McGonagall had told us we'd be starting disguises the next week and I knew I was at a woefully poor skill level to begin.
"And what do I get for subjecting myself to that immense of a task?" Potter teased. "I might come out of this permanently disfigured. I don't think my Quidditch career could take it if I lost an arm."
I swallowed the impulse to tease right back that I didn't think anyone would be able to tell the difference (or, Merlin forbid, let slip that, one-armed or worse, I'm sure he'd still be very handsome), and just said, all business-like, "Please, Potter, this is a skill I need to learn."
His smile slipped just a little, and he nodded. "Okay."
We worked hard for the next hour and a half, but at 9:30 pm sharp, I stood. "Thanks for the help, Potter, but I have some schoolwork I really need to work on."
"Oh," he said, clearly taken aback by my abrupt end to the lesson. Then he recovered, stood too, slinging his schoolbag over his shoulder and smiling. "Me too. I'll walk with you back to Gryffindor tower."
But I'd anticipated this. "Thanks, but I have a couple books to check out." I smile at him, all innocence and politeness. "You don't need to wait up for me." Sorry, Potter.
Potter tousled his hair, said, "Alright..." and left, giving me one last frown over his shoulder as he walked out the door.
I think he got the message because the next morning in Potions, he was sitting at an already-full table with the Ravenclaws, and didn't even look up when I came in.
Right, I thought. Good. You're creating distance. Good.
But it pangs my stomach seeing him so indifferent to me, when he didn't smile my way during class, not even when Slughorn complimented how I tweaked my memory potion to include alihotsy leaves for better happy memory recall.
It's not like when I wasn't speaking to him and we didn't interact at all. Obviously, I'm still going to our tutoring sessions, and sometimes we even meet more than once a week; I'm that determined to get better. We're performing our Head duties as expected, and we exchange nods and 'hello's in passing.
It's just that everything is coated in a million layers of cordiality and professional distance, and I kind of hate it.
This is what you wanted, I remind myself over and over as I try not to sneak too many looks his way during meals. You don't want to get mixed up with that, I think as I tell myself to roll my eyes and not laugh when the Marauders manage to switch a full tray of the asphodel with a bunch of bouncing bulbs without George Belby and the other Hufflepuffs noticing, so that when they try to replant them, the plants start leaping all about and the whole class has to spend the next ten minutes chasing them around Greenhouse 8.
However, after three weeks of dealing with my distant politeness and a variety of unexpected skin and hair colors, I think Potter's starting to regret agreeing to all the human Transfiguration practice. Though he remains endlessly patient with me, he's started showing up to our tutoring sessions late, looking wary and fiddling with his hair even more than usual.
Except for one Tuesday late in October. I arrive in the library for our regular tutoring session at our regular table hidden back in the Transfiguration session, and I am appalled to find Potter already there. With Carol. At our table, bent together over a textbook thicker than the triple-layer fudge cake the house-elves always serve for Halloween. Potter looks more relaxed than I've seen him all month.
I stop short a few paces away, feeling awkward, and childishly duck behind the bookshelves, watching them through a small gap between the tops of the texts and the shelf. Should I leave? Am I, Merlin forbid, interrupting something? Ack!
Thankfully, I see Potter check his watch. He says something to Carol, who pouts but does close the giant book and stand. She ruffles his hair as she leaves, and Potter swats at her hand, laughing, and calls a good-bye.
I wait until she's gone and Potter is digging around in his bag to creep out of my hiding spot.
"Ready for today?" Potter says when he sees me.
"I think it'd be more fair to ask you that," I say dryly, plunking down into my chair. It's not the one Carol had just been in – she'd been sitting on the other side of the table. With Potter. Basically shoulder to shoulder.
Doesn't matter, doesn't matter, I chant to myself.
"Do your worst," Potter says, pushing up his sleeves. "It's been a full week since my skin was a weird color and I'm starting to feel a little bland."
I stop myself before I laugh.
