February 1976

No one in all of Hogwarts had anything bad to say about Headmaster Dumbledore.

Hagrid, of course, wouldn't stop singing his praises. "Great man, Dumbledore," he would repeat while they collected the meat for the Thestrals or when they were breaking fast in his hut, his dark eyes wistful and almost teary. Petunia had to listen to the tale of how Dumbledore had saved him, had secretly allowed him to keep part of his wand, so often she could mouth the words as they were spoken.

The house elves adored Dumbledore and felt honoured to call him their master, often explaining that it was the greatest glory any elf could hope for to serve none other than the great Albus Dumbledore himself.

The teachers, when Petunia found the courage to actually initiate conversation during an evening meal instead of sitting quietly and stirring the thoughts in her head, respected and admired him. From the strict Professor McGonagall, whose straight-laced expression and expensive robes usually made for a forbidding picture but whose features softened fondly to Professor Flitwick who claimed that there had never been a more skilled wizard in all the ages.

No one had anything bad to say about the headmaster, not even an innocent comment about his colourful robes or too-long beard or his clear preference for teeth-rotting sweets.

And Petunia seethed. Quietly, privately, never expressing her concerns to anyone. Of course she didn't say anything openly, Petunia wasn't stupid.

She knew that it was the Headmaster's goodwill that allowed her to be here and she knew just as clearly that his ire would mean that she'd be banished before she even finished complaining. And despite the difficulties she sometimes had with Hogwarts, despite some nights lying awake in bed without finding rest or feeling watched when she walked through the corridors, she was too invested to just leave it all behind. She couldn't imagine being separated from Aspen. And now that she had built a tentative trust with Hagrid, took responsibility for Fluffy and learned more about the house elves, she wasn't ready to let go and return to static staircases and the small kitchen in her childhood home.

But at what cost? Sometimes she wished she had misunderstood the girl at Lily's party, that the girl had never approached her or felt the need to confide in Petunia what she obviously should not know.

But her words had been clear. Once a teacher, always a teacher. The Order. Dumbledore.

Petunia faintly remembered her confusion and quiet shock when Eugene had first mentioned the Order, talking about his friends, about how the graduates were being recruited. She had assumed, in some never acknowledged part of her mind, that older students might be responsible, or maybe vigilantes that attended the graduation ceremonies along with parents and siblings.

She hadn't thought it was a teacher. She would have never assumed it was the Headmaster, the same person responsible for the student's well-being that was plucking them from the vine while they were still green and clueless, throwing them into the maw of war to feed the endless need for fresh bodies.

Petunia couldn't claim that she would have cared as much if it hadn't been Lily. Maybe she would have been taken aback or even silently condescending how eager those conceited wizards were to throw the lives of their students away. But it was Lily, and so all she felt was quiet dismay and horror.

And there was only one person she could think of who would always put Lily above all else.

"I told you not to come here."

Severus looked simultaneously worse and better than she remembered. His frame had filled out a bit and his skin no longer held that yellowish tinge of malnutrition, but his eyes were sunken and dark and the corners of his mouth were permanently skewered in disgust or maybe simple displeasure.

"I need to talk to you."

"Too bad, I see no reason to talk to you. Now leave."

"It's about Lily."

There was a miniscule pause, a tightening of the muscles in his neck and a slight widening of his eyes before Severus pulled his inscrutable mask back on. "Don't involve me in your squabbles."

"It's not a squabble." Petunia breathed the stale air of the dungeons deeply, doing her best to keep her frustrations from simmering to the surface. "It's about – her safety."

"Potter," Severus hissed, as if that was the only conclusion.

"No. Dumbledore."

He blinked.

"Have you ever heard of the Order of the Phoenix?" When Severus didn't react except to continue staring at her, Petunia continued. "I don't know how involved Lily is, but I know she wishes to be part of it … And Dumbledore is the one teaching them."

