Harry Potter 1. Prologue: Earthquakes and Lightning

****Disclaimer:** The characters and situations of _Harry Potter_ depicted in this story are the legal property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

****Rated M for:** Graphic depictions of violence and sex, language.

* * *

_"I see a bad moon a-risin'  
__I see trouble on the way  
__I see earthquakes and lightnin'  
__I see bad times today."  
_-Creedence Clearwater Revival  
"Bad Moon Rising" (1969)

**Prologue: Earthquakes and Lightning**

_November 14, 1978_

It was a cold and windy night and Lily Evans was acutely aware of her discomfort. The insides of her ears hurt, exposed and frozen. She was not dressed warmly enough to be sitting outdoors on the small stone bench, yet she did not move. The agony of the moment was not due to the weather, but rather the waiting.

James. Where was James?

The wizarding world afforded many conveniences, but quick communication to someone across the country was not necessarily one of them. She had sent him an owl…four hours ago? Seven? She wasn't sure. Time was blurry. Every minute felt like an hour and every hour felt like a minute. How long had she been sitting outside the hospital waiting? She could not say. Even the watch on her wrist told her nothing because she could not recall when this had all begun.

She was seated sideways on the bench now and she pulled her corduroy-covered knees close to her. Her near-numb fingers were idly fumbling over a piece of metal that was alternately both warm and chilled, as her body heat and the frigid air fought for dominance. She opened and shut, opened and shut her father's cigarette lighter.

James would be coming. He would receive her owl and arrive any moment now. She would not have to face this alone with Petunia and strangers. James would come.

Open. Shut. Open. Shut. She did not even attempt to light it; no flame would survive this gale.

* * *

A tree branch hit Lucius Malfoy's face none to gently. He had not seen it, running through the dark as he had been. He felt the rough bark tear at his skin, and he stopped for a moment to assess the damage.

Not too deep, but the skin was definitely broken. There was blood, trickling warmly from the gash and mingling with the rain. Lucius swore bitterly. He would get an earful about this from Narcissa, no doubt.

He sighed and strained to gather the motivation to begin running again. McNair was far enough ahead that he hadn't noticed that Lucius had stopped, and Snape was far enough behind. Their quarry, one Gallrick Mountjoy was very much ahead, so far so it seemed futile to give chase. Lucius was exhausted and more wheezing than breathing.

_He saw your face, Lucius_, he reminded himself. _He knows who you are_.

That was enough to get his feet moving once more. He darted through the trees, though more carefully than he had been before. Soon they would be to the edge of the McNair property and there would no longer be wards blocking one's ability to Apparate and Disapparate. If Mountjoy successfully escaped, he would be able to tell the world about their plucky little Death Eater outpost. The contraband, the rituals, the interrogation room. What was left of Wanda Bones.

It was ugly business for certain, but there were no alternative options left to be had. Mountjoy must be returned to the cottage cellar at all costs.

* * *

James Potter was out of his depth; he had neither the knowledge of the Muggle world to understand what had happened to Lily's parents, nor the emotional worldliness to manage the death of an immediate family member, let alone two.

When he had arrived to find Lily curled up on the bench, her nose and ears chapped red from the elements, there had been a desperation in her eyes. She was counting on him to help her make sense of this all. He had a role to play in this, a calling he was to fulfill. Amid the talk of an "automobile accident" and "surgery" James found himself overcome by not understanding very much at all. The Muggle doctor kept going on and on, and it was all gibberish. James knew it was not a time to ask questions. Lily understood perfectly.

As the doctor talked, she became more and more rigid beside him. It made her seem fragile, like glass that would shatter if nudged just so. He took her hand in his, and she squeezed it to the point of painfulness. The only part of this mess that was clear was that Lily's parents had died within the past hour.

Lily's sister Petunia was there in the room with them. James knew her by name only. He did not see much of his warm and vibrant girlfriend in her, nevertheless she, like Lily, had grown still, quiet as the details were delivered. Petunia's boyfriend, a man called Vernon, was doing most of the talking. Actually, it began as talking but was now more like yelling.

The way he spoke to the hospital staff, it was as though he believed them responsible by way of negligence for the deaths. While James' limited perspective on these people and just what their jobs entailed did not allow him to guess whether this was true or not, he could clearly see that Vernon's shouting was helping absolutely no one.

It was easily one of the most uncomfortable moments of James' life. He found himself feeling sorry for everyone in the room. He was overwhelmed by his alien-ness and his uselessness.

The shouting finally subsided when Petunia reached out one of her slight, pale hands and gently touched Vernon's ruddy arm. He silenced immediately, and she stumbled bonelessly into his arms.

After a moment the doctor excused himself. James found himself taking a cue from the other couple in the room: he pulled Lily close. In that first moment she remained rigid…but then she broke, collapsing into him and sobbing like he had never heard anyone sob before. James held her tight, not allowing her to pull back. He couldn't let her see his face; if she saw that, she would know just how lost he really was.

James met eyes with Petunia's boyfriend. He had taking an instant dislike to this beefy, neckless, bellowing man. Yet in this moment he and James understood one-another perfectly, they had everything in the world in common: the women that they loved were in pain and they could do nothing about it. Nothing.

* * *

This was not the way things were supposed to be. This was not the plan.

Severus Snape found himself, for the second time in one night, face to face with a lifeless body of his own making.

It didn't make sense. Mountjoy had escaped on foot, run away from the cottage _on foot_. McNair, Malfoy, and Severus had given chase, but McNair was obviously the one who would catch him. Severus spent all his time in musty rooms brewing potions, he could not even recall with clarity the last time he had physically exerted himself. Malfoy was a dandy who paid others to do manual labor for him. But this was McNair's property. The oversized lout had grown up here, knew the lay of the land blindfolded and drunk. McNair climbed trees and bashed in heads for fun.

So Severus had run after the escaped prisoner, but only to be seen doing it, only because it was expected. Clearly he wouldn't be the one to find Mountjoy, either doubling back as part of a misguided strategy or very lost, leaning against a tree, his bald pate in his hands.

Severus had called out to the man without thinking, but that had not gone his way. He had found himself giving chase again, his side feeling as though it was split open and breathing like he had never tasted air before. In a moment of desperation that would haunt him for years to come, Severus shot a blasting curse at the tree near Mountjoy.

It wasn't much of a plan, but if there had been any rationale, it was that perhaps the commotion would cause the man to lose balance, make him stumble or trip. Instead, Severus' spell caused the tree to explode, wooden shrapnel flying in every direction, and straight through the flesh of Gallrick Mountjoy. Merlin, the man looked as though he'd been hit with a meat tenderizer and then run over by a stampede of bicorn.

Severus felt the bile in his throat, but that was as far as it went. He refused to be sick over this. He cried two or three angry tears before reining himself in firmly.

Just months ago he had been eyeing a bloodied, poisoned Sirius Black and vowing that he would not become a killer. It seemed that carpet had flown regardless.

It was almost fifteen minutes before Malfoy and McNair found Severus and the body. The carcass was prone on the ground, the still-warm blood seeping into the dried leaves. Severus sat beside it like a friend, bundled in his cloak, dead-eyed and greasy hair dampened from the intermittent rain. It was dark, but moonlight painted enough of the scene.

"Good Lord!" Malfoy recoiled, only to turn back for a closer look. That scrutiny led to retching.

McNair took a different view. "Not bad, half-blood."

Severus said nothing.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Apparently, ask and ye shall receive. Many said that they would be interested in this endeavor, and the truth is I just had too many good ideas to pass up the opportunity anyway. I know that this little teaser isn't very long, but it's just a prologue; chapters will be quite a bit meatier. If you haven't read _Buried Treasure and Transmogrify_, you will still probably be able to follow the story pretty well, but for full effect, I recommend going back to read it.

Part of my inspiration for this fic was the evocative music of this era. The 70s were a pretty turbulent time, a time of controversial war, for Muggles and wizards alike, and much of the music reflects that. Being something of a classic rock geek, I found that I couldn't resist adding a little flavor. The title of this story comes from the Pink Floyd song _Wish You Were Here _(the verse in question being, "So... So you think you can tell / Heaven from hell? / Blue skies from pain? / Can you tell a green field / from a cold steel rail? / A smile from a veil? / Do you think you can tell? / Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? / Hot ashes for trees? / Hot air for a cool breeze? / Cold comfort for change? / Did you exchange a walk-on part in the war / for lead role in a cage?") The title of each chapter of this story will be from a song of the era.

Thank you to anyone who stopped by for a read!


	2. The Sun Could Never Thaw Away

****Disclaimer:** The characters and situations of _Harry Potter_ depicted in this story are the legal property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

* * *

_"The rain is falling through the mist  
__Of sorrow that surrounded me.  
__The sun could never thaw away  
__The bliss that lays around me.  
__Let it rain, let it rain,  
__Let your love rain down on me."  
_Eric Clapton  
"Let it Rain" (1970)

**Chapter 01: The Sun Could Never Thaw Away**

"Well, I don't care for it. It isn't proper," James' mother sniffed over her teacup, the motion pulling at the wrinkles on her face.

Exasperated, James looked to his father for support, but found only a wall formed by the _Daily Prophet_. It was the patriarch's tried and true method for keeping peace within the household by picking his battles. It seemed this battle was not so chosen. James was on his own.

"She needs a place to stay. Being in her childhood home is painful right now, and she and her sister do not get on well." James said as evenly as he could manage, though he knew it may just be futile. His mother was full of arbitrary old-fashioned notions, and no amount of logic or changing times could seem to make a dent in them. It was worth noting, however, that she was rarely as tenacious or as prim as what he was seeing today. She even looked the part, with her crème-colored robes buttoned all the way up to her throat.

"The Leaky Cauldron has rooms, I am certain."

"Mother," James said with a little less composure than he intended. "Lily is staying with me. That's not changing."

Philippa Potter made a little noise in that back of her throat that informed James that the subject was hardly closed. "Are you attending the funeral?"

"Of course," James said while helping himself to another fruit tart.

His mother nodded. "I shall have Bitsy prepare your black robes."

"It's a Muggle funeral, mother. I'll wear a suit. Remus knows a tailor."

His mother pursed her lips in disapproval. "All right then." For a foolish moment James thought that was the final word. "I still say that you look smart in your robes."

"He'll look smart in a suit as well, dear," a deep voice came from behind the _Prophet_.

James rolled his eyes in frustration. _This_ was the debate upon which his father deigned to offer an opinion.

Mrs. Potter set her empty teacup in its saucer. "So, when do I get to meet the young woman who is living with my son?"

Here James fumbled a bit. Lily was fragile right now and he wasn't sure that it was the best time to be introducing her to new people who would grill her, poke her, prod her. Particularly people of the parental variety—that was no doubt a sore subject just now.

"Soon," he evaded.

"Ah," said his mother. "Well, if she was one of those girls, Jamie, you should have simply said so."

"Those girls?" James snapped.

Mrs. Potter shrugged. "Those girls you waste time with and never bring home. Although, I must say, if she is it is even more shameful that you have allowed her to move into your flat."

And right there, James had reached his fill of his mother's antics for the day.

He rose to his feet, plunking his plate down on the tea table. "Lily is not 'one of those girls' mother. She's _the_ girl. I'm going to marry her."

That shut her up. James enjoyed the stunned look on her face, and his father even lowered his newspaper.

"You…are getting married?" Mrs. Potter was quite breathless at his declaration.

James realized he couldn't very well answer definitively, and he instantly regretted his impulsiveness. He hadn't even broached the subject of the future with Lily. Nevertheless, he was sure of his feelings. He found himself looking down at the carpet rather than meeting either parent's eyes. "If she'll have me. Honestly, I haven't asked her yet."

His mother leaped to her feet and he found himself pulled tightly into her embrace. The hug was unexpectedly long and when she pulled back there were tears in her eyes. "Of course she'll have you," she beamed. She took a deep breath and then dramatically fanned herself with her gloved hand. "Oh, I am so very pleased! Do not move, Jamie. I must fetch you something so that you can do this properly."

She fluttered out of the room in a tizzy, and James found himself a little stunned and alone with his father.

Francis Potter folded up his copy of the _Prophet_ neatly. "You fell right into that," he informed his son.

"Huh?"

"Your mother is just curious about your life. She's always going on and on about how you never tell her anything important anymore." Mr. Potter smoothed his gray hair and reached for his teacup. "This tasty little morsel will keep her happy for a while, but it's a bit much, isn't it?"

James was not quite sure whether or not he had been played by his mother, and even less sure of whether or not his father was playing him right now. In James' experience, his mother was utterly transparent, an open book no matter how hard she tried. But his father? That man could turn any situation to his favor, manipulate so well you weren't even aware of it after the fact.

His defenses were up. "What's a bit much?"

"Declaring your intention to marry this girl. It's a little early for that, don't you think?"

James lifted his chin. "I've known Lily since the day I started Hogwarts. We've been dating for a year."

Mr. Potter chuckled amicably as he cleaned his glasses with a handkerchief. "That wasn't my meaning."

"Then what was?"

"Son, you are only eighteen. You have all the time in the world to be married, but a very limited window to enjoy being young."

James understood what his father was trying to say, but he was unmoved. "One year or seventy years, either would be better with Lily than without her."

His father considered that, then shrugged. He rose to his feet. "Well, it's apparent that you have made up your mind. You are of age and I trust your judgment." He shook James' hand and then hugged him. "Best of luck, son."

"Thanks, Dad."

Mrs. Potter came tittering back into the room with a tiny box clutched in hand. It was blue velvet brocade and James had never seen it before. Her manner reminded him of Christmas morning when she was particularly excited about the gift he was about to open.

Though James had not known of its existence, he did have an idea as to what the box contained. When she unfixed the latch and lifted the lid, he was proven right.

The band of the ring was gold woven in an intricate pattern of knots. The head was enameled with four petals forming a white flower, surrounded by polished garnet.

"It's been in my family for hundreds of years," he mother declared proudly. "The story is that one of my ancestors was a childhood sweetheart of King Wulfhere."

"I thought she was his mistress," his father said mildly.

Mrs. Potter shushed him and swatted his arm lightly, then found she could not resist his smile, and decided to kiss him on the cheek instead. "Well," she sighed. "Whatever is true, it's been handed down through your Brackenbury side for a great many years. It's not as elegant as some of the rings you see these days, but it's well made and very beautiful. The band is enchanted to size itself according to the finger. You may give it to your Lily, if you like."

James was a bit dumbfounded. He had not been expecting something quite so…old and full of family history. "Really?"

His mother stroked the side of his face lightly. "As long as I get to meet her," she teased.

James took the box from his mother and thanked her. It was another hour or so before he was able to excuse himself to leave. He Apparated to his flat in London and knew straightaway that Lily was not home. There was no music playing, no cooking smells, no snoring. The warmth that came with Lily was not present.

He sighed. She was likely across the hall, visiting Sirius.

James placed one of the plates of biscuits his mother had sent with him down in the kitchen, and then made his way to the bedroom.

The flat was small, but James liked that. The bed he shared with Lily was overlarge for the room but the perfect size for comfort. Initially, the room had been a colorless thing, but with Lily had come light blues, a bedside table lamp with cut glass depicting sunflowers, and crates of Muggle music records—a handful of which always seemed to be scattered on the floor, desk, or bed rather than their proper place.

James walked to his desk and opened the drawer. There was a secret compartment he had added almost a year ago to hide correspondence from his mother. There was more than enough room for a ring box.

It wasn't the time, he knew. Lily wasn't ready. He would wait until she was ready. He secreted away the ring and closed the desk.

He then Apparated over to Sirius' kitchen with the second plate of biscuits in hand.

Sirius was crouched, reaching into a cupboard for something and startled so violently that he nearly hit his head. "Fucking hell, Prongs! What's wrong with you?"

James held up the plate. "From Mother."

Sirius jumped to his feet. He sniffed the baked goods and grinned. "Ah, Mum Potter's cooking. You know what this means?"

"What?"

"It means fuck the potatoes and asparagus, that's what it means. This is now my dinner."

"Mother would be so pleased."

Sirius shrugged. "Ta!" he said before tearing into a biscuit. "Oh my god," he was talking with his mouth full. "Extra pecans."

"Yep, just for you."

"Well, I am the favorite."

James rolled his eyes. "Is Lily here?"

Sirius was already eating his second selection from the plate, but he indicated in the affirmative and led James to the sofa where Lily had fallen asleep reading. She looked snug in an oversized wooly jumper he suspected may have belonged to her father, and her platform shoes had been kicked off and rested on the hardwood floor.