But Potter's skin stays its usual shade; today my wonky spells affect his hair. All I'm trying to do is change his eye color, but for some reason (and I'm sure it has absolutely nothing to do with how I can't focus on proper spelling technique when this whole stupid exercise involves a lot of staring into Potter's eyes, which are a distracting shade of hazel)my magic keeps snagging on his hair and before long it's been almost every shade of the rainbow.
"Yeah, I don't think hot pink is really my color," Potter says, correcting yet another side effect of my magic gone wrong and spelling his hair back to black.
"Good thing you've already seen Carol today," I say bad-temperedly. My poor Transfiguration performance tonight is putting me in a rotten mood.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Potter says.
"Nothing," I mutter. "I just saw the two of you earlier is all."
Potter gives me a funny look like he can't figure out why I'm bringing this up. "Yes, we were studying. Professor Vector assigned us as Arithmancy partners."
"Well isn't that convenient," I say, rolling my eyes. "All that extra study time together..."
"What are you even talking about?" Potter says, looking genuinely bewildered.
But I'm still feeling irritated. "What's your deal with her anyways?" I snip. "Since when were you even friends with Carol?"
"Well, we did date most of last year," Potter says diplomatically.
"Oh. Right." I jab my wand too forcefully, and Potter's hair once again suffers the consequences. It turns acid green and grows rapidly, passing his shoulders in seconds. But Potter just sighs and, with a quick flick of his wand, puts his hair back to its normal messy mop of black.
"What's your deal with her?" he asks, running his hand through his hair like he wants to be sure his spell didn't put it back too tidy.
"What isn't my deal with her?" I say. "She's kind of the worst."
"She is not!" Potter protests.
"Potter!" I say in exasperation. "She's petty. She's all drama. And she's just straight-up mean." I chew on my lip. "Sometimes she makes little snide comments about me being muggle-born."
Potter looks startled. "Carol? No, she wouldn't."
"Well, she does," I snap. "Sorry to burst your little love bubble."
Potter frowns at me. "We're not dating anymore, Lily. That was months ago. We're just figuring out how to be friends again." He pauses. "Actually, it's been kind of nice. I'd missed talking to her. I imagine it's kind of how your – friendship –" he says it distastefully, "with Snape feels this year."
"I doubt that," I say. "Sev and I were best friends for years. You and Carol dated a couple months. No comparison." Potter starts to protest but I push on. "And in any case, Sev and I have never been like that."
"Not anymore," Potter says.
"Not ever," I clarify.
Potter raises his eyebrows at me, skepticism written all over his face.
"Never," I re-emphasize.
"Come off it," Potter scoffs. "You mean to tell me the two of you have never – you didn't ever… you know, like each other?"
I snort. "This feels like a primary school conversation. No. We're just friends, have always been just friends."
Potter's eyebrows stays raised. "Does Snape know that?"
"Of course he does!"
"Could have fooled me," Potter mutters.
I scowl. "And what's that supposed to mean?" I say, stealing his words.
He sighs. "Nothing, Lily. He's just..." Potter trails off. Scowls, too. "Nothing," he repeats.
We're both quiet for a long time, long enough that the clock ticks past 9:30 and Sirius Black comes looking for Potter.
"Half expected to not find you back here, with how quiet it is," Black says, strolling up. "Half expected to find you snogging."
Potter glares at Black (a welcome change from glaring at me) but I just roll my eyes. It's a fifth-year joke all over again, from back when Potter was asking me out all the time, with much egging on from Black.
Black barks a laugh at our unappreciation for his very un-funny joke. "Yarrington's looking for you," he says to Potter, jerking his head back towards the main section of the library. "Some Quidditch practice question."
"Right," Potter mutters, getting up.
"And then...?" Black raises his eyebrows at Potter and shakes his bag at him, indicating whatever mischief-making items he must pack around instead of his school supplies.
"Obviously," Potter says, not looking at me. "I'll be right back," he says and leaves to go find Yarrington.
We watch him walk away. Then I look at Black. "You know I'm Head Girl, right? And your little –" I over-exaggerate his whole eyebrow/bag shake routine to him, "was as subtle as an erumpet in a china shop."