Severus took a few seconds to process her words, only to do something Petunia had rarely seen him do. He laughed. Without mirth, but with a sharp-edged humour that rang genuine and sliced the air between them.

"Of course," he breathed. "Of course the old codger has his wrinkled fingers in that pie. Couldn't resist, could he, not even for his darling Gryffindors."

That wasn't the reaction Petunia had been waiting for. Though it felt good to finally hear something other than praises when it came to the Headmaster, Petunia had expected Severus' focus to remain on Lily, to worry for her, to pry Petunia for details or maybe accuse her of allowing her sister to do something so dangerous, as if it were Petunia's fault.

She certainly hadn't thought he would laugh.

"It's Lily," she repeated stupidly, as if maybe he hadn't heard her before.

He sobered, the twisted smile slipping from his face. "Of course it's Lily. She's perfect."

Petunia was unsure if this was meant as a general statement as to Lily's character or if Severus had enough insight into Petunia's little sister to realise the same thing that Petunia had – that Lily would be a perfect candidate (victim) for something like the Order, righteous and with the deeply ingrained wish to be good and help people, always looking for the next adventure, for something more, never satisfied with the status quo if it could be improved. Always thinking it was up to her, and only her, to do something because there was no-one else Lily had ever met who could best her, in wits and popularity and probably even magic.

"And what do you want me to do, Evans?"

There was a mocking drawl to Severus' words that Petunia had never heard before, an elongation of vowels that felt clearly patronising.

I don't know. "Talk to her."

He snorted derisively.

"You're friends. She'll listen to you."

"Don't act so naive." There was a spark of real anger in his eyes now, familiar and strangely calming to Petunia who hadn't known how to navigate the deceptive smoothness of his ridicule. "We both know I do not have that power."

"So what? You're not even going to try? I know how much Lily means to you –"

"Shut up!" He leaned closer, his next words a sibilant hiss. "Don't presume to know anything about me. I tolerate you but I certainly am not your confidant, nor someone you can order around as you please. Keep your pitiful attempts at manipulation to yourself and leave me alone."

Petunia felt her nails pierce her palm. "If knowing about your pathetic crush on my sister counts as manipulation then you're really not as subtle as you think yourself. Maybe I should have gone to James Potter, seeing as he is salivating after the edge of Lily's skirt almost as badly as you, what do you think? Would Lily listen to him? After all he is certainly good-looking and rich, a smooth talker I'd guess."

"Potter is an inflated idiot who already thinks himself a hero, if anything, he'll join Lily and anyway, she can't stand him so you'd better not do anything irremediably stupid, no matter how hard it must be to resist that instinct for one as intellectually challenged as you."

"You're right, it's really hard to resist, seeing as I have no other options! I thought there was this love-sick boy who would never allow anything to happen to my little sister, but obviously I was mistaken!"

He flushed. "You're the most infuriating – Nothing is going to happen to Lily while I – Fine! I'll talk to her. Not that it will do any good except for getting you to leave me the hell alone!"

"Good."

"Good," he mocked before whirling around, the edge of his long robes slapping against Petunia's shins like a whip.

Strangely, she didn't mind the sting.

Severus felt dirty.

No, dirty was the wrong word. It implied something gritty and dry that could be washed off and dusted away. Instead whatever this feeling was, it permeated deeper than his skin, settling into his flesh, blood, bones, carrying something acidic and slimy.

He felt poisoned after leaving Dumbledore's office, those twinkling eyes following his movements, the too-sour taste of candy still sizzling his tongue.

Whenever he came here, silently and stealthily, the feeling sank a bit deeper, becoming dark and clouded like a spoiled potion, a quagmire of guilt and hatred and helplessness he was forced to swallow each time. And then he would blink and find himself in the dungeons, surrounded by people that were expecting him to overcompensate in everything his House valued to make up for his muddied blood. Cold, calculated and cruel.

And it fit better every time he wore it, moulding him, sheltering him. The Half-blood Prince certainly wouldn't feel cold sweat dripping down his neck when Dumbledore smiled at him. The Half-Blood Prince would have laughed at the old man's tricks without falling for them.