"She been like that long?" James asked quietly.

"An hour or two."

"Will you get the door for me?" James gestured with his head. Lily was a fairly heavy sleeper, but the squeezing sensation of Apparition would wake her for certain and he didn't want to disturb her if possible.

"Sure."

James crouched, lacing the straps of her shoes through his fingers, then slid one arm under her knees and another around her shoulders and lifted, taking care to jostle her as little as possible and keep the book that rested on her chest from falling.

Sirius had not only opened his own door, but James' as well. James thanked him with a nod and continued on into his flat, closing his door behind him with the gentle push of his foot. He carried her to the bed and maneuvered as best he could to get her under the blankets. He gently removed her denim jeans, but left the bulky jumper, the camisole, and the knickers in place. He magically marked her page in the book and left it on her bedside table, then returned her shoes to the closet.

Lily properly cared for, James gathered his work from his desk and took it out to his own sofa. Pumpkin the cat emerged from wherever she had been burrowing and curled up behind his neck, across the crest of the furniture. He settled in for an evening of Transfiguration proofs for a job he would like to get at the Ministry. The flat was quiet as he worked, but it was not empty and Lily's presence made all the difference.

* * *

"Don't touch that!"

Peter Pettigrew's hand snapped back, away from the augurey in a nearby cage.

"They're not pets."

His new boss, a man with a green bowtie called Cornelius Fudge, seemed to have decided he was an idiot.

"I'm sorry," Peter squeaked.

"You're here to monitor the animals, not to play with them. People's lives depend on it." Fudge sighed and then continued the tour.

The color took time to fade from Peter's face. Tonight was his first shift with the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, an actual job. His first night as a grown-up and he was already fouling it up. He dreaded the possibility of embarrassing his mother, who had recommended him for this employment, and resolved not to touch anything or say anything for the rest of the orientation.

The position wasn't difficult; in one of the lower levels of the Ministry, a collection of prescient animals was kept to serve as part of an alarm system for determining when danger and death were imminent. Peter's job was to monitor them, report if any of them were set off. He was also supposed to feed them. But they weren't pets; he'd been told that at least five times. They had numbers, not names. Auguries, clabberts, wupples, and kneazles, each with their own hall, and he was supposed to make his rounds once every half hour.

The sphinx had a room to herself. She was not part of Peter's rounds; her feeding was during the day hours. He was not to interact with the sphinx. He was not to look at her or speak to her, even if she addressed him (she wouldn't). Only Unspeakables were permitted to speak with the sphinx. Peter was not permitted to speak with the Unspeakables.

Sometimes Aurors from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would come down and check out a kneazle to aid in an interrogation or investigation. There was a complicated series of forms that were filled out in that event, and Peter had a stack of them on his desk. Blue forms were for taking the kneazles, green forms were for returning them, and red forms were for if something untoward happened to the kneazle in the line of duty. Ministry ghosts were not permitted to check out the kneazles. Anyone who checked out a kneazle had to provide two forms of identification.

Peter felt overwhelmed, but kept nodding at Fudge as though he understood.

The two of them finished what would have been one of Peter's rounds only to return to his desk. Peter had been about to ask whether or not he would be working the night shift alone when the lift dinged and opened.

The loveliest woman Peter had ever seen breezed into the lobby area where the five department desks were located. She had long, chestnut colored hair that went to her waist and large eyes. Her flattering robes were teal, and diamond stud earrings twinkled in her ears. She waved at Fudge and then settled herself into the desk that was next to Peter's.

Fudge kept talking to Peter as though he hadn't noticed the incredible distraction that had just sauntered into the room. Peter struggled to focus.

"You will arrive for your shift at ten sharp each day, one minute late is late."

"Yes, sir," Peter was quick to agree.

"Your break to eat is at two, and you will be relieved by the morning crew at six. Unspeakables will arrive at midnight each shift to ensure that the sensory connections between the animals and their assigned cities are intact. You do not speak to the Unspeakables."

Peter was already nodding before Fudge finished. "Of course."

The young woman spoke and Peter found himself melting at the sound. "Is he Jugson's replacement?" she asked.

Fudge answered in the affirmative. She looked him up and down, then Peter's heart sank as he watched her instantaneously dismiss him. She pulled out a copy of _Transfiguration Today_, found a previously marked page and settled herself to read.

"That's Farrah Ingram. She will be working the night shift with you," Fudge informed him.

She waved without looking up from her magazine.

"Have you any questions for me, Pettigrew?"

"No, sir," he stammered.

At that, Fudge left Peter with a detailed itinerary of his duties, and promptly the room fell quiet.

Peter had not known that he would have so much free time with this position, and thus had neglected to bring any reading material. Several times he almost said something to Farrah, but lost his nerve each time.

The only sound in the room came from a clabbert in a large cage installed in the wall across from him, near the entrance that led to the hall of kneazles. The creature moved with slow, deliberate movements as it chomped on leaves. After observing the clabbert for several minutes, Peter decided that he liked it. Primate-like but green, and with huge eyes that couldn't help but appear friendly and innocent, the animal shyly hid behind the trunk of the fake tree within his enclosure when it noticed the human's scrutiny. This made Peter feel guilty, and he stopped staring.

An hour into his shift, following his first proper lap of rounds, found him using the kneazle Accidental Death forms to fold flowers like James had showed him once. He found with a little trial and error that he even remembered how to do some of the birds.

The lift opened around midnight and two young men in dark robes entered. Peter recognized at once from the tiny silver badges around their collars that they were Unspeakables, but they didn't fit the mental image of what he had expected. They were young, probably in their mid-twenties at most, and they were laughing. One had the collar of his robes unbuttoned and looked as though he had not shaved in days. As they advanced into the reception area, the one on the left made his way to Farrah's desk directly. He was the more polished of the two, and he was quite handsome. He had overgrown dark blond hair that fell just so, in a manner that seemed both deliberate and careless—like Sirius' hair.

"Hello beautiful," he greeted Farrah, who was already setting aside her magazine to give the visitor her full attention. Peter's stomach sickened as he watched the two of them begin to flirt.

The other Unspeakable, the disheveled one, cautiously approached Peter's desk. He took in the sight of this nervous young man with colorless hair and the folded red orchids and cranes that littered his workspace.

"Where's Jugson?"

"Sacked," Farrah pulled her attention away from her admirer to answer.

A lift of an eyebrow. "Like that, is it?" the Unspeakable shook his head. But it seemed that Farrah had estimated her involvement concluded.

After studying Peter, the Unspeakable extended his hand. "My name's Rookwood."

Peter stared at the hand, unsure whether or not to take it. Fudge's instructions were still ringing in his ears: "Don't speak with the Unspeakables!"

But if Farrah's behavior was any indication, this was a rule selectively followed. Peter met eyes with the young man called Rookwood. He was a tall, thin man who had the look of someone who had slouched his entire life. The skin of his face was slightly pockmarked, and his green eyes were sharp with intelligence. His hair was long, like his companion's, but had been tied back, revealing a tattoo of a Ravenclaw eagle on the left side of his neck.

Peter took his hand and shook it. "Pettigrew," he tried to say with confidence he did not feel.

Rookwood grinned, "Nice to meet you. First day?"

Peter nodded.

"You'll get the hang of it," Rookwood assured him. "Did they give you the keys to your desk, Pettigrew?"

After a moment of hesitation, he dug into the pockets of his robes and produced the key ring.

"Would you be so kind as to check the second drawer down on your left for a letter for me? Jugson said he had something for me."

He blinked at the oddness of the request, but Rookwood was poised and businesslike, and Peter found himself unlocking the drawer. Sure enough, there was an envelope addressed to "A. Rookwood" underneath a paperback novel called _Her Intemperate Desires_. Peter's face colored at the picture of the entwined, windswept, and half-dressed couple on the cover, and quickly replaced the book face-down in the drawer.

He held the sealed parchment out to Rookwood.

"Much thanks," the Unspeakable said as he tucked the letter into his robes.

"What is it?" Peter asked without really considering his words.

The look on Rookwood's face wasn't really a glare, but it wasn't friendly either. "I don't think that's really any of your business Pettigrew, do you?"

Peter looked away, abashed.

"Avery," Rookwood called to the other young man, and then indicated with his head toward the halls of the animals. "It's time to do our job."

Avery gave Farrah a shrug and a regretful smile. He left her with a kiss on the cheek and she had a smile on her face that lasted for more than an hour.

* * *

The clock on the bookshelf across the room turned over from the eleven o'clock hour to midnight. Narcissa Malfoy heaved a sad sigh that was nearly a whimper.

He had promised, _promised_ that he would be here. So where was he?

She had been a married woman for five months, and two of those months she had slept alone.

The window rattled with wind and moonlight painted her world gray. She swept the blankets off her legs and rose to her feet. She found herself walking to that window and she climbed into the cushioned window-seat. Her lacy peignoir was the absolute opposite of modesty, but no one would be out there to see it.

No one was in here to see it.

The gardens of Malfoy Manor were illuminated below her by the almost full moon. The pond was dotted with water lilies and the willows bent over the water prettily. She wiped her tears from her face, and drew in a breath to clear her airways. She rested her head against the glass as she curled her limbs close.

Narcissa remembered the first time she saw this house, these gardens. She had been fifteen and it was a beautiful day in June. Lucius had taken her up on his broom, pulling her snug against him. She had felt a thrill go through her at the time, though her naïve young self would not have been able to say whether that was a result of the height or the boy. The house was perfect, the grounds were perfect, and the boy was perfect. She had vowed to herself that day that it would all be hers. She had been such a fool.

Everything was complicated, everything had strings and caveats. Lucius may be her great love, but was not his own man by any measure. He served two men of high expectations, two men who had not figured Narcissa into their calculations at all and quite resented her presence: his father, and his Dark Lord.

Narcissa had known about the Dark Lord before the wedding, and honestly hadn't minded the idea. It seemed so brave and noble of Lucius, standing up for his beliefs, fighting for a better future. She had not considered how far and how frequently that fight would take her love away from her. But perhaps that would all be bearable if it were not for the other master.

One day this house would be Narcissa's but today it really belonged to another, her father-in-law, Abraxas Malfoy.

Abraxas was…difficult. He was unpredictable. And under his rule, this house which she had so coveted was a prison. Even in the supposed seclusion and privacy of the East Wing, where she and Lucius had set up house, she always felt watched, trapped. Every hour of how she decided to spend her time was scrutinized and judged, every action that she took was restricted. She had no idea how the man could manage that while still talking about her as though she was not present, and it was no better when Lucius was home, because the old man was the same with his son. Her own father had been a strict and formidable man while she was growing up, but at least the House Elves were not too afraid to speak.

Many of her old hobbies had been deemed unsuitable by her father-in-law and were thus abandoned. She had not hunted, baked, flown, or gone shopping since taking up residence at Malfoy Manor. She had always idolized girl groups like the Merlin's Beards and the Cornish Pixies, which had led to guitar lessons, but Abraxas disapproved and she had only played the piano in recent weeks. Still, while she missed her guitar, neglected in its case at the back of a closet, she was grateful for the piano and spent much of her time in the ballroom where the acoustics were perfection. Composing music seemed to be the only hobby of hers that gained her any sort of approval from the master of the house.

In the evenings she took long walks through the grounds. In the mornings she spent hours on correspondence, writing her parents, her sister Bella, her friends Aurora and Ellie, even her ex-boyfriend Winston once, just to see how studying old caves in Russia was treating him. And of course, she would write to Lucius—daily when he was not present, and he had not been present for officially two weeks as of midnight tonight.

Marriage was supposed to be a binding of two people, a promise of eternal companionship. So how could it possibly be that she was so lonely?

With a deep breath, she rose from her seat decisively. She was losing sleep for nothing. Lucius had been held up again and he would not be coming tonight. There was nothing to be gained but misery in waiting up for him. She resolved to get herself a snack from the kitchens and then it would be time to sleep.

* * *

The sun had decided to come out for, of all things, a funeral. The sky was the clearest it had been since the beginning of October and the effect was almost one of disrespect. The world was indifferent and cruel like that, Severus had noted on many occasions.

Regardless of the sunshine, he wore a long black winter cloak, and he felt slightly over-warm even though he was standing in the shade. He was some distance from the service, though he was close enough that there could be no mistaking that the Evans burial was his reason for being in the old graveyard today.

As it was a monument of his childhood home, the graveyard was quite familiar to Severus. Generations of Snapes had been buried here. He and his grandfather had gathered asphodel and belladonna within the gates for their grand potion brewing experiments in his boyhood. The gargoyle and angel statues had played a major role in the games he and Lily had enjoyed as children. In fact, Severus almost felt that the graveyard was entirely too familiar given the fact that it had been nearly four years since he had set foot in it.

Four years since…. Well, he was here now.

He was of two minds about that. He was here because Lily's parents were dead and he felt as though he should be here. That was one side of it, the side that didn't question or doubt. Lily was in pain, so Severus showed support, devotion. It was simple and direct.

The other mind was acutely aware of the uselessness of this gesture, the superfluous nature of Severus' presence. It was not as though he was comforting her, near her, or would even be allowed to console her if he was. She had Potter and Black here for that, the two of them disgustingly Muggle-fied in their suits as they flanked her. It was her friend Melody McGonagall who held her as she cried. Severus did not even know if Lily had noticed he was in attendance.

The priest droned on and on in Latin, a language in which Severus could only claim knowledge of selected vocabulary, and for that he was grateful. He was not in a mood for meditations on mortality and eternity.

Lily and Petunia each stepped forward and scooped up a handful of dirt, which they then dropped into the grave. It was simple gesture that evoked a very ugly memory in Severus, a memory of three quarrelling Death Eaters digging a grave in the woods behind McNair's cottage while it rained torrents. A grave for two people who were never supposed to have become corpses in the first place.

If Malfoy had just cast some better binding spells, if the door to McNair's cellar had just been even a little bit sturdier, if Severus had made better split second decisions…. It was everybody's fault, it was nobody's fault—that was the conclusion that had been reached by Malfoy and McNair, but Severus did not share it. It was his fault, his alone—everything else was just set dressing. The spells had come from his wand, he was the one who couldn't sleep.

Gallrick Mountjoy and Wanda Bones were his now, ceaselessly. They would be his burdens and his companions for the rest of his life. It was…a most unwanted kind of intimacy.

He wondered if the driver who had struck them now carried Lily's parents the way that Severus carried Mountjoy and Bones.

"You're the Snape boy, aren't you?"

Severus jumped despite himself. Beside him stood a stooped and dirt-covered old man with a left eye almost white with cataracts. He was struck immediately with a niggling feeling of familiarity. He had to study the man's face a moment before he recognized him as the sexton of the graveyard, a man he had seen often enough in his youth.

"Been a long time since I've seen you here."

_Yes, four years_, Severus thought with a bitter twist of his lips, but he said nothing and looked away from the man and back to the service.

"Awful tragedy, what happened to the Evanses," the old man continued to muse aloud. "Those girls seem to be taking it pretty hard, 'specially that one," he gestured to blonde sister.

Severus still did not speak, but he did concur. Though, historically, Severus could attest that Petunia didn't take much well.

"You're mum still comes by every Sunday evening," the sexton continued. "Says she hasn't seen much of you in the past year."

An entirely deliberate move on Severus' part.

The priest was no longer speaking and it appeared as though the service was concluded. People were hugging and shaking hands, laying handfuls of flowers. Severus' breath hitched when he saw Lily notice him for the first time. He could tell by the surprise on her face that she had not expected him to come, and that hurt a little. Had he not proven his loyalty? He found himself annoyed, and embarrassed. It had been presumptuous to think that Lily would need or want him to be here.

But then she smiled. It was tiny thing, joyless and nearly smothered beneath the tears that streaked her face. But it showed appreciation, and something inside Severus let go a breath it was holding.

"I can clean the dead leaves off the bench by yer daddy if you'd like to visit him. No trouble at all."

Severus turned and saw the sexton's friendly face, expectant. "No," he stated with finality. Then he turned and strode toward the gates, exiting with purpose and never once with the thought of going anywhere near Spinner's End.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Anglo-Saxon jewelry is some of the most beautiful ever made. If you don't believe me, just Google it. I thought it would be cool to give Lily a ring from that era, and it seemed plausible considering that James has some very, very old family heirlooms in canon. That said, I am aware that King Wulfhere lived a long-ass time ago. I blame my personal biases for the choice. As to how the ring can still handle day to day wear without falling apart, I'm gonna go with…magic?