"Ah, come on, Evans," Black says. "What are you going to do, report us for... what, exactly? A suspicious bag?"
"I'm not going to report you," I say, partly to snap back at him, partly because he's right – I can hardly turn Black in for shaking his school bag.
"Good," Black says. "Because James and I do have some work to do before Thursday."
"Thursday? What's Thursday?" I say sharply.
"Highly secret Marauders business, Evans. Not for you to worry about," Black says promptly.
"What are we not worried about?" Potter asks, coming back down the aisle to us. "Yarrington was just double-checking practice time for this weekend. I swear, kid's a great beater but I think he might have taken one too many Bludgers to the head –"
"Thursday," I snap, and Potter stops.
"Huh?" he says.
"Black here says you have 'top secret Marauders business' on Thursday," I say, irritated. Potter darts a glance at Black, clearly unsure where this is headed. "We, uh, do..." he says slowly.
"But we have prefect rounds that night!"
"I didn't sign up for them this Thursday," Potter protests. "I don't have a shift till next week."
"Oh, but bad news for you," I say. "Because no one signed up for them this Thursday, thanks to a Gobstones tournament that night, so you, you lucky Head Boy, get to fill in the empty slot with me."
Potter stares at me.
"Part of our job," I say. "If we can't get people to fill the slots, we fill them ourselves."
"But I can't," Potter says. "I'm busy that night, too!"
I snort. "Your precious Marauder friends will just have to get along without you."
Now Black butts in. "We most certainly won't," he says.
I glare at him. "Stay out of it, Black," I say.
Black does not back down. "No, look, Evans," he says. "You just need someone to fill the slot, right? Well, if Prongs can round someone up and send them on their merry way with you, that would solve the problem, yeah?"
I glare some more. "Yes," I say through gritted teeth. "That would technically be a solution."
"Well, there we go!" Black says, turning to clap Potter on the shoulder. "Prongs will get someone to do rounds with you and we won't have any more trouble."
"But just because Potter's not on rounds with me doesn't make it okay for you all to run around causing problems!" I say.
"Oh," Black says, waving a hand airily. "You won't even notice what we're up to."
I ignore him and focus back on Potter. "Potter?" I say.
"I'll find someone," he says. "And really... you won't notice us at all."
There's no way Potter found someone to cover for him tonight, I think as I wait outside the Fat Lady portrait at nine pm on Thursday. Not only is there the Gobstones Tournament going on right now, but there's also a huge Defense Against the Dark Arts exam tomorrow that's got everyone all in a tizzy. No way.
The portrait hole swings open – finally – and I prepare to gloat to Potter. But it's not Potter that steps down.
It's Carol.
"Oh, there is no bloody way Potter sent you," I say, horrified.
"Surprise," Carol says, smiling a cat-ate-the-canary kind of smile – conniving and smug and with no good will for anyone but herself.
"You're not even a prefect," I say, starting for the portrait hole myself. "Where is Potter? I'm going to give him a piece of my mind."
"He's gone," Carol says, lounging against the wall.
"Gone?" I wheel around to look at her.
"Gone," she says, examining her nails, painted a gleaming shade of deep purple, so dark they almost look black.
"Where?" I say incredulously.
Carol shrugs.
I stare at her. "What was he thinking?" I splutter.
"He was desperate," she says. "And I was there. He knows he can count on me, see." She smiles that same slightly evil smile.
"And what are you doing here, Carol?" But as soon as I ask, I know. She's here for the exact reason I don't want her here. She's come to mess with me.
"I already told you," she says. "James asked me. And of course I'd help him out."
"This. Is. Ridiculous." I say. "I can't do rounds with you."
"Well, you're going to have to," Carol says. "The time is now. You need a second person, and I'm all you've got."
"I can't believe this," I mutter. I can't believe Potter would send Carol of all people on rounds with me. He really must have been desperate. Even Potter, with all the reckless disregard of rules he has, must know that only prefects and Head students do the rounds. I mean, it's common sense. And he knows I can't stand Carol.