The Half-Blood Prince would never have agreed to anything a mere muggle girl asked of him.

Why the harpy haunted him more successfully than any ghost in the castle, Severus couldn't explain. What did she want from him? And since when did she feel she could come to him with her problems?

Not that those were strictly speaking her problems.

Lily …

He should just get it over with. The entrance to the Headmaster's office was conveniently close to the stairs leading to Gryffindor tower. And once he had spoken to Lily he could …

Severus couldn't clearly recall when the last time had been that he had talked to Lily. Back at the Slug Club? When he had helped her with a potion's assignment before Christmas? When was the last time they had taken a walk across the grounds, or met up in the library where no-one disturbed them to talk about magic and the Founders and Cokeworth?

When was the last time Lily had really looked at him? And why had Severus not noticed before now?

He had been preoccupied with Black and integrating into the Slytherin hierarchy, sneaking around at night and doing his best to never let his persona slip.

But the reasoning felt hollow. He had still found the time to talk to the harpy, however infrequently, and think about her, even though he certainly could do without her weighing on his mood.

So why not Lily? Why did he not talk to Lily, or follow her with his eyes or think about what she was doing, what she was getting up to? Had he sunk so deep into the Half-Blood Prince, who could never care for a dirty Mudblood, that he had unconsciously shied away from all thoughts of green eyes and Gryffindor pride?

Or was it because some part of him feared what Lily would think about him now, about him that was no longer ostracised by his peers but welcomed at the table, the him that didn't sit alone and mope, Lily the only bright spark in his dark days?

He remembered the station. It wasn't the last time he had talked to Lily, but her words were clear in his head as if it had been, as if she had said them to him just yesterday.

Creeps, evil, how can you sit with them, Sev?

No not those words, he wanted the ones that made light flicker inside him, not trepidation.

I'm just worried about you, Sev. We're friends, right?

And now it was Severus' turn to worry, Severus' turn to inquire what Lily had gotten herself into, what kind of company she was keeping or trying to integrate into.

He forced his feet away from the familiar path leading back to blessed coolness and quiet and instead ascended the stairs, forcing himself not to flinch when some of the portraits clucked their tongues at him or shook their heads.

"You've no business here, boy, especially so late."

He ignored them, as they deserved to be dismissed, long dead and forgotten but still wanting to meddle with the living. The Fat Lady didn't scowl at him as fiercely, familiar with his face after Severus had slunk in the corridors in front of the Gryffindor common room ever since his first year, hoping for Lily to emerge, see him and smile. And now he was in that same position, lingering just as inconsequential as the paintings surrounding him until Lily deigned to gaze upon him.

Severus stepped forward and tapped against the wall next to the Fat Lady, in the rhythm he and Lily had agreed upon on their first train ride after the Sorting, knocking against the grimy windows until they found a sequence that suited them.

It took a while. It was late and maybe Lily had already gone up to the dormitories instead of lingering in the common room, unable to hear his knock. Maybe Potter and his little followers had heard it instead, readying themselves to burst through the portrait and curse Severus for daring to be here.

But when the portrait finally swung open it was to a head of vibrant red hair and big, questioning eyes. Severus wasn't quite sure if the feeling twisting his stomach into one tight knot was relief, trepidation or longing.

"Sev! I thought I heard you." Lily smiled and something righted itself in the world. "I wasn't quite sure, it's been a while since I've seen you."

I missed you. "Yes, a while."

His answer must have been too lacklustre or maybe Lily heard something unspoken he hadn't intended, a small frown creasing her forehead. "It's not like I didn't want to see you, you were the one avoiding me, always hanging out with your new friends."

"I wasn't avoiding you."

"No?" Lily crossed her arms. She was wearing a red-and-gold Gryffindor sweater over cosy sleepwear and looked at the same time soft and warm but fierce.