Cornelius Fudge by his own words (in PoA) worked at the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes during the first war. I thought it would somewhat poetic to have him be Peter's boss considering he will be one of the first people on the scene when Sirius gets framed for the big murder-explosion. This also fits with the knowledge Fudge seemed to have of Peter during the conversation that Harry overhears in the Three Broomsticks—he talks about him like he knew who he was. Y'all may also recognize Rookwood, Avery, and Jugson as, of course, Death Eaters.

If you enjoyed the chapter please review. I love hearing from readers, and if you ask questions I always answer them. Thanks for stopping by to read!


	3. And the Void Went Flash

****Disclaimer:** The characters and situations of _Harry Potter_ depicted in this story are the legal property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

* * *

_"And I rolled in the grass and I spit out the gas  
__And I lit a match and the void went flash  
__And the sky split and the planets hit,  
__Balls of jade dropped and existence stopped, stopped, stop, stop."  
_Patti Smith  
"Kimberly" (1975)

**Chapter 02: And the Void Went Flash **

Arguing with Lily before being in a committed relationship with her was night and day compared to after. Before there had always been a playfulness to it; after all, it was really just the way they flirted. And if James went too far, said something he regretted or that actually wounded, then oh well. It wasn't as though there was anything at stake. Nothing to lose, and he could start at square one again next week.

That lightness was gone and James found himself taking a beat before speaking, considering his words carefully.

"You're not my mother, Lily, and even if you were, you wouldn't get to tell me what to do." Sometimes he considered more carefully than others. Part of that was the fact that they had been picking at each other for the past few days.

Lily's eyes flashed at him in the mirror as she used a drying charm on her hair. "I'm not telling you what to do. I'm just telling you my opinion on what you plan to do."

"This is a career I've wanted my entire life, it's not a whim I had last week. I'm taking the interview." James was pulling on a pair of formal dressrobes, but buttoning the cuffs was something difficult to do while aggravated.

Lily's eyes narrowed and she slammed her wand down on the wooden shelf near the bathroom sink. She stalked out of sight and into the kitchen wearing only her black bra and knickers set. She reappeared with a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in her hands. She ripped it open and turned to page four, refolded it so that the story she wanted to highlight was prominent, and then shoved it at him.

Abandoning his left cuff, he took the paper from her and reluctantly began to read.

_"__Eight Aurors Dead in Six Months, New Sanctions May Help"_

He skimmed the article, but had a pretty good idea why Lily was so upset right at the first glance. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Of course, with her parents…every risk probably seemed unnecessarily large at this point. He took his time as he approached her. She had finished styling her hair and was now performing her makeup spells.

James wrapped his arms around her from behind and hugged her to him. He kissed her scalp as he made eye-contact with her in the mirror. "Lily, I'm not going to pretend that being an Auror isn't dangerous as hell. It is, it's one of the most dangerous things a person in our community could chose to do with their lives, especially right now. But it's…important to me, I need to fight, I need to help fix this."

He watched his girlfriend's expression as he spoke, and by the end she was looking at him quite oddly.

After a moment he finally asked, "What?"

She turned herself around in his arms, leaned her pale face against his chest and sighed. "Oh James, that isn't why I don't approve."

He tried to look at her face, but she nestled in deeper. "I-I mean, obviously, I'm a little fragile on the subject of death right now. The idea of you placing yourself in danger on a daily basis…_of course_ I don't like that." He could hear her tears in her voice now. "I just had to bury my parents, I don't think I could stand to bury you, too." He felt her shifting her arms against his chest so that she could wipe under her eyes. "But that isn't why I don't want you to take the interview."

James was feeling a bit choked up himself from her raw display of emotion, but he did manage to inquire, "Then why?"

After a moment more of clinging to his chest, Lily heaved herself out of his arms and retrieved the newspaper from where he had abandoned it on the bed. He watched from the doorway as she sat on the mattress and looked up at him.

"Did you read it?" she asked.

James almost answered in the affirmative, then found himself shrugging. In his quick once-over he had obviously missed whatever had her so upset.

Lily found the paragraph she wanted, then began to read to him, "_'This is indeed an unprecedented number of casualties for this office,' Head of Magical Law Enforcement Bartemius Crouch admitted. 'But we are not going to take this onslaught lying down. I drafted a motion that has been ratified by Minister for Magic Minchum to temporarily repeal the Prohibitions of Horrick for Aurors.' Crouch went on to explain how he felt these measures would make our Aurors safer in their fight against the insurgent leader styling himself Lord Voldemort and his followers, and by extension, facilitate the protection of wizarding Britain.'_" Lily tossed the copy of the _Prophet_ to the side. "The journalist goes into specifics from there, but it all manages to stay pretty vague. Do you remember the particulars of the Prohibitions of Horrick from Binns' lectures?"

James shook his head.

"I didn't either, so I looked them up. James, Crouch has basically given his Aurors a free pass on dark magic, including the Unforgivable Curses."

James held out his hand, and Lily passed him the newspaper one more time. He really read the article this time. When he finished his face was grim. "This isn't such a bad idea, you know."

Lily was fastening her own dressrobes now. They were professional in cut, double-breasted and navy blue. The look she gave him…James didn't think he had ever shocked her so thoroughly in almost eight years of knowing her.

"I thought you supported anti-Dark Arts legislation."

"I do," he was quick to reassure her. "The Dark Arts are reprehensible, and the laws we have in place are absolutely necessary." He finished buttoning his cuffs because it gave him an excuse not to look at her as he continued. "But Aurors are soldiers fighting on the front lines of a battle. Death Eaters are using these spells, they should be able to use them to fight back."

"That's great," Lily sniped. "Shows real moral fiber. Times are tough, so let's compromise our principles."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," James said after taking a deep breath. Why was it always so hard to hold onto his temper? "Sometimes people who put their lives on the line to fight a war have to make ugly decisions, do ugly things to ensure that what they are protecting stays safe. That's just the grown-up world. We're not kids anymore."

He was fumbling with his tie and Lily jerked the ends from him and began to knot it into a double Windsor herself. He could tell she was grappling with her temper, too.

"I see your point. I disagree with you, but I see your point. My question for you, James Potter, is whether or not you could do those 'ugly things'?"

"What?"

"If you go to that interview and take that job, are you going to be out there casting Cruciatus and Imperius Curses?"

James stumbled over this question more than he thought he would. She had really put him on the spot and her green eyes were so severe, she nearly had him pinned in place with them. "I-I don't know. I guess. I mean, it would depend on the situation."

She straightened his tie and stepped back from him. "Then we have a problem," she said, a calmness in her voice that showed nowhere on her expression.

"What problem? Lily, we're talking about particulars of a job I don't even have yet."

Lily was tossing essentials from one purse to another that matched what she was wearing today. "James, if I could stomach being kissed by someone who tortures, kills, and takes away the free will of others, I'd be dating a Death Eater."

James hissed. Aside from the obvious impugning of his honor, it picked at a sore wound only recently scabbed over. She didn't name a particular Death Eater, but he could fill in the blank.

Thank Merlin that Sirius chose that moment to blunder into their flat uninvited.

"Oy! You lot in the bedroom, stop your shagging. We're going to be late."

Lily snatched up her purse, cloak, and gloves and walked around James' immobile form to get to the door. "We're ready, Padfoot," she said crisply.

"You look nice, Lily." The voice was Peter's and Lily answered him politely while James stood heaving furious breaths in an attempt to calm himself. Another moment revealed Melody to be present as well.

"You all right?" James' eyes snapped to the bedroom doorway where he best mate was leaning in and studying him with an expression of concern. "You two have a fight?" Sirius asked quietly.

James bridled the worst of his fury. It would do no good to shout the things he wanted to shout at Lily in front of their friends. James ripped his cloak from where it hung in the wardrobe. "Everything's fine," he snapped.

* * *

_My Love,_

_I completed the _Manuscrit trouvé à Saragosse_ today. Reading in French is exhausting, but the subject matter was engaging. A gypsy's life seems low and base, of course, but I couldn't help but envy Don Avadoro his moral and temporal freedom. Next on your father's reading list is _The Castle of Otranto_. I am certain it will be a thrilling experience. Who doesn't love a good haunted castle? It's not as though we went to school in one for seven years. _

_The black swan in the pond died this morning. I'm not sure why. I went outside for my walk and it was lying under the big willow tree with its neck at an unnatural angle. I don't mean to be overly dramatic or sentimental, but it cast a pall over my entire day. He was my favorite. _

_The waltz I have composed for you is nearly finished. I will play it for you when you come home for Christmas next week. It's a much better gift than what I wrapped and placed under the tree. _That_ is a horror of bad stich-work that you will have to see to properly believe. As a secret between us, I botched the tapestry so thoroughly that one of your House Elves had to fix it. _

_Lucius, I don't know what I'll do if I don't get to see you for Christmas. Please, whatever you need to do. Please come home to me._

_With Love,_

_Your Devoted Wife _

Lucius had read the letter at least six times, and at no point did the words get easier to take. His wife was unhappy, even miserable, and from where he stood there was nothing he could do to combat that.

"Orders?" came a voice from over his shoulder. He looked up to see Bellatrix Lestrange enter the parlor. It was a room with plenty of shadows in the corners and furniture in spare numbers, though extremely high in quality. The Lestranges had as much money as the Malfoys, ostensibly, but the decor of this manor could only be described as austere. It had shocked Lucius the first time he had seen it. There was not a single item of beauty in this entire building.

"A letter. From your sister." He folded the parchment and placed it in his breast pocket with its many companions. He had not had an opportunity to write her back today as yet. In fact, he probably wouldn't be able to at all.

Bella lowered herself into a high-backed chair by the fire, the only light and heat source in the room just now. She did not seem comfortable or relaxed. She never did. "And how is my dear sister? Still lazing about while the rest of us make ourselves useful."

Lucius did not rise to that bait. In his view, Narcissa was precisely where she ought to be. He didn't want her to be a part of any of this nasty, but necessary, business.

Rodolphus Lestrange joined them, two sets of dark cloaks and two bone-white masks in his arms. He placed one of each in his wife's lap, then hung his own over the back of her chair. "Your useless little friend will not be joining us today."

Lucius bristled. "None of my friends are useless."

"That Snape is," Bella declared. "If he had just completed the mission he was given, we would not be venturing out today, in broad daylight. The Dark Lord is not impressed."

She said it as though she were scolding and her husband nodded in agreement.

"And in what way am I to blame for this?" Lucius adopted his most supercilious manner. It was the only way to deal with these people. He loved his wife, but her sister….

"You vouched for the boy," Lestrange accused. "He's not had a single successful assignment as yet. Hardly an asset to the cause."

Lucius could not argue either of those two points, so he didn't even try. Instead he changed the subject. "Did you receive our list of targets?"

Lestrange answered by way of drawing a roll of parchment from the pocket of his robes. Lucius was annoyed that he showed it to his wife first, but as soon as Bellatrix had memorized the names, Lucius got his turn.

_Horace Slughorn  
__Benjamin Fenwick  
__Irene Abernathy  
__Alfred Fanner  
__Lily Evans_

Lucius recognized most of the names on the list, so remembering it was easy. Internally, he admitted that it was all for the best that Severus was being made to sit this one out. Lucius knew his young friend had an unnatural affection for the Mudblood Evans girl. Merlin only knew what he would do if he found out her name was on this list.

"I am running point on this mission," Lestrange announced. "The Dark Lord honored me with the assignment this morning."

Lucius' congratulations was forced and stiff. If he thought his sister-in-law to be a bit much, it was nothing to the distaste he felt for the woman's husband. War made strange bedfellows, did it not? Lucius had many friends who had joined the cause, for sure, but there were just as many serving the Dark Lord that were people he'd never spend time with socially if he could avoid it.

"Then we have only to wait for deployment," Lucius said.

The three occupants in the room waited almost in silence for more than an hour before their arms began to heat and burn.

Bellatrix caressed her Dark Mark the way one might a lover and relished in the pain. "It's time," she said with a breathless smirk.

* * *

Lily was playing with her father's lighter again, though just with her left hand. Her right was occupied with actually smoking a cigarette. This was something she had taken to doing in recent weeks that drove James barmy. She thought it hypocritical of James to make a fuss, considering that he smoked cigars socially whenever he could.

This was just one more area of conflict that had come to bear in recent weeks with her boyfriend. The sourness had started after a disastrous night out with Petunia and Vernon.

It had been right after the funeral in Cokeworth. Lily and Petunia had chosen a restaurant that they had frequented as a family when they were girls. Lily hadn't known what to say to her sister, and Petunia seemed in a similar place, so the men had filled the silence as best they could, and that turned out to be a disaster. Vernon had bragged about himself for more than an hour, something that James found to be hilarious—openly. He laughed out loud more than once, to Lily's chagrin. This had escalated matters and the next thing she knew, Lily's last remaining family member was stalking out of the restaurant with her ridiculous fiancé, and she was reduced to tears. James had apologized profusely, telling her he'd do whatever he had to repair the damage he had done, but Lily was still sore about the whole thing.

And then there was that mess this morning while they were getting dressed. Lily took a long drag and blinked back tears. She didn't know why she and her boyfriend were on such different wavelengths recently, she just knew that she felt lonely and overwhelmed.

Would he leave her over all of this? Ask her to move out?

Well, he'd come here with her at least.

Currently, they were attending the annual gathering of S.W.A.M.P., the Society for Wizarding Achievements and Mastery in Potioneering, where Lily was to be awarded her Potions Master license. Horace Slughorn, her favorite professor from Hogwarts, had finagled a prime table for Lily and her friends near the podium and he was the one who would be awarding her with the license in an hour. Several leading Potions Masters were presenting their theories and findings from the past year, something she found fascinating, but that James was scarcely able to hide his boredom while watching. The two of them had barely spoken to each other since this morning.

Between speakers, Lily had excused herself and snuck outside for some quiet and a smoke. The concrete steps upon which she sat were cold, and the chill was slowly leaching through her body. The sun was behind some rather malevolent-looking clouds, but as yet there had not been a single snowflake or drop of rain for the day. She was facing an empty alleyway, lined with overflowing rubbish bins and stray cats. She knew that she should go back inside, but she did not move when her cigarette was finished.

She heard the door leading back inside to the assembly open and close. She craned her neck around to see that she was no longer alone.

The woman was in what seemed to be her mid-twenties, and she wore a black Muggle-style cocktail dress instead of traditional robes. Her dark hair was bobbed just past her chin, looking rather windswept. A tiny silver hoop pierced the left side of her nose and her lips were painted red. Lily thought that she would have looked more at home in a London night club than a potions society gathering.

She nodded at Lily in a kind of greeting before opening her handbag and retrieving a cigarette of her own. She seemed to consider lighting it with her wand, but then asked Lily if she could user her lighter instead.

Lily was surprised, but handed over the precious contraption.

The woman did not struggle igniting a flame at all, belying experience with such devices. She took a decent-sized drag, sighing in pleasure, and handed Lily back her lighter.

"Ta," she said. "Sometimes it's nice to do things the old fashioned way."

Lily didn't know quite what the woman meant by that, as wands predated lighters by a considerable number of years, but she did not ask.

"It's a beauty," she indicated the heirloom as she walked forward and sat on the step beside Lily, but not too close.

Lily nodded with a tiny smile. "It was my father's." Then, after a moment she added, "He just passed away."

At this, a peculiar stiff expression passed over the woman's face. "I'm sorry. That's hard."

Lily agreed.

The young woman held out her hand. "I'm Marlene. Marlene McKinnon."

Lily shook it. "Lily Evans."

"You here to present an academic thesis or to receive an award?"

"Award."

"Me as well," Marlene said. "Not really my crowd. I'd much rather be at home, with my family."

Lily noted the wedding ring on her finger. She also saw that there was a slight presence of dirt and grime under her fingernails—an occupational hazard of brewing, Lily knew.

"I've been wanting to attend since I was twelve," Lily confessed. "My best friend and I, we vowed that we would become members of S.W.A.M.P. and now, tonight, it's finally happening."

"You seem thrilled about it, too," Marlene deadpanned.

"He's not here. My friend," Lily clarified. "His project…it didn't go well, and we're not really speaking anyway. It's just weird—it doesn't seem right to be getting this license without him here."