"You," I say, "come with me. And stay out of my way. I don't want you to do anything except follow me and stay quiet."
"Well, that's hardly a polite thing to say," Carol says as we start down the corridor. "What's James going to think when I tell him how unkind you were to me all evening?"
"I don't really care," I say sourly. "I suppose he can tell me after I finish lecturing him about being a responsible Head Boy and finding a suitable person to take a rounds shift for him." I open and shut doors as I talk, intent on getting this over as quickly as possible. Never mind that even after we check the whole castle, we're expected to be in the corridors until eleven so there isn't really a way I can speed the shift up. But maybe Carol doesn't know about the eleven o'clock requirement and I can ditch her in the common room earlier than that.
"You don't care? Not at all what James thinks of you?" Carol says, watching me as I pull back some curtains, making sure no one's hiding in the window alcove (it's a favorite hiding spot for the younger students). She's not helping at all, and even though I told her to stay out of the way and she's technically following that order, I'm also annoyed she's not doing anything.
"No," I say shortly.
"Well, that's good to know," she says. "I was starting to worry you might be developing feelings for him."
"Definitely not," I say forcefully. I peer around a corner, grateful she doesn't have a better view of my face, with my hot cheeks. "Though I'm not sure why that would be any of your business even if that was the case."
"Oh, I'm just looking out for you," Carol says, all overly concerned, her voice dripping with faux innocence. "I'd hate for you to get hurt when James and I get back together."
It takes a minute or two for me to respond. I pretend to be extra busy peering behind several suits of armor. "Get back together?" I say, and I'm pleased that my voice barely sounds strained.
"Yes," Carol says. She's back to examining her nails. "We're spending loads of time together lately. Some definite chemistry building, you know how it is."
"Potter said that was for your Arithmancy project," I say. Stupidly. Carol smirks. She's been fishing and I just bit.
"Well, that's how it started, yes," she says. "But all the late-night study sessions, the time outside class spent together... it's definitely turning into something more." She smiles in a satisfied sort of way. "Like I said, you know how it is."
"Why would I know how that is?" I ask warily. I'm sure she's talking about Potter and me, that she's somehow guessed I had indeed been – to use her words – developing feelings for him. Maybe she saw me after the Quidditch match? Or perhaps I accidentally slipped up and called him James around her...?
"Isn't that how you and Snape have been?" she says instead.
"What?" I drop the tapestry I'd pulled aside (checking behind them would be so much easier if I knew which ones were the secret passages) so I can face her. "Is this something the whole castle thinks?"
"Aren't you two together?" Carol asks. Again, she's too innocent.
"No!" I say. "And weren't you just asking me if I was into Potter? Why would you ask that if you already thought I was with Severus?"
She shrugs. "Maybe you're okay with more than one bloke at a time."
"When have I ever even had one bloke, let alone multiple?" I huff.
She shrugs again. "Like I said. Just wanted to check that I'm not stepping on your toes with James."
"Do whatever you want, Carol," I growl. "Potter -" I swallow. "There's nothing going on between Potter and me."
It's the truth, but I hate it as soon as I let it out. The words scrape my throat, feel uncomfortable on my tongue. I want to scream.
Even after nearly a month of putting space between Potter and myself, strictly enforcing my no 'James' rule, and the fact that the prat is still obviously running around making stupid mischief with his fellow Marauders, I still care about him. Agh!
I don't know what's on my face and I don't know what Carol can hear in my tone, but whatever it is, she's satisfied. She tilts her head back, smirking. "Good," she says. Then, "You know, you're right. I really shouldn't be out on rounds with you. This is a job for prefects. I'll be getting back to the common room. Bye, Lily." She waggles her fingers at me and practically sashays away, retracing our steps back up two floors and leaving me equal parts furious, relieved, and devastated.
After Carol leaves, I storm about the castle, letting my bad mood take over. All the students who leave the Great Hall after the Gobstones tournament finishes get to experience my full bad temper as I berate them for walking too slowly back to their common rooms and threaten to take points when a group of Ravenclaw girls giggle too loudly.