"We're friends," Severus repeated her words from months ago, a bit desperately.

"We are, Sev, but just because I'm your friend doesn't mean I have to like the people you chose to spend your time with. I'm sorry, but Avery and Mulciber? What do you see in them? They're creepy and cruel and just – Do you know what Mulciber tried to do to Mary the other day?"

"That was nothing," said Severus, too quickly. He thought of glistening intestines in the moonlight, paws twitching uselessly and failed to see how a silly girl's tears stained more heavily than blood. "It was a laugh, that's all."

"It was Dark Magic, and if you think that's funny then I seriously don't know you as well as I thought."

His chest was tight, too tight to allow him the breath to consider his next words. "What about the stuff you and your friends get up to?"

"What, Mary's spelled mirror? Dorca's self-brewed sleekeazy? I assure you, my friends and I are not 'getting up' to anything comparable to Dark curses!"

"The Order."
Lily stilled. "What?"

"I know that – you and your friends, because of Dumbledore, you're –"

"It was Tuney, wasn't it?" Lily looked away, the frown having wandered from between her brows to the corner of her bright eyes and thinning her pink lips. "Mum's not here, so what, she thought tattling to you was the next best option?"

Severus opened his mouth and closed it again without having anything to say.

Lily sighed. "I told you about it before, don't you remember? I want to make a difference. What use is my magic if I can't help those like me, those that don't know what awaits them and who are being targeted simply because of the circumstances of their birth? I thought you would understand."

She thought he would understand. Because Severus also suffered the consequences of his birth, suffered his father's violence because of his magic, his mother's indifference because of his father's taint, shunned by his classmates – and Lily knew, of course she did, she had known him since he was barely eleven with knobby knees and wearing his mother's smock because it was the only clean clothing he could find.

"I understand."

Lily's shoulders relaxed and her smile reappeared as if it had never vanished. "I knew you would."

"Make a difference. If there's anyone who can, it's you. But not like this, not by throwing yourself into Dumbledore's schemes –"

"Schemes? Dumbledore believes in us, he knows how important we are, how can you call what we're trying to do 'schemes'?" Lily's disappointment was so bitter Severus almost imagined he could taste it in the air.

"Lily, he doesn't care about you like – like your sister does." Like I do.

"He cares! He's the only one who seems to care about what I want to do, instead of trying to hold me back, he cares about all of our lives, about the innocents who are getting hurt, he cares more than anyone!"

Caring about everyone is the same as caring for no-one, Severus thought uncharitable but didn't dare voice. He knew how decisive Lily could be, how if she made up her mind there was no changing her opinion either by pleading or arguing.

He remembered admiring that about her. Steadfast, honest, loyal.

Stubborn.

Silence settled between them. Suddenly Severus felt watched and judged by all the painted eyes around them, oil on canvas lacquered with disapproval, silent witnesses to his pathetic attempt at influencing Lily. Maybe tomorrow the whole school would laugh about it.

And wouldn't that spell his doom, knowledge of his late-night rendezvous with a well-known mudblood spreading, in which he didn't mock or torture or even use her, but pled with her, to no avail.

When it became clear that Severus wouldn't continue, Lily leaned back against the wall and looked away. "Is this all you came to talk about? My sister and Dumbledore?"

Yes. No. At that moment he wasn't sure what else there was to talk about.

"You won't convince me that what I'm doing is wrong. Not you and not Tuney either. What changed since the last time we spoke about this? You were on my side."

Severus thought about what he had done the last time he was convinced he was acting in Lily's best interest and he remembered the rank film of liquor and vomit on his tongue.

"I'm on your side, Lily, I always am."

"Yeah? It sure doesn't feel like it."

A sliver of exhaustion creeped up Severus neck, pulsing at his temples and making his jaw ache. What was he even doing here? The harpy's bidding? Trying to temper the girl that was like a wildfire, free and bright and unstoppable?