Marlene smiled, and it seemed a kind thing but a pained one as well. "I know a little something about that as well. It's easy to plan on a particular person being there with you, but sometimes that's just not your choice. You earned this, focus on that. Don't worry about him, at least not tonight."

Lily was just experiencing the thought that she quite liked Marlene McKinnon, when the door behind them opened again. This time it was a familiar face.

"Evans, what the bloody hell are you doing freezing your balls off out here? Prongs is worried sick," Sirius was chiding before the door even shut behind him. He caught sight of Marlene. "Well, _hello_."

Lily winced. She rose to her feet, and her smoking companion did as well. With a sigh she said, "I'm heading back."

But Sirius wasn't listening. He was too busy turning on his smarm. "_You_ are far too sexy to be part of this stuffy crowd."

"Thank you," Marlene said, as she flicked away the remains of her cigarette, but she didn't sound as though she meant it at all. In fact, she sounded tired.

"You want to get out of here? Evans won't mind, will you Evans?" He was using his best lopsided grin, but Marlene wasn't even making eye-contact.

Lily cleared her throat to get his attention, then looked pointedly at the woman's ring finger. Sirius followed her gaze and it took him a moment to process what he saw there, but he quickly recovered. Too quickly.

"So your husband's here? That's all right. No one has to know. I saw a broom cupboard just off the atrium."

Lily gasped, fully scandalized, then hit Sirius on the arm with her purse. Hard.

Marlene gave a chuckle, though at Sirius' proposition or Lily's defending of her honor, it was uncertain. "It was nice meeting you, Lily," she said. Then she walked passed Sirius and disappeared through the heavy door.

Sirius rounded on Lily. "What in Merlin's name is wrong with you?"

"Me! That woman was married, Padfoot. Where the hell is your sense of decency?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Oh, that? I left that back at Hogwarts about second year. Never was able to find the blasted thing again." He huffed. "Come on, Evans. That was one of the most drop dead fit birds I have ever seen, and you completely piddled all over my party."

"I'm pretty sure you did that yourself," Lily grumbled. "Does the institution of marriage really mean so little to you?"

Sirius smiled rakishly. "Never been one for institutions, love. Just the same, don't get your hopes up."

"I'll try to contain my disappointment. At any rate, James and I aren't married."

"Yet," Sirius said with a shrug. "A technicality. I'm his best mate, so in my mind you two have been married, since, oh, round about third year. You may as well be hippogriff droppings in a bucket mixed with bubotuber pus for how keen I am to put my willy in you."

"Thanks?" Lily managed to say, her brows knit. "Let's just head back. I don't want to miss Benjy Fenwick's presentation on aconite."

* * *

Peter was nervous. He was in a very large room full of important strangers far cleverer than he, and he was talking to a girl, so he was nervous. And when he was nervous, he ate. A lot.

He was standing beside the buffet table, where he had been going back for thirds when he had struck up a conversation with Lily's friend Melody. He had since eaten the shrimp he had placed on his plate, and the last ten or so prawns he had ingested had never known the habitat of porcelain in his hand. They had, in fact, gone directly from the serving platter to his mouth. Peter felt absurd.

It wasn't as though he fancied Melody or anything. And he wasn't flirting with her, even. He was asking for her advice on how to talk to Farrah for pity's sake. But someone should tell his shaking hand that, because it just kept reaching for another shrimp, and then another.

Peter could tell that Melody had noticed, but she was too polite to say anything.

"Honestly, she sounds a little uppish to me, Pete. Dunno if you should really be wasting your time there."

He scrambled to explain. "But she's not! Not really. I think she's just reserved. If I can just get her talking—but I don't know what girls like to talk about."

Melody raised a brow at that. "Hate to break it to you, love, but there isn't any one topic that all girls get chatty over. Do you know something she likes? Personally?"

Peter thought. "She's always reading _Transfiguration Today_ during her shift."

"Well, there you go. Ask her about that."

He paled at the idea. "But I'm rubbish at Transfiguration. What would I even say?"

"Hell if I know," she said with a shrug that made her curls bounce. "Not really my strong suit either."

"Sirius!" Peter called to his friend who had just reentered the hall after fetching Lily. Sirius would know what to do; Padfoot had helped Peter obtain the two casual girlfriends he'd had at Hogwarts, after all. He waved him over frantically, and then almost regretted it because it was immediately clear that Padfoot was in a lousy mood. Still, it seemed too late to wave him off, so Peter briefly explained his predicament and then asked for advice.

Padfoot glowered in Lily's direction as he spoke. "Well, Wormy, don't think I'm the best person to ask. I have just been informed that I don't know much on this subject either. Looks like it's a lost cause, mate."

But Peter didn't want it to be a lost cause. Before he could say so, Melody asked Sirius, "Is Lily all right?"

"Nothing worse than what she has been for the past month. Still smoking and moping."

Melody shook her head in sympathy. "Well, at least she has James."

And just like that, Peter watched helplessly while the subject of the conversation changed, and there was nothing he could do to bring it back.

"Won't even have that if she doesn't get a handle on her little temper," Sirius grumbled. "She and Prongs were fighting again when we turned up today."

Melody gave him a severe look. "Lay off her, Black. Her parents just died."

"Oh, I'm all kinds of aware of that," Sirius spread his palms. "And when your parents are human beings that love you rather than the Dementors in disguise that I got saddled with, I'm sure that's a very traumatic experience."

"You don't actually think that Prongs would chuck her again, do you?" Peter was concerned. He had told James, back at Hogwarts last year, not to end his relationship with Lily, that he would regret it. James hadn't heeded his counsel, and Peter and Remus had been treated to a month and a half of Pissy-Prongs-Who-Hates-Everything before the two of them had reconciled. Peter wasn't looking forward to going through that again.

"No," Sirius admitted. "Prongs is in this for the long haul. He learned his lesson. I just wish that she would go easier on him."

Melody snorted. "You're not biased at all."

"What's up your arse, McGonagall?" Sirius snapped.

"I just think that maybe you have a warped perspective, on account of your unrequited love for James. I happen to think he should be going easier on her."

"Wow, it looks like hypocrisy and vaginas may go hand in hand."

Peter actually stepped back because for a moment he was sure that Sirius was going to get slapped and he wanted to get out of the crossfire.

"Well Black, I think we have definitively proven that Lily was right: you are fucking pants at talking to women!"

He could leave. If he just backed away slowly and didn't make eye contact, Peter didn't think anyone would notice his absence.

He was saved from needing to employ his mediocre skills in stealth by an announcement made through the hall.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you will take your seats, we shall commence with our final task this afternoon: presentation of awards honoring this year's achievements in our field." The voice came from a tiny, wheezy man at the podium. He was easily one of the oldest wizards Peter had ever seen, and he had introduced himself at the start of the assembly as Alfred Fanner, Chairman of S.W.A.M.P.

Peter made his way back to the table assigned to his party, all the way avoiding walking between Sirius and Melody. Already seated at the table were James and Lily; the two of them were not actively speaking or touching, but they were together. Melody took the available seat beside Lily and Sirius took the one next to James, swapping their places from where they had sat earlier in the evening. Lily and James took notice of this, but did not say anything about it. Peter sheepishly took the last remaining seat at the table.

Alfred Fanner called Horace Slughorn to the podium. Slughorn gave a speech on the nature and importance of youth earning their Potions Master license and thus entering into their Society, before calling Lily to the stage. He placed the medal around her neck and gave her an official framed certificate. She thanked the Society and those who had supported her, before retaking her seat. She smiled when she was at the podium, and it was the first time Peter had seen her smile all day. He wondered fleetingly if the smile was real, and found he could not tell. He hoped it was.

A Potions Master license at eighteen was quite the achievement; most people attempted more than once before earning theirs, and Lily was the only one being so elevated tonight. The other three students of their year that had petitioned had been denied. Though from the talk amongst the old brewers tonight, Peter had surmised that if Snape's project hadn't gone so wonky, he would have been honored as well.

Fanner took to the podium again as the applause died down. "We have one other award to present tonight. A bittersweet duty it is, to be sure." The little man drew up to his full height. "Tonight we honor the work of Finlay McKinnon, a man who trained as a Healer, but chose to dedicate his life to developing medicinal potions. His body of work and two published books on the subject speak for themselves, of course, but just this past year he had not one, but two breakthroughs in potioneering that will impact countless lives. He completed work on his Fertilius Philter, which repairs damage to the female reproductive system, allowing the previously infertile to conceive healthy children with minimal risk. He also perfected a technique that has long eluded many of our best minds to make household potions that may be dangerous or poisonous to ingest undrinkable. Parents all over the wizarding community can breathe easier knowing that their children are safe from common cleaners."

Here Fanner paused. The room was the quietest it had been all night.

"It is a great tragedy of our time that Finlay McKinnon cannot be here with us tonight, as he died suddenly and violently only two months ago. He leaves behind his wife and his small son, and is also survived by his parents, who declined an invitation here tonight. His widow, however, has graciously joined us today to accept the award on his behalf. May I present, Mrs. Marlene McKinnon."

Somber applause pattered through the room as a woman stepped forward and climbed the stairs to the stage. She was quite something to look at, Peter noted, and then felt guilty for thinking it. She was a _widow_, for Merlin's sake.

To his left Sirius made the strangest noise Peter had ever heard him make, and Peter took his gaze off the podium in concern. Sirius…was—was he actually trying to hide his face?

Peter leaned toward him as the woman began to speak. "What is it?" he whispered.

"The girls were right. Lily and Mel were right. God Wormy, I'm such a bastard."

"What are you on about?" Peter hissed.

"Shh! Don't talk to me, Wormtail. I don't want her looking over here."

Peter struggled to bite his tongue, but managed it for now. He knew he would be pestering Sirius for details later.

That was the last thought Peter had before everything went to hell.

It started near the back of the hall, a rumble like thunder, then the sound of doors slamming shut. The lights went out and they were doused in darkness. Then the screaming started.

Peter froze, unable to feel or move his limbs, his mind utterly blank. When an elbow collided with his chest (likely belonging to Sirius), it jolted Peter into action. The action he took was sliding to the floor and crawling under the table.

Little blinkers of light started to fire off; some were using their wands as torches to light the blackness. Others fired spells that zipped by in reds, blues, and golds, illuminating what they passed and then immediately abandoning them to the darkness once more. The screams were getting louder and more numerous, and Peter hugged the table leg.

He did not know if a minute passed or twenty, but suddenly there was a jerking on his right arm. Peter bellowed in alarm, only to be shushed. A wand tip flashed with light long enough to eliminate the face of Melody McGonagall.

"Quietly," she breathed in his ear, then she dragged him out from under the cover of the table. She led him by the hand and eventually he deduced that they were headed behind the stage. Once at their destination, Peter heard the wheezy voice of Alfred Fanner do a kind of role call.

"Horace?" And Peter heard the Potions Professor answer.

"Benjamin?" Another voice.

"Mrs. McKinnon?" Affirmative.

Sirius, Melody, and Peter also confirmed their presence. But that was the end of the list.

Peter felt in the dark for his fellow Marauder. "Padfoot," he whispered. "Where are Lily and James?"

* * *

Lily did not come to consciousness gradually. Rather, it was like being awoken with a splash of water to the face. Her body jerked, and in that process she became aware of rock-stiff arms encircling her. She wriggled in full panic to free herself, and only afterward did she realize the arms belonged to James.

He was petrified, literally, and staring at her with eyes that were screaming even though his mouth was incapable of moving.

Lily had only just registered this sight when she was wrenched to her feet by her hair and then dragged several yards. She struggled against the person that was pulling her, but she was too disoriented to make a good showing for herself, and then the fight was shocked out of her when she stumbled over the body of a woman, prone on the red carpet beneath her feet. It only took a glance to be certain that this woman was dead.

"Seat her at the table," came a cold, high voice.

Lily half shambled into the chair, and half was dumped there by her captor. She found herself juddering and taking into account a table covered in books and parchment.

A man stood across from her, but he was like no man she had ever seen. His skin was white—an unnatural white, paler even than the flesh of a corpse. The hair on his head was almost gone, but it looked like it was falling out in clumps and patches rather than thinning naturally. His face had a waxy, artificial look to it, as though he'd had too much plastic surgery and there was a suggestion of something vaguely reptilian in his features. His eyes were red.

"Miss Evans, we've not met. I am Lord Voldemort."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Poor Narcissa, forced to read 18th century Gothic literature. No, wait. That sounds awesome—I don't know what she's whining about. But for real guys, don't count her out. I have big plans for that girl and she's not going to be sidelined much longer.

I owe the Pottermore website and the Harry Potter Lexicon a lot for this chapter; it required a lot of research. The stuff with Barty Crouch Sr. and Minister Harold Minchum allowing Aurors to use Unforgivables during the First War is totally true (though I made up the name of the law being repealed, because, strangely, one wasn't given). Furthermore, Rowling has now stated officially that the fictional town of Cokeworth is where Lily, Petunia, and Snape grew up. The awful Dursleys/Potters double date is also a thing that Rowling wrote about on her website. I just described it in its barest details here and added the bit of it taking place right after a funeral (as if the occasion needed anything else to make it more uncomfortable). You can read the full account if you haven't already on Pottermore.

Much love and thanks to my friend Emily for coming up with the acronym and its meaning for the potions convention. Seriously, she rocks.

And yay for Order members, finally showing their awesome faces!


	4. The Buildings Start to Fall

****Disclaimer:** The characters and situations of _Harry Potter_ depicted in this story are the legal property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

* * *

_"They can't be stopped at all. The buildings start to fall.  
__Soldiers shoot all day and then they run away.  
__La la la la la, la la la la la, la la la la la._

_The world is holocaust. Everything is lost.  
__Mankind is destroyed, sprinkled in the void.  
__La la la la la, la la la la la, la la la la la."  
_Blondie  
"The Attack of the Giant Ants" (1976)

**Chapter 03: The Buildings Start to Fall **

"I need a potion."

Lily didn't know if it was her recent jolting into consciousness or her heightened terror at the situation, but it took a moment to register Voldemort's unexpected purpose, and even then, she did not immediately comprehend it.

"I-I'm sorry?"

The skin around his mouth tightened, and Lily swallowed in fear. This was not a man who had to repeat himself often.

"I require a potion," he said again. "My sources have led me to believe that you may be capable of brewing it." Voldemort indicated the heaps of parchment between them. "This particular concoction is…delicate. My own potions experts have been unsuccessful thus far."

Lily gaped. Voldemort wanted her to do a job for him?

The silence, Lily's lack or response, seemed to goad the Death Eater in the room with them.

"See! She's useless, my Lord. Her dull Mudblood brain is unequal to the task. We should just kill her and move to the next." The voice was feminine and familiar, but not overly so—a voice she had heard before, but not anytime recently. In Lily's current state she doubted that she would be able to place it, and she didn't even try.

Voldemort, for his part, did not take his predator's eyes off of Lily, even as he spoke to his servant. "There _is_ no other, not as yet. Your husband has brought me only two of my requested five, and Mrs. Abernathy proved less than helpful."

_Oh God_, Lily realized after a moment of horror. _He means the dead woman on the floor_.

She took deep breaths and strove to ground herself. The room was lit only by the fire in the hearth and a chandelier that hung low over the hardwood table where she sat. The walls were covered by fine oil canvases of garden scenes, pretty flowers swaying in their own little world of sunshine and gentle breezes, bees flitting from painting to painting. The furniture in the sitting room was fine and ornate with doilies on every surface. The room strongly evoked the image of a reclusive old lady, and Lily had the distinct impression that this was a space borrowed by her captors, not owned.

"You are trying my patience, Miss Evans."

Whether or not she _could_ brew the potion was immaterial, because no matter what she would refuse. But now was not the time for that. She needed to assess her situation. Where were they? Where was her wand? If she were to try to escape with James, would she face Voldemort and one Death Eater, or was there and army waiting outside this room? Lily needed to stall.

"Which of these is the recipe?" she asked, forcing herself to look this self-styled Dark Lord in the eye.

His smile was more terrifying than his sneer. "They are all the recipe."

Lily blinked down at the pile. Surely, he couldn't be serious.

"What I seek is known as the Emerald Potion."

Lily's eyes widened. If he was referring to the potion from legend…he was crazy. Even the books housed in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts whispered of that potion as though it were a blaspheme.