I head down to the dungeons, feeling like the descent matches my low mood. Usually I dislike how cold and dark it is down here, but tonight I almost revel in it. How dare Potter not turn up for rounds? How dare he send Carol in his place? And how dare Carol actually come! Just to harass me. When I see Potter again, ooh, he's never going to hear the end of this from me...
"Lily?" The voice from a shadowy corner makes me jump, and for a wild moment, I think it's Potter skulking there, come to fulfill his duty, come crawling for forgiveness.
But it's not Potter. (Of course it's not Potter). It's Severus.
"Sev!" I say. "Hi!" I check my watch. "You know, I ought to berate you for being out right now – curfew's in like two minutes." But my pleasure at finding a friendly face after my stormy evening takes away any sort of threat from my words. "What are you doing out here, anyway?"
"I'm right around the corner from my common room," he points out. "Just on my way back from the library." He hefts a book under his arm. I can't read the title. "You on rounds tonight then?"
"Yeah," I say, rolling my eyes. "And it has been a night."
Sev quirks an eyebrow. "Oh?" he asks. Then something occurs to him. He looks over my shoulder, then down the corridors. "Wait, why are you alone? Who are you patrolling with?"
"That," I say, "is a very good question. See!" I shout to no one in particular, to the castle walls, throwing an arm out to better emphasize the empty space around me, where I definitely don't have a rounds partner. "Severus knows that prefects patrol in pairs! He's not even a prefect, but he knows the rules better than some people!"
Sev watches me, lips pinched in a bemused sort of way, one eyebrow still lifted. "I take it someone failed to show tonight?" he ventures.
"If only!" I shout. "Oh, if only it was just Potter choosing not to show up tonight, but no, he couldn't just do the normal amount of irritating, he had to send freaking Carol in his place!"
"Carol Robins? She's not even a prefect."
"RIGHT?"
Sev's lips twitch. I think he's actually fighting back a grin. "Wait. Let me get this straight. Potter was supposed to come on rounds with you tonight, bailed on you, and sent Robins, who is not a prefect and who you don't like, in his place?"
I groan. It sounds even worse when he says it. Sev takes that as an affirmation.
"He really messed up, didn't he?" Sev says. He can't hold back his grin anymore.
"You don't have to look so pleased about it," I grumble.
"Sorry," he says quickly, and attempts to straighten his expression. "So, where is Potter tonight, then? If he's not with you?"
"Who knows!" I'm having trouble lowering my voice. I can't be bothered to. Most everyone's in their common rooms by now, anyway. And if they aren't... ooh, anyone I run into at this point who isn't where they're supposed to be will be doing detention until Christmas. "But wherever it is, it was more important than helping a witch out and fulfilling his Head duties." I aim an irritated kick at the wall and instantly regret it when my toes connect with the stone harder than I intended them too. I hiss, partially in irritation, partially in pain.
"Wait - what day is it?" Sev asks suddenly, ignoring my suffering.
"Thursday," I mutter, leaning against the wall and rubbing my sore toes.
"Thursday the what?" Severus pushes.
"I don't know! The twenty-sixth? Wait, no, twenty-seventh. Or is it the twenty-eighth...?" I shake my head. "Why's it matter, anyway?" After a second, I add, "No, it is the twenty-seventh, the Runes project is due tomorrow, Friday the twenty-eighth..."
Sev stares at me, brow furrowed.
"Sev?" I say loudly, when he doesn't respond.
He opens his mouth to speak, then seems to change course. "It... it doesn't matter. The point is, Lily, you're right. He totally bailed on you. That's just how Potter is. He's only looking out for himself. Potter's only got himself in mind." That way he says Potter's name, he kind of spits it, like it tastes bad on his tongue and he can't bear to hold it in any longer than he has to.