He had already had to deal with Dumbledore's soft interrogation this evening and Lily proved somehow just as exhausting, as if she was trying to find fault in his every word, his every gesture.

I care about you, too. I just want you to be safe and happy. I don't trust Dumbledore. I know him better than you do.

Lily wouldn't change no matter what he said.

"It's late."

Lily looked at him for one long second. "I missed talking to you, Sev, but I'm tired and you're right, it is late. We should both go to bed."
And she climbed back through the portrait hole, leaving Severus to the silence and mockery of the dead.

"Hagrid, exactly how big is Fluffy supposed to grow?"

"Ah, 'm not sure meself, never had a cerberus 'fore."

Petunia glanced at the six ears flopping in the cool breeze and four gigantic paws leaving imprints in the soft snow and had a bad hunch. Maybe she could find another book about creatures in the Hogwarts library which would have a chapter about Fluffy – she had grown used to studying creatures before interacting with them and right now she felt like she was in a dark room, stumbling around and trying to find her way through the sharp edges her fingers encountered.

Music worked well to calm him and sometimes Fluffy actually listened when Petunia called his name. But there were still some issues, namely that Fluffy energetically tried to eat every student that crossed his path and if those efforts were foiled he contented himself with chewing up furniture and other immobile things that couldn't flee his wrath. Hagrid had been a victim himself a few times, but just chuckled and allowed all three heads to chew at him as if he were a dog toy.

"Nice teethers he got," he'd say and Petunia would stand at the side, not knowing how to explain that she was trying to get Fluffy to stop greeting everyone with those same teethers, not encourage it.

At the moment Hagrid was leading Fang, who usually didn't require a leash except when Fluffy was part of their walks and the timid dog would clearly prefer to be invisible or very far away.

"If he gets too big, jus' let 'im loose in the forest. He'll make friends."

"He'll eat the forest, you mean."

Hagrid gave a booming laugh as if Petunia had been joking.

"There's lots in there tha' can take 'im on. Centaurs, werewolves, Aragogg …"

Petunia missed a step, her eyes growing wide. "Werewolves? Centaurs? Here, in Hogwarts?"

"In the forest," Hagrid clarified.

"I didn't know they went to …" Petunia stopped once Hagrid's words filtered through her shock.

Not Hogwarts, but the forest.

"Mentioned it before, didn't realise yeh were int'rested in 'em. Can be a bit tricky ter talk with 'em. Quite touchy on some subjects, yeh get me meaning."

Petunia thought about the last person she had talked about centaurs and werewolves with, the taste of ice cream on her lips and a flowering branch tucked behind her ear. "Did you ever bring them cheesecake?"

"What?"

Petunia smiled. "Nothing. How did you like the magazine I gave you?"

Hagrid humphed. "Never seen anything like it. Chimney-service from giants? Whole lot o' bullocks."

"But interesting, right?"

"Yeah, yeh could call it tha'. Really would like ter know who came up with tha' stuff."

"He actually has quite a few fans in the castle."

Hagrid only laughed and Petunia recalled his words from before. "So you do talk to them? The centaurs and the werewolves?"

"If I have to. Never try an' get a straight answer out of a centaur. Ruddy stargazers. Not interested in anythin' closer'n the moon."

"And the wolves?"

"Elusive bunch, impossible ter sniff out. They keep ter themselves."

"I don't understand why they have to." The words had slipped out before Petunia could think them through. "They're only dangerous for part of the month, right? Why do they have to stay away all the time?"

Hagrid huffed. "It's the way they wan' it. No-one ter bother 'em."

Petunia sensed that he wasn't interested in continuing on that topic and let the matter rest. But later as she struggled to wipe the dirt and slush from Fluffy's paws before entering her room, her mind flitted back to his words. And then they trailed further, leading her to big pale eyes and nonsensical words. Without really knowing what she intended to write, she sat down at her small desk and grabbed a piece of parchment.

Dear Xenophilius,

I hope this letter finds you well. I know it is unprecedented and I worry it might startle you.