"The only known copies were destroyed when the Ministry was in formation, during the early eighteenth century. All that survives is a description of its appearance and effects. A few have tried to recreate it through the years, but as yet all attempts have resulted in failure. What sits before you is the documentation of their cumulative efforts." He placed a black, leather-bound journal in front of her. "These are the notes of the most recent and successful attempt." His high voice was full of contempt. "Not successful enough, I'm afraid."

With trembling hands, Lily opened the journal. What she saw there made her inhale sharply and a lump rose in her throat. She would recognize this handwriting anywhere.

"What is it?" Voldemort demanded.

Lily groped for an appropriate lie. "I-It's just a lot to take in, to sort through, you know. And the handwriting is a sloppy mess, I'm not sure if I can read it."

Voldemort raised a bald brow. "Then you are of no use to me, girl."

"Let's not be hasty," she shrilled, doing her best not to acknowledge the masked Death Eater to the left, whose wand was leveled at her. "Let's have a look first."

And then Lily buried her nose in the book, willing that the dark wizard delay his order to kill her.

She scanned the pages of the journal without really taking in much of the information. It had been a careless lie to say that she couldn't read Severus' handwriting—and an unnecessary one at that. For all she knew, Voldemort was aware that the two of them had grown up together. For another thing, Severus' handwriting really wasn't that difficult to read even to a stranger, all things considered. She was panicking, making bad decisions. If she didn't take a few breaths and calm down, she was going to get herself killed, along with James.

_James._ Lily thought his name to herself again, and again. It was a calming chant, a chant of power. She had to be strong, she had to keep her wits about her, because if she did not play this right, James would die along with her. He may be petrified on the floor, out of her sight, but he was here. And that meant that she was not alone. She had his love, his trust, his faith, right here in this room with her. Together they were stronger than the will of this evil man, and tonight, she was going to prove it.

* * *

"This is getting ridiculous," Hornby Travers was growling to Lucius' left. "They're gone. They Apparated out of here because we didn't have ourselves in position quickly enough, and they're gone."

Rabastan Lestrange, a hulking mass behind the two of them, made a threatening noise behind his mask. Lucius chanced a glance over his shoulder and saw the light of his wand reflected in the polished white surface covering the giant's face.

His elder, but smaller brother, Rodolphus was likewise not pleased with the dissention. "There are still three that we need, and at least one of them is here. Many left, yes, but a handful stayed to fight us as well. Fenwick at least—he must be here. He has ample motive, and well, you know Gryffindors," he sneered. "We're not leaving until the Aurors come, and Rookwood says our timetable on that is still another ten minutes."

Privately, Lucius agreed with Travers, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. And thus he and two others were deployed to make their way around the buffet table and to the stage. He went without voicing complaint, though many ran through his brain.

He took care to step on the body of Dominic Yaxley as he crept back toward the ballroom. Yaxley was unconscious, not dead, and he had been cursed repeatedly for beginning the attack before word was given. The motionless body was covered in boils, had his bottom lip stretched up over his head, and his legs transfigured into those of a chicken.

Lucius extinguished the light on the tip of his wand. He would not make himself so obvious a target.

He motioned for Evan Rosier and Travers to slip out into the ballroom behind him. It was dark and still. The room was large and now largely empty, so everything echoed, as if they were in a gigantic cave. There were people in here, creeping and hiding, silently and invisibly. Lucius knew that he and his brothers were the ones with the masks, the aggressors, but it was beginning to feel as though they were actually the hunted.

After the initial confusion, the vast majority of witches and wizards in attendance had Disapparated. Only a few had elected to stay and fight the Death Eaters. They could have escaped by now, but they voluntarily remained. These people were, to speak frankly, off their damn nut, and Lucius would be lying if he did not admit feeling nervous about searching the vast ballroom. He and his allies may outnumber these upstarts, but the pitch-black of the surroundings was a great equalizer.

The trouble with this setup was that there was no truly adequate cover. Tables had been turned over if you could feel your way to them, sure, but that was nothing a good Reductor Curse couldn't handle.

_Only a few more minutes_, Lucius told himself. He and his companions need only search the darkness for a few more minutes. Once the Aurors arrived, he would be the first to Disapparate. _Just a few more minutes_.

* * *

"I don't know about this, Padfoot." Peter whispered so low, he was almost breathing the words rather than speaking them.

"I agree." Marlene McKinnon was sane at least. Peter appreciated that.

"Nonsense, Wormy," Sirius' voice was encouraging, but stern. They couldn't see each other, but Peter knew: he wasn't asking, he was telling. "I have absolute faith in you."

Peter exhaled a trembling breath. He knew what was being asked of him, even if Padfoot hadn't said the words. He couldn't say them, really. Their Animagus abilities were a secret—an illegal secret.

"We should just wait for help," Marlene argued. "Slughorn said he'd be back with help and we should just wait for that."

"Absolutely not," Sirius bit out. "I'm not going to hide from these scum fuckers."

"I thought you wanted to show me the broom cupboard."

"Really? You're going to throw that in my face _now_?"

"I agree with him, Mar," came the voice of Benjy Fenwick. "Besides, we have an injured man in our party. We can't risk being found. We need to move."

"Sense, finally!" Sirius growled.

"But perhaps I should be the one to go," Benjy said. "I know this building quite well."

"No," Padfoot was adamant. "Peter is the best man for the job, aren't you Pete?"

Peter closed his eyes and swallowed. "Yes," he squeaked. "I'll do it."

He gently, carefully made his way out from behind the curtain they had been using as cover, and to muffle their conversation. He took several deep breaths as he bent to place his wand on the carpet. He concentrated, let the world fall away, and then come back as a larger version of itself. Peter saw no difference, of course, he was as blind as a rat as he was as a human in these conditions. Nevertheless, he could _feel_ that everything was larger.

The flood of animal instincts was familiar and expected. Peter had been scared before the transformation; the rat was more scared still. Rodents were nervous and excitable creatures. It didn't take much to frighten them, and Peter could feel his tiny heart pounding at a rate that would kill a human being. His little muscles were tense and prepared for flight. Ironically, Peter found himself comforted. The rat may feel more helpless than a human, but it also had more information about its surroundings. The scents, the vibrations in the floor—Merlin, how Peter loved his whiskers.

He scampered forward, finding his wand. Then he clamped his jaws around a portion of the handle and began to drag it with him.

Peter's mission was relatively simple. He was a distraction. He needed sneak past the Death Eaters that were guarding the hall leading to the atrium, make a ruckus in the tea room in an attempt to draw them out, turn back into a rat, and hope that it gave Marlene and Benjy enough time to get Alfred Fanner out one of the side exits. The old man, as it turned out, had never gotten his Apparation license. Fanner was also in a bad way from a melee that had separated them from Melody and would likely not survive the compression of side-along Apparition.

And then there was Sirius and Peter's next course of action. Once Benjy and Marlene got Fanner out of here, Padfoot and Wormtail were going to find their friends: James, Lily, and Melody. They were not leaving without them.

Peter skittered his way across the ballroom toward the atrium in an almost direct line. He had much less to fear as a rat; it was highly unlikely that he would be seen, and even if he was, he probably wouldn't be attacked. Unless, of course, they saw the wand.

* * *

"This potion, is it within your abilities or not?" Voldemort demanded. He was now seated across from her at the table, studying her as she studied the notes.

Honestly, Lily hadn't thought so. Sorting through all of these records, all of these parchment pages, there was nothing here solid enough to begin brewing. But then she had unfurled a scroll covered in Severus' compact scrawl. At first it looked like calculations that had led to yet another dead end, but then Lily studied it more carefully. If she hadn't been familiar with Severus' particular brand of short hand, she might have missed it, but it was all there. This page had all of the necessary ingredients, proportions, and procedures to brew at least a primitive version of the potion.

Severus had cracked it, then tried to make it seem as though he hadn't. That begged the question: why?

"I would need to start from scratch," she bluffed. "It would take weeks, maybe a month before I would be ready to begin brewing. And even then, it may take a few test runs to fine-tune the recipe." Her current objective was to keep herself and James alive as long as possible. The longer they were alive, the more time they would have to escape.

There was blatant scoffing behind the white mask beside her. "I don't trust her, my Lord," said the Death Eater.

Voldemort studied Lily for a sharply felt minute, during which she did her utmost not the show her fear or her uncertainty.

Finally, he reached an assessment. "Nor do I." He shifted his red gaze to his crony. "Bring the spare."

The Death Eater practically squealed with delight as she retrieved James from where he had been deposited. Lily nearly swallowed her tongue in horror, flinching as she heard James wheeze from being reanimated.

"It's curious that we ended up with this one," Voldemort was telling her in a voice that made plain his sadistic enjoyment at watching her squirm. "How did that happen?" he addressed the madwoman.

"Threw himself in front of you," she said, cackling. "Shielded your body with his. Very romantic."

The reciting of this story was all for Lily's benefit, that was obvious.

"Lily. L-Lily," James was winded as he was thrown to the ground now in her line of sight. His dressrobes were crumpled and ripped, his glasses askew. Her heart ached seeing him this way. "Don't do it. No matter what they do to me, don't do anything for them."

As directly as she could manage, Lily told Voldemort, "If you kill him, I will never make your potion."

The man had such a creepy laugh. "No one's killing anyone, you stupid girl. Not yet." He rose to his feet. "I just need some assurance that there are no lies in this room." He nodded to the Death Eater.

"_Crucio!_" The woman said it with an affection and excitement that was unnatural.

And then Lily huffed in terror as she saw James' body jump and jerk under the force of the curse, as though he were being continually stuck by lightning. The room was filled with his screams. It was a sound she had been unaware James was even capable of making, a sound that would haunt her in nightmares until the day she died.

She tried to rush to him, but one flick of Voldemort's wand and she was pinned to her chair.

It might have gone on for seconds or minutes, but either way it was an eternity before Voldemort motioned for his servant to cease.

Lily strained to stand again, but she was still unable. "Let me go to him." She had meant for it to be a command, but it sounded more like begging.

"Are you capable of brewing the potion?"

"Fuck you!" she flared. "Let me go to him."

Voldemort gave her that awful smile again, and the bottom dropped out of Lily's stomach. She knew what he was going to do before he did it.

Lily screamed with James this time, in agony, in rage. Her hands covered her ears, and, furious at her impotence, she kicked over the hardwood table with one flailing foot, dumping the potions notes to the ground. She had hoped that would give the odious man pause, distract her captors from their torture for even one moment. But it did not.

At some point, her voice deserted her, but James' cries went on and on. There was nothing she could do but watch and listen. Her face and her hands were soaked with her tears, but she was no longer looking at James. She couldn't.

When at last it ended, Lily was glaring at Voldemort with hatred she had not known she was capable of. "I am going to kill you," she said, her voice eerily steady. "I am going to rip your sodding head off with my bare hands."

He appeared thoroughly unruffled. "But will you make my potion, Mudblood?"

Lily's eyes narrowed. "Yes," she snarled. "Now bring me a damn cauldron."

* * *

There was movement behind the curtain to the left side of the stage, Lucius was sure of it. He could hear it. He nudged Rosier, who nudged Travers, and the three of them made their way in that direction.

When he was close enough, Lucius flicked his wand and silently cast _Stupefy_! A stream of blue light shot from the tip of his wand and hit the curtain.

There was a bellow, scrambling and fumbling, as Lucius' companions cast spells as well. Feeling confident that they had, in fact, caught their prey unaware, he step forward—only to be tackled, knocked onto his back by a large body covered in fur.

Lucius cried out in surprise. Red light flashed from the end of Rosier's wand, illuminating narrowed yellow eyes and a muzzle baring all of its sharp teeth. He raised his arm just in time to stop the enormous dog from going for his throat. Instead, its jaws sank into Lucius' arm. He yelled out and began bashing the dog's head with his fist frantically, absolute terror gripping him. This animal had his wand arm, and he could feel the blood gushing from the wound.

Colored steaks of light strobed and flickered through the scene. A woman in a black dress with dark hair hit Travers across the face with a Slicing Jinx, and a man with blond goatee and mustache was dueling Rosier.

"You bitch!"

"You're going to have to do better than that, Benjamin!"

"Just warming up, Evan."

"Damn it, Black! Where the hell are you?"

Lucius flailed in an attempt to gain the attention of one of his companions. "Get this mutt off of me!"

A boot, owner unknown, kicked Lucius in the hip; the dog growled, tightening its grip; then a stray Stunning Spell hit him, and Lucius knew no more.

* * *

This was the tea room, Peter was almost sure of it. It was the kind of thing that was difficult to know for certain at his size, but he was pretty confident that he had not gotten himself turned around. In a way, he almost hoped that he had, because Peter did not like this room.

His helpful little whiskers and twitching nose were telling him that there were dead bodies in this room. Freshly dead, but still dead.

Merlin, he hoped that his friends were not in here.

There were also voices, booming voices that made Peter's little ears tremble. He had to concentrate to understand what they were saying; the range of sound that his ears processed always made understanding human words difficult.

"…not what we're here for."

"Keep your voice down."

"If the Dark Lord discovers what we—"

"He won't. He's too focused on this potion."

"He'll notice that you killed five people. What if he starts asking why?"

"I doubt that—he won't think anything of it. It was a battle, Jugson. These things happen."

A pause.

"Shame about that last one. She was a nice piece."

"That's disgusting."

"What?" Then the same voice continued. "Right, of course. You _killed_ her, but I'm the filthy one for thinking there might have been a better use for that body of hers."

"Shut it, Jugson. You're a pervert and everyone knows it. Wait…did you hear that?"

"Someone's coming."

"Lestrange?"

A shout of alarm. "Bloody hell, it's the Aurors! They're early. Send the signal for retreat!"

The air rent with the sound of dozens of people Disapparating. Pain in Peter's ears spiked at each one, and he could hear the retreating Death Eaters as far away as the furthest reaches of the ballroom.

He was trembling with what he had overheard, both he and the rat were jumpy now. Peter scurried under the overhang of a nearby wooden cabinet when he felt approaching footsteps. He curled into himself, making his body as small and invisible as possible.

Shouting, there was so much shouting.

And then the lights came back on.

Peter closed his eyes against the sudden brightness. That didn't stop him from hearing the chaos and alarm spike within the room.

"Oh Merlin…. Moody, over here."

"Fucking hell! Those monsters! No, Alice, don't come in. You either, Frank. No one needs to see this."

At that, Peter's curiosity got the better of him and he cracked his eyes open.

He had smelled blood, so he had been expecting that. What he hadn't expected was that it would be dripping from the walls. Five bodies lay mutilated almost beyond recognition, heaped in a pile. Their body parts detached, mixed and mingling. A severed head was oriented toward Peter, its eyes open, its bouncy curls matted with blood. Melody.

* * *

The fear was gone. Lily felt only rage.

James wasn't moving. His eyes were closed and he hadn't stirred since the torture by Cruciatus Curse had ended. Lily had still not been allowed to go near him and the only comfort that she had was that she could see his chest rising and falling as he breathed. If he didn't get to St. Mungo's soon…well, Lily remembered what her Defense Against the Dark Arts text had said on the subject.

Voldemort watched her chopping the Nichtmeer Grass while wearing dragonhide gloves that were too large for her hands, and Lily's tongue was bleeding because she was biting it so hard. It was physically painful to be doing what this monster wanted her to do, and she couldn't even trust herself to make eye-contact.

"I'm going to need the Fanged-Cherub Root for the next step," she said flatly as she consulted Severus' notes.

"It's on its way," that cold voice reassured.

Without warning, there was an explosion of cracking outside the room where she was located, like a finale of a fireworks display, or a hail of gunfire. An army had Apparated onto the premises, and one even popped into existence in their room, right beside Lily.

He was a well-groomed man with black hair, and he hadn't expected her to be there. His eyes widened and then he had hastily reaffixed his mask to cover his face. He took stock of the room, and then saw his Lord beckoning.

Hastily moving forward, he bowed before Voldemort then stood. He leaned toward his master and spoke in a low voice that Lily could not discern. She found herself absolutely uninterested in whatever he was reporting.

It seemed that the house was now crawling with Death Eaters, but Lily felt only elation. Apparition was a two-way street: if people could Apparate in, they could Disapparate out. One only needed a wand to accomplish that. Lily had none, but a plan had begun to formulate in her head.

She added the Nichtmeer Grass to the potion and began stirring counter clockwise. The ingredients currently simmering together over the fireplace were not particularly interesting in their chemical reactions with one another, at least not yet. But Fanged Cherub Root? That item was notoriously volatile. All it took for it to react in an undesired way was a little push.