I feel very validated and want to nod right along with what Sev's saying, shout, yes, you're right, he's the most irritating git to walk these halls, but I just... can't, not quite. I keep thinking of him, leaning forward over our table in the library, demonstrating for the hundredth time what an upwards twist-flick looks like and not being the slightest bit bothered by any of the rainbow hues I'd accidentally adorned him with.
Sev notices my hesitation, and he sighs. "Look, Lily, I know you think you're getting to know Potter better this year and you're getting to be... friendly or whatever, but you already know Potter. You and I know what kind of person he is. He's arrogant and mean."
I must still look unconvinced because Severus hurries on. "Look, the fact that he chose not to do rounds tonight proves this, right? You know he's out with the other three, and you know that's never a good thing..." He opens his mouth like he wants to keep going, say more about where he thinks the four of them might be, but instead he groans and shakes his head.
"I suppose..." I say, frowning at his reaction. It's the second time he's clearly edited something he wants to say about Potter, only I don't know why he'd do that. It's almost like he... can't talk about it?
Sev notices my expression and hurries on. "Just you wait. You'll know I'm right when the Charms corridor is, I don't know, decorated with a bunch of fall leaves and live bats or whatever."
"Or all the spoons are missing," I say, scowling as I get distracted by the memory of an oatmeal breakfast in fifth year after the Marauders had done that very thing. "You're right. That boy is going to be in huge trouble when I get to him." I check my watch. Curfew has passed. "Just like you're going to be if you don't get to bed!" I let out a breath. "Just an hour left for me."
Sev doesn't budge. "I'm sorry you have to do this alone tonight, Lily."
I shrug. It is what it is.
"Anything I can do to help?" he offers.
I smile tiredly at him. He's the first person who's offered any kind of real assistance tonight.
"Really, Sev," I say. "Just get to bed. You'll be making my job a lot easier, and then I won't have to report you or give you detention."
"Well, I'm happy to do that," Severus says. "Sorry you've been saddled with Potter."
"I'll live... probably."
Sev heads to his common room and I ruminate on what he'd said while I finish doing a sweep of the downstairs. Does Potter only care about himself? He's an awful good tutor if that's the case... not to mention a very good friend, at least to Black and Remus and Pettigrew... and he was so diplomatic and thoughtful when he lead that one contentious prefect meeting...
But then I think of the rain cloud and Carol and I get worked up all over again.
When eleven rolls around, I'm honestly still too angry to feel like I can go back to Gryffindor tower. I can't bear the thought of running into Carol in the common room or, even worse, in our dorm. How truly awful it is sometimes to have to share a dorm with five other girls. Thankfully, being Head Girl is not without its perks. Maybe I'll go hide out in the prefect room under the pretense of Important Head Girl Business. Or I could visit the prefect bath and have a midnight soak...
Just as I'm thinking, yes, a bath is just what I need, I hear voices. I'm in the Entrance Hall, and, forgetting that I'm perfectly allowed to be here, dart into the shadows behind the giant staircase. I hesitate, then peek cautiously around the corner.
The Slytherins – Rosier, Lestrange, Mulciber, and Regulus Black – stride confidently into the Hall, whispering together but moving like they have every right to be up and about in the middle of the night.
No Severus. Relief. He really must have gone off to bed.
I draw deeper into the shadows as I watch them approach the staircase. Technically, I could tell them off – I've remembered I am Head Girl, this is why I'm out patrolling – but I'm suddenly very aware that there's a reason we're supposed to patrol in pairs; I feel very alone and vulnerable in the dark with a group of students who definitely do not like me.
I'm glad now I didn't go barreling around the corner. I'm safer, but this also presents the perfect opportunity for me to investigate.
I listen until their footsteps fade up the stairs, take a deep, fortifying breath, and leave the safety of my hiding spot to creep stealthily up the stairs after them.
It's a long, heart-pounding, and dark trip through the castle. It's late enough not even the ghosts are floating around. I keep far enough back from the Slytherins so that I can just see what turns they make, sticking to the darkest shadows I can find, crouching behind busts and suits of armor.