First let me say that I'm truly enjoying the Quibbler and the many topics you're unafraid to tackle, though I'm no longer the only one. I have made a few acquaintances among the Hogwarts staff and they are always eager to borrow my newest edition.

Maybe that would also lend itself to an interesting article. Are there any free house elves? The ones I talk to take pride in their service but I sometimes wonder what they would choose to do with their incredible magic if they had a choice.

Similar to that matter, have you ever talked to any werewolves or centaurs? I only found out today that some of them call the Forbidden Forest their home. Somehow mind-boggling to think about how close they are yet how separated they are from the rest of the school.

Petunia paused, the ink slowly drying before her eyes. What else did she want to say? Why had she even started writing? Before the courage could desert her she quickly scribbled a farwell and her name and started looking for an envelope. Thanks to regular Quibbler deliveries she'd find an opportunity to send the letter back with Xenophilius' owl.

In the past, she wouldn't have dared to do this, simply write a letter when there was no pressing need to or no previous correspondence. And definitely not to something as inconsequential and fleeting as a whim. But this time she didn't feel that boiling heat of self-consciousness that peeled her courage and flesh before she dared to do anything.

At the end of the day it was just a letter. She'd treat it as a way to fight boredom, as a small gesture that wouldn't matter if it went unanswered.

And it was something to keep her thoughts away from Lily and the wretched boy and the fact that she hadn't talked to either of them since the topic of the Order had come up.

The Hogwarts library had held an unspeaking allure ever since Petunia first learned of its existence, while at the same time being intimidating enough to keep her away from its doors. She knew the library was intended for students, for wizards and witches, not for her, a groundskeeping apprentice and muggle.

But when she finally took that step over the threshold and was enveloped in the muted sounds of flipping pages and low murmuring, the smell of old leather and paper and the dust motes dancing through slanting beams of light welcoming her like miniscule fireflies, the anxiety sloughed off her shoulders as if it had never existed in the first place.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for a book."

The woman sitting behind the giant oak desk next to the entrance reminded Petunia a bit of Mrs Fairweather, her old teacher. It was not so much the outer appearance – Mrs Fairweather had always bundled her light hair into a sensible bun and would not be caught dead wearing a hat with that many feathers – but more the expression in her eyes, the way she held herself; as if she was bracing for any matter of stupidity and already contemplating the best way to snip it in the bud.

"Yes, I imagine most everyone who comes here is."

Petunia did her best to ignore the barb. "I'm not familiar with – is there a filing system?"

The woman's nails clicked against her polished desk in one smooth ripple. "What are you looking for?"

"Anything about werewolves. The more specific, the better."

"'Essential Defence against the Dark Arts' has a chapter on them. As does 'Cunning Creatures - How to Survive and Nap Before Dawn'. But I would recommend either 'Lupine Lawlessness: Why Lycanthropes Don't Deserve to Live' or 'Furry Foes and Moonlit Battles: A Guide to Outsmarting Werewolves' if you're looking for a book with singular focus."

"Yes, that sounds … the second one."

"I don't have it, it's not yet returned. You can get one of the other ones or you can ask the student who is holding onto it – without even giving notice."

Petunia felt a sliver of trepidation. "Who has it?"

"Severus Snape."

Petunia blinked at the fingers closing around her upper arm, tight and pale and surprisingly fine-knuckled.

"How many times," Severus hissed, "do I have to tell you not to come here?"

Petunia barely listened to him. When was the last time someone had touched her? Petunia remembered touching Lily, quite similarly to the way Severus was clutching her right now, tugging her away from the eternal twilight he seemed to reside in, but when was the last time someone had initiated touch with her, extended a hand? No matter that it was in no way a gentle or warm gesture it still managed to paralyse her as if his hand was clamped around her neck instead of her arm.

Moreover, she couldn't remember ever touching the wretched boy or being touched by him in turn.

It must have happened of course, they've known each other almost six years – but when?

