Chapter 2: The Weight of Unfinished Promises
The end-of-term bustle at Hogwarts was in full swing. Students scurried through the corridors, clutching rolls of parchment and spellbooks as they prepared for their final exams. The air buzzed with excitement and nervous energy, but Lily Evans barely noticed. She sat in the Gryffindor common room, her quill poised over an essay on vanishing spells, but the ink had long dried on the tip. Her thoughts drifted far from her studies, though she couldn't quite name what weighed on her.
Across the room, James Potter and Sirius Black were seated by the window, their heads bent together in hushed conversation. Every so often, one of them would glance in her direction, their expressions unreadable. She tried to ignore them, but their intensity made it impossible.
"Careful, Evans," James called over suddenly, his voice light but tinged with something else—concern? "You keep staring at that parchment and it might actually vanish before you finish the essay."
Lily blinked, startled, and managed a weak smile. "Thanks for the tip, Potter. Maybe you should focus on your own work for once."
Sirius snorted. "Don't bother with him. He's hopeless." But his tone lacked its usual edge, and Lily couldn't shake the feeling that they were watching her too closely.
The first sign came during her Charms practical.
Professor Flitwick had asked each student to perform a shielding charm, testing their ability to repel basic hexes. It was a spell Lily had mastered years ago—simple, effective, and always reliable. But when she raised her wand and spoke the incantation, nothing happened. No protective barrier, no faint shimmer of magic. Just...silence.
The class stared. Flitwick tilted his head, confused. "Miss Evans, why don't you try again? Perhaps a bit more focus this time?"
Lily's cheeks burned as she repeated the incantation. Still nothing. A flicker of faint, silvery light danced at the tip of her wand before fizzling out entirely. It wasn't until James stepped forward, his shielding charm executed flawlessly, that the murmurs began to subside.
After class, James caught up with her in the corridor. "Lily—"
"It was nothing," she said quickly, brushing past him. "I was distracted, that's all."
"Lily," he repeated, his tone firmer. "You know it wasn't nothing."
She paused, her hand tightening around the strap of her bag. "I don't know what you're talking about, Potter. My magic's fine."
He sighed but didn't press her. Not yet.
The incidents began to pile up. During a routine Potions lesson, her wand misfired while lighting the cauldron, sending sparks flying dangerously close to a student's robes. In Defense Against the Dark Arts, her disarming charm sent her own wand clattering to the ground. Even simple tasks—levitating her quill or transfiguring a teacup—required far more effort than they should have.
She blamed it on stress. The pressure of exams, the looming uncertainty of life after Hogwarts—it was all just getting to her, she told herself. But the whispers around her grew louder, and the looks from James and Sirius became harder to ignore.
The night before graduation, Lily sat alone by the lake, the cool breeze tugging at her robes. The distant hum of celebration floated from the castle, but she needed a moment away from it all. Her wand lay in her lap, the wood worn smooth from years of use. For the first time, it felt foreign in her hands, as though it no longer belonged to her.
"You're going to have to face it eventually," came a voice behind her.
She turned to see James and Sirius standing there, their expressions unreadable. Sirius crossed his arms, while James hesitated before sitting beside her.
"Face what?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.
"The pact," Sirius said bluntly. "You can't keep pretending it's not real, Evans."
Lily shook her head, laughing bitterly. "I told you. It was just a stupid game. I didn't even think—"
"Exactly," James interrupted. "You didn't think. But magic doesn't care about that. It doesn't care that you were nine, or that you didn't mean it. You made a promise, Lily. And Snape kept his end of it."
Her breath hitched, and she looked away. "I never wanted any of this."
"Doesn't change the fact that it happened," Sirius said, his voice softer now. "And the more you deny it, the worse it's going to get."
Lily didn't respond. She couldn't. The weight of their words settled over her like a storm cloud, suffocating and inescapable.
Graduation day arrived, the castle aglow with celebration. As the students gathered in the Great Hall for the ceremony, Lily felt a strange unease settle in her chest. It was as though something—or someone—was watching her.
When the time came for the final farewell spell—a collective casting meant to symbolize unity and protection—Lily hesitated. She raised her wand, but the words caught in her throat. Around her, shimmering shields bloomed in the air, creating a dazzling tapestry of light. Her wand, however, remained still.
And then she saw it. A faint figure at the edge of the hall, barely more than a shadow. Dark eyes met hers, filled with sorrow and something else—expectation. Snape.
The realization hit her like a jinx to the chest. The pact was real. It had always been real. And no amount of denial could change that.
As the figure faded, Lily lowered her wand, her shoulders slumping. She finally understood the truth, but the question remained: was it too late to make amends?
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