We go up to the third-floor east wing where most of the professors' personal quarters are. I tuck myself into an alcove between two suits of armor to watch as they head right for Professor Slughorn's door. Rosier pulls his wand from his pocket and fiddles at the door while the rest of them stand guard.
"What are they up to?" someone breathes behind me.
I whirl, my heart in my throat. I draw my wand on instinct, and sparks shoot haphazardly out the end.
"Whoa! Lily! Lily, it's me, it's James!" He puts his hands up defensively, whispering urgently and gesturing for me to lower my wand and stand down.
"Potter!" I hiss, my heart still thumping wildly. "What in the name of Merlin are you doing here? I could've hexed you unconscious!" I let my wand fall and slap a hand across my chest, trying to calm my racing heart.
"I don't doubt it," Potter mutters, rubbing his hair, checking for burnt strands after my spark attack.
We both look back towards Slughorn's door just in time to see Mulciber slip inside after the rest of his Housemates and quietly shut the door behind him. The lock clicks into place.
"Bit late for a visit, isn't it?" Potter says.
"Well, he is their Head of House..." I trail off. Even I think a midnight visit to my Head of House is bizarre. I imagine knocking on Professor McGonagall's door at this hour and shudder. No matter how urgent my schoolwork problems might be, nothing would be worth that amount of wrath.
"I don't suppose we could go barreling in there?" Potter has slid his wand out and is fingering it, staring at the locked door.
"Two on four?" I say. "Don't love those odds."
"Well, I count as at least two if it comes to a duel, so..."
I might have laughed, except that I've just remembered that I'm massively irritated at him. I smack his shoulder.
"Wait a moment, you didn't answer me! What are you doing out here? And where did you even come from?"
"I..." For a moment, Potter looks lost for words. He swallows and regains his composure. "I was on my way to the kitchens."
"To the... to the kitchens?" I say incredulously.
"Yeah," he says. "I'm starving."
"You're starving," I repeat.
"Yep," he says.
I stare at him, not even sure where to begin my lecture with all I have to say to him at this point, but before I can, Professor Slughorn's door shudders open and Potter and I duck back behind the suits of armor.
The four Slytherins exit and head back the same way they'd come. After a moment, we hear their careful footsteps on the stairs.
Potter breaks the silence. "Probably headed back to their common room. C'mon." He steps into the now-deserted corridor.
"Are we going to follow them all the way to the Slytherin common room?" I ask, extracting myself from the tight space.
"No," Potter says. He starts walking away.
"Wait - where are you going, then?" I hurry after him, trying to keep my voice down; it's hard when I'm still so irritated at him. "Get back here!"
I don't need to be able to see Potter's face to know he gets my tone right away. He sighs and ruffles his hair without turning around or breaking stride.
"How much trouble am I in?" he says resignedly.
"Loads," I say, catching up. I plant myself in front of him so he has to stop walking and look at me. "I can't believe –"
But Potter cuts me right off. "Look, I'd love to stand here in the corridor and take a verbal lashing from you, but like I said, I'm hungry."
I raise my eyebrows incredulously. "You can't be serious."
"Fancy something to eat?" he says. "I could really do this better over a sandwich."
"I... you... we can't just have a sandwich," I splutter. "Dinner was ages ago!" I'm so confused and have completely lost the thread of the lecture I was about to launch into. What is he talking about, eating sandwiches? Does anyone around here realize that we've entered the wee hours of the morning? People should be sleeping at this time, not visiting professors and eating sandwiches! (Never mind that less than an hour ago I was going to go for a bath).
"And you might have noticed I missed it," he says. "C'mon. Kitchen's not far." And he starts walking away again.
"I - what – the kitchen?" I stumble down the corridor after him. "I don't think students are supposed to go into the kitchens!"
"Come on, Lily," Potter says. "It's fine. And this way, I'll let you lecture me as long as you like."
I pause only a moment longer, squeezing my eyes shut in frustration, before following him back towards the stairs. "Oh, all right," I grumble.
What can I say? Potter drives a good bargain.
And I'm really quite hungry too.