While she waited for the root to be delivered, she surveyed the room once more, furtively. Voldemort and his servants were preoccupied and the foolishly believed her cowed. No one was watching James at all.

All she needed was a wand. There were now three in the room that she knew of: Voldemort's, one belonging to the masked female Death Eater, and one in the right hand of the black-bearded newcomer.

Lily stirred and schemed as the minutes wore on, drawing as little attention to herself as possible. She wanted these awful people to all but forget she was there.

When a House Elf arrived with the Fanged Cherub Root, her heart began to pound frenetically. She chopped it with care, keeping her fingers well clear of its teeth and consciously steadying her trembling hands. Lily extracted the explosive teeth with her paring knife and casually added them to the pile that she would eventually drop into the potion.

Voldemort called the female Death Eater to him, and she leaned close to him. Her robes swayed with the movement, and a pocket on her left hip gaped. Lily's heart leapt. Three wands were stashed there, two of them well known to her. The third must have belonged to Mrs. Abernathy.

The door to the room burst open and second masked man strode in, this one enormous. He spoke to Voldemort in hushed tones. Whatever news he was delivering, his master did not like it. Voldemort cuffed the man across the head with his arm.

"Is this what I am to expect? Failure?" He rose to his feet, his followers cowering. "You are all worthless!"

"M-My Lord," the big man stammered. "What would you have us do?"

"Bring him to me, so that I may kill him."

Silence as the three masked servants stared.

"Immediately!"

"Of-of course, master," the big man said as he rose.

Lily was not a thought in anyone's head at that moment and she took her chance. The Fanged Cherub Root, teeth and all were dropped into the potion. In the same motion, she threw Severus' completed recipe into the fire to burn, then she took cover.

The explosion hit before giant man had even made it to the door. Green acid sprayed everywhere, including Lily's captors. Nichtmeer Grass was a nasty piece of work and human skin did not react well to it, even through layers of clothing; with the addition of the root, the mixture would positively burn, maybe even scar because the Moonpond Weed had yet to be added to make the liquid mellow enough to drink.

Voldemort and his followers cried out in pain and confusion. Lily had only the smallest window of opportunity before the door broke down and the room was flooded with Death Eaters. She dove for the disgusting woman who had tortured James, pushed her to the ground from behind. She grabbed the woman by her dark hair and bashed her masked face into the ground once to further incapacitate her, then dug the three wands from the pocket in the her robes.

"What is she doing? Get her! Get her!"

Lily vaulted her body over James', gripped him tightly, and thought of home. A loud crack, and she and James were free.

* * *

**Author's Note:** And so…Lily and James have defied Voldemort for the first time. James was referred to as the "spare" by Voldemort upon the insistence of my friend Logan. Besides, I just re-watched _A Very Potter Musical_, and who could resist? "Cedric, you are so annoying! Okay? You're like this guy that's just around all the time when I don't need a guy around. You're this spare guy all the time. This spare dude. You are such a spare!"

The Pottermore website gives the date of the founding of Ministry of Magic as 1707, so I kept with that. "Emerald Potion" is the term that Rowling uses to refer to the potion Dumbledore had to drink in the cave with Harry in HBP—you know the one that the locket was submerged in that gave him nightmares. So, yeah, _that_ potion.

The decision to kill Melody here is a long-standing one that goes back to the early days of _Buried Treasure and Transmogrify_. I feel sort of bad about it, but it's really just one of many. This fic is going to be lousy with death. She died with narrative purpose, at least, and that's not nothing.

Thank you for reading. Please review!


	5. The World and Humans, Too

****Disclaimer:** The characters and situations of _Harry Potter_ depicted in this story are the legal property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

* * *

"_I wanted flesh and blood, skin and bones  
__Multidimensional, universal home  
__I was space and time up and down  
__Live and dead, blood all around  
__I knew there'd be trouble, but I could pull through  
__So I thought of the world and humans, too."  
_The Doors  
"In the Eye of the Sun" (1971)

**Chapter 04: The World and Humans, Too**

"Wait, slow down. What?"

"Yaxley's dead." Lucius repeated. "_Dominic_ Yaxley is dead. Heath Yaxley is still around someplace. Not pleased about his brother, but what can he say, really? Lestrange blamed the entirety of the failed mission on him, and the Dark Lord believed it."

Severus watched as Lucius lowered himself gingerly into a chair by the fire, then groaned in pain and closed his eyes. They were in Severus' brewing cellar, in the basement of McNair's cottage. The room was dank, with no natural light and smelled of rotting ingredients, but Severus was used to it now and found it rather comfortable.

He set aside the boomslang skin he had been preparing and gave his full attention to his visitor. He was trying to map out a way to the information he wanted. So, his brotherhood had decided to hit the annual S.W.A.M.P. gathering without as much as a word to him. There were so many questions he had: Why had he been excluded? What were they after? Why did the mission fail? What the hell had happened to Lucius' arm?

Though those items were all of interest to Severus today, none of them quite burned in his throat the way an inquiry after Lily did. But he couldn't just ask that directly, not even with Lucius. So he picked another bearing instead, with an intent to nudge the conversation where he wanted it to go gradually.

"What happened to your arm?"

Lucius' eyes cracked open and his expression darkened. "A dog bit me."

"A _dog_?"

"A dog the size of a damned bear, in the Society ballroom."

Severus absorbed that for a moment, but still was not able to reconcile the image. "That doesn't make any sense."

"I'm aware," Lucius sneered. "But sense doesn't seem to have much to do with it." He caressed his bandaged arm carefully. "I can only pray that the mutt was not rabid. Travers did what he could but I should probably see our Healer. He won't be available until tomorrow, though. He's treating the Dark Lord and the Lestranges right now."

"The _Dark Lord_ was injured?" Just how bad had things got?

Lucius rubbed his eyes wearily. "Yes, your little Mudblood friend did a number on him."

It seemed that conversational nudging was unnecessary._ Lily?_ _Oh, dear god, what had happened tonight?_

Luckily, Lucius seemed to have accurately read his face and Severus didn't even need to speak. "Remember that little potion you were supposed to be brewing last year? The one you said was impossible? Well, the Dark Lord didn't take impossible for an answer. He became convinced that surely _someone_ within S.W.A.M.P. would have the aptitude to figure it out." He yawned. "First he tried just outright kidnapping the most likely candidate—that, uh, Finlay McKinnon I think was his name. At any rate, it didn't work out and McKinnon was eliminated. Travers said he was a cheeky bastard anyway." A shrug. "Good riddance, I suppose, but the Dark Lord was undeterred. So he sent us to the Society meeting with a list, people he thought might be able to accomplish the brew. Five of them, really. Your Mudblood was on it."

Severus swallowed. His fingers were clutching the edge of the worktable, but he could not feel them.

"Yaxley gave the word to start the attack early. We weren't in place, and then everything went to hell in a coin purse. We apprehended Irene Abernathy and Lily Evans, but Slughorn Disapparated. Alfred Fanner was injured, and then Travers accidentally finished the job when we went to detain him. He's dead. Rosier dueled with Fenwick and won, but we weren't able to take him back to the Dark Lord because the Aurors turned up ahead of schedule. Bloody unreliable, that Rookwood." His lips twisted as he continued. "Not that I would know any of this first hand, because Travers hit me with a stray stunning spell, the moron. I suppose I should just be glad it was not a Killing Curse, as with Fanner. Thankfully, he had enough of his wits about him to take me with him when he Disapparated."

Severus' heart had never hammered against his ribs quiet this hard. "So, Lily…she…. W-we have her then?" He hadn't meant to sound so affected, so worried, and Lucius rewarded his transparency with a look of disgust.

"No, we don't have her," he said. "That's what I'm getting to. The Dark Lord tried Abernathy first, naturally. But then Bellatrix lost her temper with the old woman—you know how she is. After Abernathy was dead, the Dark Lord had no choice but to give the Mudblood a chance." Lucius readjusted his arm and winced in pain. "Instead the bitch burned your notes and exploded her cauldron. The Dark Lord and all three Lestranges are covered in chemical burns. She also broke Bella's nose, and escaped in the confusion."

Severus tried to release the breath he had been holding slowly, but Lucius' gaze was shrewd.

He sat forward, his long, blonde hair uncharacteristically disheveled. "A word of advice, my friend, if I may." Severus could see the anger in Lucius' eyes. "Whatever your attachment to that girl, abandon it. Aside from the _revolting_ impurity of her heritage, she made some very powerful enemies tonight, and you are on thin enough ice as it is."

This was news not entirely unexpected (there is always a reason one is not invited to a party), but its confirmation was deeply worrisome.

"Severus, there are many who view your recruitment as a disappointment, even a disaster. You have not had success in any mission given to you, and this very evening may blow some debris your way. There are some that say your failure is the reason we had to resort to these measures in the first place. I hardly need add that your botched assignments also reflect on _me_."

The younger man looked down.

"I vouched for you, and you have repaid that kindness with embarrassment," Lucius growled. "We are friends, Severus, but that may not remain the case if you do not correct your course."

Severus' face was hot. His greasy hair had fallen in his face, but he did not push it back behind his ears as he would have normally; he appreciated the curtain between himself and his advocate. He did, however, manage to nod. He wanted to demonstrate to Lucius that he had heard the counsel.

After a moment, the tall, battered man sighed with exhaustion and heaved himself to his feet. "I am going upstairs. I need sleep."

For a moment, Severus didn't move. He debated whether or not to stop his friend, or to wait until morning. As Lucius reached the door, Severus made up his mind.

"Wait," he called out. He reached for two folded and sealed letters in parchment that had sat on his worktable all day. He held them out. "These came for you, from your wife."

An expression of sadness, of longing, came over Lucius as Severus kept his offering extended. Slowly, as if he didn't want to, as if it were psychologically painful to do so, Lucius took the letters from his outstretched hand.

"Go home," Severus blurted.

Lucius looked at him in surprise.

"We have no interrogations right now, no mission. Just a few potions to make, and I can handle that on my own. We can get by without you. Go home, spend the night with your wife."

Lucius didn't seem to know what to say to that. He was hesitating. "Are you certain you don't need me here?"

Rather than answer, Severus said softly, "They leave. Women, when you don't treat them well, they leave. That's been my experience anyway. Just a little advice."

After Lucius left, Severus sank into the chair by the fire, his head in his hands.

How had he managed to make such a mess of things? And this was serious; to fall out of favor with Voldemort was to court death.

When he had told the Dark Lord the Emerald Potion was impossible to reconstruct, he had been fresh with guilt and defeat from his Potions Master project being stolen. Sirius Black foaming blood from his mouth had been a vivid, tangible memory. He was sick with the idea of becoming a murderer, and so he had bluffed. He'd told his master that the potion was out of reach, because he could not bear the thought of lives on his conscience.

What a difference a year made.

Now, not only was Severus a murderer multiple times over, but it turned out his decision had led to yet more deaths. Those who had died tonight had died for his lie. Dominic Yaxley, Irene Abernathy, Alfred Fanner—even Finlay McKinnon, he bore a large portion of responsibility for their deaths. Not only that, his squeamishness toward brewing one little potion had placed Lily in the path of those she should never have had to meet.

_This was not the plan._ That was becoming Severus' mantra. _Not the plan._

There was only one thing he could do that would get things back on track. He was going to have to brew the Emerald Potion.

* * *

"We know this is difficult, Miss Evans. It's almost over. We just have a few more questions." The Auror's name was Dearborn and he had kind eyes.

Lily nodded, her arms were wrapped around herself tightly and she was bouncing a little on her heels. She was eager to get back to James. Even though she was now in a well lit room of St. Mungo's Hospital and the Aurors did not seem untrustworthy, she didn't quite feel safe. She didn't like letting James out of her sight. He was so helpless right now, and when she had left his hospital room for this interview he had still not regained consciousness.

She swallowed her worry and focused on the question Dearborn had just asked her, reciting her experiences of the night while his quill scratched against parchment. James was with Sirius, she told herself. Sirius would not allow anything to happen to him.

The questions kept coming and coming, and Lily answered them mechanically, unable to connect emotionally with what had happened. It was too soon to let that horror in. When finally it was over, Dearborn released her with an understanding smile.

"You are a very brave woman, Miss Evans. Thank you for the information you have provided. It was most helpful. If you think of anything else, you can come see me." He passed her an embossed card with his office number within the Ministry.

She took the card, though she knew she would not be contacting him.

After she was released from her interview in the empty spare room, she walked briskly down the hall to the open door where James waited.

"Is he awake yet?"

Sirius' face was grim. "No. Not yet."

Lily sat in the chair beside his. He was slumped forward, his fingers tented and resting against his mouth.

They sat in silence for almost twenty minutes. In that time, a Healer came in to do a check on James, but he did not stir.

Lily heard a faintly ragged breath beside her, and her eyes darted to Sirius. He was shaking, struggling bodily to hold back misery. The skin of his face was ruddy with emotion.

He saw Lily staring at him and he rose with volatile energy.

"Padfoot…?"

He kicked the chair he had just been sitting in. "I'm a shit, you know that, Evans? I'm a goddamned bastard."

She didn't know what to say. "This…this isn't your fault, Sirius."

His expression was wild. "No, it's not. Tonight was a fucking nightmare, and that isn't my fault. James is in a hospital bed—not my fault. But you know what just might be? Where's Melody? Where's Pete? Have you seen them? Have you been able to get a straight answer from any of these bloody Aurors? Because I haven't."

She tried to speak but he didn't let her.

"They were with me, Lily. They were right there with me. And then…Mel just wasn't. You know what I did about that? Nothing. I planned to find her, sure, but the result, that's the same either way, isn't it? I did _nothing_. And you know what? That's still better than what I did for Wormy. I _sent him out there_. He didn't want to go, he was _terrified_, and I made him go. The fuck is wrong with me? What kind of friend does that?"

She was shaken, fundamentally. Lily had never seen Sirius like this. His words were all fury, but his face…he was crying.

Lily jumped to her feet and did the only thing she could think to do. She hugged him, tightly. He was limp for a moment, and then his whole body seemed to sag further.

He buried his face in her hair to hide his weeping, and she heard him distinctly whimper, "I'm a shit. I'm such a shit."

"No, no you're not, love," she reassured. "You're not."

She held him for several long minutes, and she cried, too. It felt good to cry. Her heart ached with uncertainty and powerlessness. She couldn't make James wake up. She didn't know where Melody or Peter was. But Sirius was right here and comforting him was the one thing she could do.

"Oh god, how bad is it?"

Lily lifted her head from Sirius' shoulder and cast her gaze toward the door.

Remus Lupin was standing there with the expression of someone who had been punched in the gut. He wore gray robes, which hung in a tattered fashion over his red trainers, and his skin was pale. Thirty six hours ago, there had been a full moon, and he was a little worse for wear.

Sirius coughed noisily and turned to face the wall, composing himself and hiding his face.

Lily wiped her cheeks dry while meeting Remus' eyes. "It's bad," she admitted, and just saying the words was excruciating. "But we won't know how bad until he wakes up." She swallowed the sharp lump in her throat. "Also, Melody and Peter are missing. They may have been taken."

Remus' eyes were uncomfortably wide and they kept darting to Sirius, who he was regarding as though he were a three-headed horse. It was obvious he was every bit as alarmed by Padfoot's emotional state as Lily was.

"What can I do?" he offered.

But suddenly Lily was stuck by how haggard he looked. He had probably spent the entire day in bed, recovering from the previous night. She ignored his question. "Have you eaten?"

He was taken aback by the query, but he managed to shake his head.

"I'm going down to get chamomile tea for Sirius. If you stay with him and James, I will bring you up a tray of food," she said it with a smile of encouragement.

"I'm fine," came Sirius' gravelly voice from the corner.

"No, you're not," she said in a tone that was kind, but uncompromising. "I'm getting the tea, and you'll bloody well drink it."

Remus nodded in agreement.

Lily walked to James. She touched his warm arm with her hand and bent to kiss him on the lips. She blinked rapidly, then exited the room.

She walked toward the lift at a brisk pace and did not look back. She still felt a drive, a need to be near James, but it was also harder than she could have imagined possible. And Sirius…it was too much to see him break down. Nothing ruffled him, everything was a joke.

She needed to breathe.

The next thing she knew, Lily found herself staring at an assortment of pre-wrapped sandwiches without being entirely certain how she got there. What would Remus like? For Merlin's she'd only sat at the same table with him for meals for the past seven years. Corned beef…did he like that? Did anyone?