"I know you're unusually slow but I shouldn't have to repeat myself three times to get this across – Don't. Come. Here."

Petunia's foot bumped against the first step of the stairs ascending back to places where Hogwarts was flooded with laughter and light and she could feel her crooked toe smarting, jarring her out of whatever spell she had fallen under.

"Let go of me!"

Severus sneered and flung his hand away. "With pleasure."

Petunia rubbed against her sleeve, hoping to chase the phantom sensations of warmth, pressure and human contact away. She was here for the book.

What she said though was: "Lily – did you …?"

"We're meddling."

"What?"

"Lily doesn't need our concern."

Petunia frowned. "You know that's not true."

"Oh, do I?" Severus had fallen back into the mocking drawl he had employed last time, the one that unsettled Petunia far more than his harsh words or anger did. "Lily knows what she wants to do and we're the ones telling her otherwise. What else would you call it but meddling?"

"Lily is being misled, she doesn't know what she's doing –"

"I'm on her side."

"You'll just blindly support her? While she's putting herself in danger?"

"It's what she wants."

"You can't just do whatever she wants you to do, that's not how a friendship works! You're not her servant, you don't have to listen to her –"

"But I have to listen to you?"

Petunia paused.

"Don't come back here."

"Wait! You – You're really just going to stand by and let her do this?"

And suddenly Severus' deceptive calm shattered and Petunia found herself backed against the wall next to the stairs, her back cold and her eyes wide as Severus crowded her.

"What the hell do you want me to do? Huh? Should I maybe Imperius her so she will do as I say and stay away from danger? Maybe a bit of Crucio, to give her a taste of the real deal before she has to face it unprepared? Or just keep it simple and chain her up so she won't ever leave this castle?"

"I –"

"How about a potion? You can't even imagine all the possibilities, we could have her listening to our every word or falling in love, dancing like a puppet on our strings or safe in eternal slumber, and in the end wouldn't that be better than letting her be stubborn and follow her own desires?"

This time it was Petunia who touched him, shoving against his chest. "Stop it! Stop, I get it, I shouldn't have involved you in all this –"

"Oh, and what do you think you can do? No magic and no potions, so what? You'll talk her out of it? How did that work out for you so far?"

Petunia felt like she couldn't gather enough air to reply, everything was stuffy and her tongue was dry as if layered in chalk and she couldn't look away from the monstrous abyss of Severus' eyes.

"Face it, there is nothing you can do. And there is nothing I should do, except what Lily wants from me – which is to be on her side."

"What about what you want?"

"Doesn't matter."

And he said it with such easy conviction, as if it was just another fact of life, that Petunia felt compelled to believe him.

"So what? Just give up?"

Severus took a step back, allowing air back into the space he had vacated. "Yes. Just give up and go."

And Petunia almost did it. She shoved by him and put her foot, the one still throbbing in mute pain, on the first step – and paused.

"Maybe you're right and there's nothing we can do. But I tried and you tried, so …"

"So it's fine?" His tone was scathing.

"Not really." Petunia swallowed. "But it is what it is. Maybe we'll have a chance to try again."

"Feel free to deceive yourself if it lets you sleep at night, but I don't need your empty words."

"Actually," Petunia turned back to face him. "I didn't come here for Lily."

"Could have fooled me."

"I'm here for a book, I was told you have it – 'Furry Foes and Moonlit Battles: A Guide to Outsmarting Werewolves'."

And there was a brief glimmer of satisfaction nestling in her gut when Petunia realised that she had actually managed to stump Severus Snape, wretched boy and pain in her rear extraordinaire.

At least for a moment. "And why the hell do you care about that?"

"I'll tell you, if you tell me why you have it in the first place."

For a moment they just stared at each other, two combatants on a battlefield that had long offered nothing but cold smoke and old skeletons. And then there was a small uptick in the corner of his mouth, something cruel in his eyes.

"Ever heard of Remus Lupin?"