"Doesn't look appetizing at all, does it?"

Lily startled and looked up. Marlene McKinnon was standing beside her. She was now wearing a man's evening jacket over her cocktail dress and her makeup had streaked. Her smile was tired.

"Hell of day."

Lily nodded. Her eyes fell to where the woman's arms showed pale against the black, rolled up sleeves of the jacket, and she remembered what Sirius had told her.

"Your friend, is he okay?"

Marlene nodded. "Nothing permanent, but he'll be here a while."

"I'm sorry."

The taller woman shrugged. "It's not your fault he can't duel for shit."

Lily cracked a smile she did not feel.

"So," Marlene said, directing her attention back to the food selection, "I was thinking that you and I should take the last two ham sandwiches and swap their price tags with the chicken."

This time Lily couldn't stop a laugh. Merlin, it was like shopping with Sirius. Lily did, in fact, take the ham, but she paid the correct price for it. She also purchased a banana, a jug of pumpkin juice, and, of course, the promised chamomile tea.

"I've read your friend's thesis on uses of Wolf's Bane," Lily broke the silence in the lift. "His ideas are quite brilliant."

"I suppose so. Honestly, I don't understand most of it. Fin and Benjy used to go on and on, but I tuned it out mostly."

Lily was surprised. "I thought you brewed as well."

With a slight scoffing chuckle, Marlene shook her head. "Lord no. Got a 'P' on my O.W.L.s in that. Fin brewed, not me."

"Oh." Lily had completely misjudged the woman based on her fingernails. "What do you do?"

"I'm a mechanic. Work with my dad in his garage."

Lily blinked. That was not what she had expected at all. "You mean…?"

"Like a Muggle, yeah." Marlene said it in almost a clipped fashion, defensive.

"I'm Muggle-born," Lily said quickly. "I love the Muggle world. It was just unexpected, that's all. I just mean, after Hogwarts, most people…."

"Forget where they came from?" Marlene supplied.

Lily wouldn't quite phrase it that way. She considered herself grounded in that respect, but she was currently searching for employment within the wizarding world. A career in the Muggle one had never even occurred to her.

Marlene shrugged. "I'm a witch, make no mistake. I carry a wand, I don't wash my dishes by hand or any kind of barmy thing like that. But I like my Muggle job. I like my flat in Muggle London. I like my Muggle motorbike. It's who I am."

They had reached the room where Benjy Fenwick was recovering. He was propped up in bed with several pillows, but he had dozed off and was snoring almost comically loud.

After a moment, Marlene said, "Well, this is new."

"You didn't know he snored?" Lily asked, the shadow of a smile on her face.

"He was my husband's best mate. Be pretty fucked up if I knew that," she quipped, shaking her head. "Silly arse," she said with affection. Then she unceremoniously dropped the tray of food on a table, and collapsed into a wooden chair.

Lily said goodbye, then heaved a shaky breath and moved down the hall five more doors to where James waited. She was bracing herself to go back to what she had left.

A Healer was in the room, speaking to Sirius and Remus, blocking her view of the bed. And then she heard James' voice.

Lily all but dumped the tray in Remus' lap and lunged for the hospital bed. The Healer turned around and stayed Lily's forward momentum.

She glared at Lily as though she were a nuisance. "Don't touch him," she warned. "The aftershocks of the curse will make physical contact very painful."

Lily deflated, but then she caught sight of James. His hazel eyes were open and that was the loveliest thing she had ever seen. He smiled at her brashly, obviously suffering, but too happy to see her to repress the grin.

"For how long?" Lily asked breathlessly, without thinking, never taking her gaze from James.

"Oh for fuck's sake." Sirius threw up his hands. "Would you two give it a rest already?"

Lily wrinkled her nose and almost scolded Padfoot for his dirty mind, but then found herself too happy that he was himself to care. James was awake and Sirius was telling inappropriate jokes—Lily was giddy.

"At least a week," the Healer said. "The good news, is that there doesn't seem to be mental damage. You are very lucky, Mr. Potter."

"Always am."

"There will be lasting effects." She was not pleased with his cocky demeanor. "You should rest tonight, and I will visit tomorrow to talk about your potions regimen and what you should expect in the coming weeks." She glowered over the top of her spectacles. "You should send your friends home so that you actually rest."

"I'm not going anywhere," Lily blurted at the same time that James said, "She's not leaving."

"The fuck, Prongs!" Sirius cried. "What am I? A flobberworm on your shoe?"

The Healer clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "I can see that you are wonderful at taking direction, Mr. Potter. Unfortunately, you are past your crisis point and visiting hours are over. No friends or girlfriends."

"She's my wife."

The room was utterly silent following James' lie. He had said it with his face completely straight, no hesitation. Sirius' expression was mutinous while Remus looked uncomfortable and Lily tried not to show her surprise.

"Very well. She may stay." The woman didn't look entirely convinced, but seemed to have decided to abandon the fight. "Say your goodbyes," she instructed Remus and Sirius, "and I will see you in the morning, Mr. Potter."

After she left, Padfoot whapped James across the back of the head. This caused James to shout in pain, and Lily and Remus to scold him. Remus even hit him back in the same fashion.

"You couldn't have said, 'She's my wife, and oh, that's my brother?'"

James raised an eyebrow. "Who the hell would believe that we're brothers?"

"We are brothers," Padfoot argued. "Who the hell would believe that _she_ married _you_?"

Lily did not approve, "Sirius, that's just mean." She didn't like that James actually looked bothered.

"Sorry love, but you are way out of his league."

She sighed in exasperation; he was such a dramatic creature. Lily walked around the bed to where Sirius stood. She squeezed him and spoke gently. "I will take care of him, keep him safe. He'll be here in the morning, and he loves you very much, so stop saying nasty things to him."

"Thanks, mum," Sirius said sarcastically. All the same, he seemed to relax a bit in her arms.

"Oi! Let go of my wife," James barked.

Lily rolled her eyes and moved to the table, where Remus had left his food. She bundled it up in a bag for him to take, listening to the boys say their farewells behind her.

"It was nice to see you," she told Remus with a smile as she gave it to him.

She thrust the foam cup of tea into Sirius' hand. "Please, drink it."

Padfoot leaned in and whispered in her ear. "If things take a turn, holler," and he pressed a small cosmetic mirror into her hand.

She nodded. "See you in the morning."

When they were gone, Lily gave her full attention to James. She fussed over his pillows and making sure that he had enough water in the glass at his bedside. She stopped when caught her hand in his own.

"Will you sleep with me?"

"Of course. I've no plans to leave this room."

He shook his head. "That's not what I meant."

Realization dawned. "In the bed with you?"

He nodded.

"Won't that be very painful? The Healer said—"

"I don't give a damn what the Healer said. I don't care how bad it hurts. Lily, tonight…. I thought…" he was struggling for words, and Lily was grateful when he couldn't bring himself to finish. She understood his meaning perfectly, but articulating those thoughts, those fears was just too much for right now. "I won't be able to sleep if you aren't next to me," he said instead.

"All right."

Lily closed the door, extinguished the light, and then stripped down to her chemise. Her dressrobes were simply too uncomfortable for sleeping.

When she climbed carefully into bed beside James, she heard him hiss and felt him jerk in pain. Immediately, she moved to climb back out, but James threw an arm around her pulled her in tightly. His eyes were closed and he was gritting his teeth—she could see the agony in his features, illuminated by the light from the window, but he did not loosen his grip and so she remained where she was.

After several minutes his breathing began to even out and his eyes opened.

"Are you okay?"

There was a shadow of a grin on his face, "It's not so bad if you wait it out. Though I am afraid that shagging is definitely out of the question."

Lily kissed the fingers of the hand that rested on her shoulder. "I can wait."

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too."

And then Lily tried to sleep. One of her hands rested over James', the other clutched her wand.

In the early hours of the morning, the door to the hospital room creaked open and Lily almost fired off a curse before reason came to her. She was glad, too, because the man who entered was a familiar and very welcome face.

"Peter?"

The young man looked as though he'd been dragged behind a horse and smelled just as bad. His eyes were red and his face was smeared with dried tears and snot.

"Hi, Lily."

* * *

Narcissa was in deep sleep when she felt a hand caress the side of her face.

Wakefulness came to her with a smile pulling at her lips; the touch was familiar. "Mmm…. My love."

Then lips on her forehead.

Narcissa opened her eyes, and the joy flooding through her abruptly banked. Lucius had never looked more dirty, more tired, more haunted. His robes were stained with blood, his arm was bandaged and bleeding through, his hair was matted and coming free from the knotted bow at the nape of his neck.

She was breathless. "What happened to you?"

He was shaking his head before she even finished the sentence. "I can't tell you."

He had given her the speech before. It wasn't safe for her to know Death Eater business. It wasn't safe to be a liability to the Dark Lord.

She bit her tongue, and instead of arguing with him, traced the lines of his face with her fingers. It was hopeless, really. There was only so much she could do.

She decided on a course of action. "Let's get you a bath."

Narcissa rose from the bed, donned her white silk dressing gown, and rang the bell for the House Elf. It was either Cobble or Teensy who answered the call; she could not tell them apart. The Elf filled a giant claw foot tub with steaming water, and then assisted Narcissa with redressing the wound while her husband soaked.

The pit of her stomach turned when she saw the wound. It was some kind of awful animal bite, and an unwelcome thought occurred to her: there had just been a full moon.

"This isn't a werewolf bite, is it?" Her voice was gentle, but her eyes flashed as she spoke, communicating clearly that an honest answer was expected.

He shook his head. "No, just a dog."

She accepted his word and continued. After the new bandages were in place, Narcissa sent away the Elf with the sullied ones, as well as Lucius' ruined robes.

She washed his hair tenderly, massaging his scalp. He vocalized appreciation, but was also making noises that indicated his body was creaking with discomfort as he moved. She pressed a kiss into his scalp once the hair had been rinsed, then rose to her feet. She dropped her dressing gown and peignoir to the floor, then climbed into the tub with her husband.

Narcissa washed his skin gradually and placed kisses all over his face, his neck, shoulders, chest—any flesh she could reach above the waterline. All this done in silence; he did not speak and she took the cue from him that now was not the time for conversation.

Her heart swelled with worry, it ached as it pounded. The man in this bath with her was so altered from he that she had married. This war was doing things to him, by degrees, and while he was out of her sight.

She felt his maleness stir beneath her as she washed him, and she nurtured that. She began to kiss his mouth, more passionately than she had before. Soon she was lowering herself into his lap; it was almost a high of a spiritual kind when he filled her. She had been apart from him for so long, it couldn't help but be heartrending to finally join with him again.

But he stopped her, stilled her hips.

"Cissa," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I can't. I just can't."

He had the oddest look on his face. He looked lost. There was longing and defeat in his features. Indiscernible and unsettling at the same time. She found herself unable to tell whether or not he was on the verge of crying. It was an expression she had never seen on another human being, much less the man she had loved since she was thirteen.

"I can't make love to you. I just…" he faltered.

Narcissa was crushed. She didn't know what to say—she didn't even know that such a situation as this was even possible. Her mother had given her many talks about what to do when a man was too forward, when a boy pushed her for sex. Sex was all boys wanted, she had been told that for years, and Narcissa was beautiful. She'd never lacked for male attention, never had any reason to doubt that sex was something all males wanted from her. Lucius, in particular, had always been deliciously randy with her. She'd had no preparation for this.

Suddenly, she felt shame, heat creeping to the skin of her face. She could not meet Lucius' eyes. Her hands reached for the lip of the tub on either side of her, and she moved to brace herself, to rise off of his body, but the hand of his unbandaged arm sloshed through the water and gripped her waist.

"No," he said. "Please stay. Please…let me stay inside you."

And then she found herself not knowing quite what to do, but Lucius took care of that. He pulled her against him, so that they were lying chest to chest in the slowly cooling water, her face nestled into the crook of his neck and shoulder. She could still feel him pulsing inside her, though not as large as he had been a moment ago. Narcissa found herself lulled by the sound of his hair dripping water onto the tiled floor. This, she decided, was actually quite lovely. She felt very close to him, his warmth, his pulse.

He drew in a deep breath and when he spoke again, it was with the conviction of one who had made a decision. "I can't do this, Cissa. Not anymore."

Her eyes widened, though she did not raise her head.

"I know it's selfish, but…I can't do this anymore. I can't have this wall, these secrets—it just makes it feel like you're in a world apart from me. That's…that's not…. I need to feel like you're my wife again, my friend."

Narcissa felt her eyes prick and fill.

"Can you keep secrets, Cissa? Foul secrets? Secrets that would mean your death if it got out that I told you?" he sounded pained as he asked her.

"Yes," she breathed, her heart light with relief, with love. "Yes, I can."

His Adam's apple bobbed against her forehead as he swallowed heavily. "All right. I'm going to tell you everything."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I usually have notes citing research or illuminating decisions I made, but I don't really have much for this chapter. Just that, I know Bellatrix calls Narcissa "Cissy", but I didn't want Lucius to call her that. "Cissa" just seemed more feminine, less precious.

Thank you guys for reading. Please review! I love getting them, and I always respond.


	6. Seven Stars, Heaven's Eyes

****Disclaimer:** The characters and situations of _Harry Potter_ depicted in this story are the legal property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

****Warning:** this chapter contains a graphic and detailed (L/J) sexual encounter.

* * *

"_Half moon on night time sky,  
__Seven stars, heaven's eyes.  
__Seven songs on seven seas  
__Just to bring all your sweet love home to me_."  
Janis Joplin  
"Half Moon" (1971)

**Chapter 05: Seven Stars, Heaven's Eyes**

Today was better than most days, James thought. It didn't hurt to move unless he did so suddenly, thus each step was deliberate.

Things actually had been getting better, steadily, over the past several weeks. It was difficult to remember that when he was hobbling and wincing through his routine, but he _was_ healing. He could touch Lily, even make love to her if he'd taken a pain suppressing potion beforehand. It was slow progress but he would patch up; the Healer said within another two months he would be physically back to normal. The nightmares on the other hand, she said, he likely have for the rest of his life.

James would bolt awake at night at least three times a week, drenched in sweat, the sound of his own screams ringing in his ears. He could never seem to recall the dreams.

Lily was a saint—of course she was. She hadn't left his side at the hospital more than an hour here and there, and she nursed him at home. Helped him walk, helped him bathe, rescued him from Sirius' cooking. When he awoke violently in the night, it was her voice that brought him back to concrete reality, her voice that told him unequivocally that he was safe.

She and Sirius made sure that he was never alone, watched over him in shifts. Sirius had been reading the _Seven Tragic Plays of Merlin_ to James aloud, acting out all the parts with relish—even Guinevere. Especially Guinevere. He had even roped Moony into helping, though he continuously made Remus be Galahad, and then inserted arbitrary jokes about celibacy into the play, always at moments of high drama. Lily had alternately been Morgana and Lancelot, while Peter, during his visits, was made to be Mordred and, once, Merlin. Eventually James had begged them to stop, which had been deeply resented because Padfoot had really wanted to do Arthur's death scene. Now during Sirius' shifts the two of them played chess, which James frequently lost. Sometimes James did Transfiguration proofs while Sirius made him help with the daily crossword.

It was nice that his friends loved him so much, and this hovering was a powerful demonstration of that. Much as it may be needed, even required by the hospital, James rankled under their care. He felt embarrassed, powerless. He hated being coddled and babied, and it occasionally put him in a pretty foul temper. He'd snapped at his girlfriend and best mate more than he would care to admit in the past weeks. He didn't feel so guilty when it came to Sirius, because his friend just snapped back, then turned the whole thing into a joke. Lily seemed to take it a little more personally sometimes, and that made him feel like a real git. He was resolved to buy her a gift today while he was out, though really nothing could measure up to what she had given him.

Besides, it was almost her birthday, and later today, she was going to have to suffer through her sister's wedding.

He was on his first excursion since that awful Friday in December. Finally he was strong enough to venture on his own, and it was a much needed break from company. It was also a rebellion, for James had not disclosed everywhere that he was going today.

James pushed open a heavy door and entered the Leaky Cauldron. The old pub was lit only by the daylight filtering through a few windows leading to Diagon Alley. It was sparsely populated save for the usual crowd of old men arguing about politics in the corner; it was too early for lunch.

He was scanning the faces in the pub, trying to determine if any of them were the man he was here to meet.

"James? James Potter?"

James looked to his left and saw a wizard at a table near the window. He was handsome, in fact, he cut quite a dashing figure in his black robes—the perfect picture of a hero. It was powerful, the idea of what this man was, and James had blindly striven to embody it himself.

He limped forward, leaning on the cane that he hated as he moved to join the young man at the table. He sighed with relief as he sank into the chair. "How are you, Frank?"

Frank Longbottom studied him. "Better off than you are, I expect."

James shrugged bitterly.

"I was surprised to get your letter. I thought we would be meeting at the office, later this week."

With a nod, James said, "I'd like to cancel that interview."

Frank looked puzzled, and he withdrew a roll of parchment from his satchel. "I already wrote up my recommendation of you to the Auror Academy."

James was taken aback. Frank, the Head Boy of his fourth year, had had little love for the Marauders and their antics. James had received at least six detentions at the hands of this bloke, and lost Merlin knew how many House points.

Frank saw his confusion, and supplied an explanation. "Dumbledore speaks very highly of your performance as Head Boy."

_All five and a half months that he actually did his job?_ James doubted very much that he had provided anything approaching an exemplary performance of that position.

"I'm honored," James said, "but I must decline." Frank's brows knit and he opened his mouth to speak but James cut him off. "I'm aware that your office has been very understanding of my circumstances and has already moved the appointment once to give me a chance to regain my health. I'm sorry, but I'm just no longer interested in becoming an Auror."

Frank considered him for a moment before nodding slowly. He replaced the parchment in his bag. "I've been told the Cruciatus Curse can be quite traumatic."

At this James' eyes narrowed and he became defensive. "I'm not _scared_, Longbottom. Just disgusted. Yes, the Cruciatus Curse is a nasty bit of work, it's evil. It was illegal and it should have stayed illegal. I just can't countenance the use of it on another human being, and I have no interest in a career that would ask that of me."

James was full of righteous anger, but also felt a shame, a self-consciousness. He was very aware of the fight he'd had with Lily less than a month ago. Her words had echoed through his days following the torture he'd endured, and he took them now as his own. But Lily _had_ been right. The Unforgivables had no business in being cast from his wand. It ran counter to who he was—or, who he was _trying_ to be, at least.

Frank froze, and James could tell he had struck a nerve. "In that case, Potter, we will withdraw your request for admission."

"Thank you."

Frank rose and gathered up his cloak and satchel.

"You're angry," James observed with some bemusement. "You can't have wanted me in the Academy, not really."

Frank raised a brow. "You personally? Not terribly. But we are short of manpower, outnumbered, and I have a vague memory of you being clever. We could do worse in our recruitment."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"Not at all. It is a somewhat surreal experience, I must admit, to be lectured by a spoiled bully about the moral way to treat others."

* * *

_Is it true? _

That was the entire letter from Pilar. It was as though, even from such a distance as Spain, the mere idea of Melody McGonagall's death was simply too overwhelming for words. Lily rather agreed, and found herself equally at a loss as to how to respond.

The funeral had been awful, somehow worse than that of her own parents. Perhaps it was the harsh juxtaposition of the two. Melody had been at her side during the burial of Lily's parents. Or maybe it was that Melody had been so young, so jarringly close in age to Lily. But, probably, it was the violence of the thing.

Lily had not seen Melody's body, and according to the halting and tearful account given to her by Peter, that was something for which to be grateful. Poor Peter. Lily had barely seen him since the night he had come to see her and James at the hospital. Once or twice, Sirius had dragged him to participate in the theatricals the friends were putting on to entertain James, but Remus had told Lily in confidence that Peter had barely left his mother's house in the last month.

The Aurors still had not released an official statement as to what had happened to Melody and the others that had been found in the same room. All that anyone would say was that it was part of an ongoing investigation. Nonetheless Lily knew was that her friend had died in horrific circumstances—that she had been tortured, dismembered.

In the past few years, the war had seemed almost at a distance, a drama that was playing out elsewhere. Her holidays were spent in the Muggle world, and the rest of her time within the safety of Hogwarts, so it may have been fair to say that Lily was sheltered. Last year, when Pilar's father had been murdered, it had been a rude awakening, and one that brought a wave of fear into her temperament. The war was real and it was scary. Last month, Lily had experienced another transformation. She could no longer say that the war was merely frightening. Lily had never considered herself to be an angry person, but she could feel something unwholesome, something rancid, simmering inside her. James tortured, Melody murdered—these Death Eaters were awakening a shadowy aspect to Lily.

Lily folded the letter, which she had picked up and read probably eight times, and replaced it where it had sat on James' desk. There was pile of unanswered correspondence waiting there, mostly from James' parents.

James had insisted that no one tell his parents that he had been tortured or injured. He had told an elaborate fib to get out of visiting for Christmas, which had only resulted in about ten owls from his mother anyway.

Lily hadn't approved. She appreciated that James wanted to spare his parents worry, that he did not wish to be interrogated, but…what she wouldn't give for one more Christmas with her parents. James was being wasteful with his time, Lily couldn't help but think.

So the two of them had passed a quiet Christmas in their flat alone; Sirius had spent the entire day with James' parents, which made Lily feel less guilty at least. James said very little on the subject, and honestly would not have been up to much anyway. At the time, his pain had been so extreme that he was taking potions every six hours and sleeping most of the day.

"Prongs already leave?" came a voice from the door. Padfoot never knocked, even though he must know he was playing a game of roulette. He hadn't walked in on Lily and James in flagrante yet, but it was only a matter of time.

She nodded.

"I'm going to the market for some food. Do you two need anything?" he asked.

Lily considered, but shook her head. She was out of cigarettes and it was driving her mad, but she would never ask him to buy her that. Besides, she intended to stop; she didn't want to take up her father's old habit permanently.

Sirius studied her. "Are you all right, love?"

"Just tired," she said with a faint smile. It was the truth; she'd been sleeping just fine, but the exhaustion remained nonetheless. It went deeper than that, a spiritual fatigue.

"Well, with James out, you could probably get some sleep."

But Lily was already reaching for her cloak and shaking her head. "Actually, I was planning to go see Marlene."

"I'll go with you," Sirius said immediately.

Lily chuckled at his transparency. "What about the market?"

"Pretty sure it'll be there later."

Lily might have pushed back if she thought that Marlene would actually mind, but she didn't. So the two of them locked up their flats and Apparated across town.

Lily had been spending some of her snatches of free time there in recent weeks. She knew that she was grieving, that she was reacting to the death of her friend by clinging to the nearest friendly woman she found. But Marlene did not seem to notice or care. She was uniquely suited to understand Lily's current emotional state, and the two of them did get on very well.

Marlene, her son Lachlan, and her father Mr. Spenser, lived above the family garage. It was small, but homey, and fully wired for electricity. Marlene's father was a Muggle and it was his place. Her mother had been a witch, but she had left when her child was only three years old and Marlene did not remember her.

The family might have been able to free up some space if they emptied a back room that had served as Finlay's lab, but that door remained shut and no one spoke of it.

Lachlan answered the door when they knocked. He greeted Lily and shyly shrank behind the door at the sight of Sirius. When Lily asked where his mum was, he pointed to the kitchen.

The garage was closed today, but Marlene's hands were still smeared with engine grease. The top part of her overalls had been shed and tied around her waist revealing a black vest and bare skin decorated with two or three tattoos. Her kitchen table had been commandeered for her work and was strewn with grimy metal parts and tools.

She seemed amused by Sirius' presence. "You following me, Black?"

He shrugged. "Clearly."

Lily looked back and forth between the two. "I hope it wasn't too presumptuous to let him come with me, I just thought…."

Marlene waved off Lily's concerns. "Oh, it's fine! Black and I go way back, been in a firefight together haven't we?" And then Lily was astonished to see Marlene smile in a winning way that one might almost classify as flirtatious. "Either of you want a beer?"

Sirius immediately answered in the affirmative, but Lily declined.

"What is this rubbish?" Sirius had walked up to the table and was examining the metal parts lying on the tarp while Marlene opened two beers.

"A carburetor," she answered. "Goes in my old Royal Enfield."

Padfoot looked at her like she had just spoken gibberish.

"A motorbike," Lily supplied, but then she doubted herself and wished she hadn't spoken. She didn't know much about this kind of thing, just things she'd heard over the years.

It must have shown on her face because Marlene nodded encouragingly at her. "No, you're right, love. It is a motorbike—military issue from the forties. My granddaddy, shall we say, _liberated_ it after the war. He gave it to me when I turned seventeen. She's been running a bit rough lately, so I'm giving her engine a tarting up."

Sirius was still studying all of the pieces as if he didn't know what to make of them. "It just looks like a bunch of grubby metal to me. Not very sanitary to have on a table, I think," he said as Marlene handed him the beer bottle.

"Well, thank you for volunteering to help polish, Black." She was extending a rag toward him before he was even done with his first swig. He just stared at it, but then she raised an eyebrow that was without doubt a challenge, and he took it from her.

Lily watched in amusement as he sat at the table. He cleared his throat. "So…what are we doing?"

Marlene sat across from him. "_I'm_ replacing the accelerator pump. _You're_ going to use that cleaner and make all those little metal bits shine."

Out of the corner of her eye, Lily saw a small head inching his way toward the kitchen. She was already acquainted with how introverted Lachlan was. Marlene was aware of him as well, in that almost preternatural way that mothers had, even though he was not yet in her line of sight.

"Don't be shy, Lach. Come here, my love."

The boy rounded the corner properly and went to his mother, who embraced him with her arms, but kept her dirty hands away from his clothes. "Where's your granddad?" she asked him.

"Asleep. Mummy, may I make bread pudding for after dinner?"

Marlene kissed his temple. "Not by yourself. Ask Lily if she will help you."

The small, dark-haired boy approached her and Lily smiled when he asked very politely. She reassured him that she would be happy to help, but then she looked up at Marlene. "Is there a recipe book somewhere? I don't know any off hand."

Marlene nodded at her son. "He does. He's just not allowed to use knives or the oven. Lach will take you through it."

And so he did. He showed Lily where all the materials were. He stood on a stool and measured the ingredients himself with a careful seriousness that seemed to Lily so unlike a five year-old.

Lachlan only spoke when necessary, and that was set against a background of the continuous conversation of Marlene and Sirius at the table, while she explained to him all the finer points of what rebuilding a carburetor entailed, and he complained about cleaning without magic. He actually accused her of being Filch in disguise.

"You are very good at that," Lily said, watching the boy crack eggs and separate yolks with a steady hand.

Lachlan looked up at Lily. "I've been cooking my whole life," he told her with the kind of confidence only a child was capable of. "With my dad," he added belatedly.

Lily found herself at a loss.

"My dad always made this for my mum on Sundays. It's her favorite. So, now I make it, but usually my granddad helps me." He said it the way he said everything, with calm solemnity; she didn't think she had yet seen this child smile.

She found a painful lump growing in her throat.

"That's good, that you take care of your mum. Your dad would like that."

"I know," he said matter-of-factly. "This needs to go in the oven now, Lily."

She placed the pan in the oven while Lachlan set a small mechanical timer.

"Now we need to get the laundry off the balcony," Lachlan told her.

Lily blinked. "We do?"

He nodded. "Mum hung our clothes out to dry this morning, but she forgot them."

She glanced at the table where Marlene and Sirius were still working and in uninterrupted conversation. She decided to go along with the boy—no harm in it. The two of them retrieved and folded the laundry. When they came back in, Marlene smiled at them.

"Lily, you're an angel. You didn't have to."

Lily motioned to her companion. "I'm just helping Lachlan."

"Mum, we're going to put them away. We'll be right back."

Marlene chuckled. "Well, go on then."

Lily was unsurprised to find Lachlan's room to be clean and ordered, but she was slightly so to find Marlene's was as well. Lily just held the basket while Lachlan put the clothing in its proper place.

When he opened the wardrobe in his mother's room, Lily froze, fully arrested by the sight before her. Hanging in neat rows beside Marlene's, without wrinkles, were a man's clothes. Hanging there as though their owner still lived here, as though they would ever be used again. And Lily's heart broke.

* * *

Peter Pettigrew stood outside his home, paralyzed and shivering. His gaze was fixed on the front door.

It had been painted blue in recent years, shortly after his father had passed. A jump rope had been left carelessly on the stoop by his sister's children, as well as a box of chalk. His nieces had visited earlier today, as they did every Sunday.

Peter had grown up here, in this home, with his two elder sisters. He had played outside in this garden for hours. Surrounded on all sides by his mother's many high rosebushes, his childhood playground had always seemed somehow gothic, a place that belonged to the Old World, vaguely sinister in nature. In their childhood games, his sisters had always made Peter be the villain; it seemed the appropriate place to play a villain, as though he were in a painting or a tapestry.

At this moment, the grass, the rosebushes, were shriveled, brittle, and covered in snow. None of that did anything much to lessen the sense of this garden as a place of obscure natural allegiances.

Peter remembered once that his sisters had convinced him to climb the trellis that separated their property from their neighbor, Mrs. Whitstrom, and steal a basket full of the woman's blackcurrants. His hands had retained many wooden splinters from the rickety old trellis, and the berries had stained his fingers.

When Mrs. Whitstrom had spotted him through her window and then come out of her house, yelling, Peter had bolted. He'd darted to the edge of the woman's property, abandoning his basket of contraband in a ditch running with irrigation water, and then hopped in that water himself, riding it right out of danger.

He had tried to sneak home after that, tried to open the door silently, to slip up to his room. But his mother had been waiting in the salon, a teacup in her hand and a scowl on her face, Mrs. Whitstrom seated across from her.

There had been no hope of lying his way out of trouble, no hope for leniency. He was dripping water on his mother's polished floor, evidence of his guilt emblazoned on every part of his body.

His mother had been angry, of course, but that wasn't the worst of it. The worst was that he had embarrassed her.

Peter often embarrassed his mother.

She was such an important and accomplished woman, an analyst for the Ministry, a woman of learning and numbers. She knew everyone who was anyone in Wizarding government, and they respected her. One word from her, and her son had been offered a job in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes without even the formality of an interview.

He knew that his mother loved him. That sense was never in any doubt. But more often than he would like, Peter got the feeling that he was not quite what his mother had expected, that she didn't know quite what to make of him. He hated it when she looked at him that way.

And that was the reason he was currently shaking in the cold outside, waiting for the lights to extinguish.

He was supposed to be at work; right now was the middle of one of his regular shifts, but he had left early, pleading with Fudge that he did not feel well. He had done this often in the last month, and Peter knew that patience was wearing thin, that he was dangerously close to losing his employment.

No one understood. How could they?

He had been confined in a room with dismembered bodies for hours while the Aurors processed the crime scene. He didn't dare dart for the door—people reacted negatively to rats. What if someone had tried to step on him or kill him with their wand? And so Peter had shivered in fear and horror an arm's length away from that pile of…parts. For hours. Trapped. His little paws wet with blood as the puddle spread and spread when the pile was sorted through.

Peter had slept little since, and ate less.

So he was standing in the snow, nose and ears frozen. He couldn't bring himself to be at work behind that desk, waiting for the animals to raise a ruckus because someone, somewhere was being hurt the way the people in that room had been hurt. But he couldn't face his mother either, couldn't tell her that, yes, he was home from work early. Again.

So he'd wait. He'd wait until the light in her room was snuffed, and then another twenty minutes to be sure, before he'd attempt to sneak into his house. He was better at this now than he had been at age nine.

* * *

A wedding, Lily decided, could be a pretty miserable event if it wanted to be. Or maybe everything associated with Petunia just became that way out of sheer contamination.

She was not a bridesmaid, was not, in fact, seated anywhere near the bridal party. After attempting to speak with her sister twice only to be rebuffed, Lily had decided to make the most of the champagne.

She was drinking her fourth flute when James approached with a glass in each hand.

"Well," he said, "I really think that your new brother-in-law and I have turned a corner."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, I think we'll be great friends."

"That bad?"

James downed an entire flute like a shot. "Worse." He stared at his shoes a moment before saying. "I'm sorry, Lily. I tried, but I think I've just made a bigger mess of things." When he looked up, he seemed startled to see her beaming at him.

"Oh, James." She leaned over and kissed him tenderly. "You can be so lovely."

"Well then…no more champagne for you," he said with a half-smile.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm serious. Look at that odious man," she gestured to where her sister and her new husband were seated. The person Vernon was currently conversing with had the look of a man who'd just had the honor of his grandmother questioned. "It's not just you—no one can stand him, but you still tried to make amends. You tried for me, and I love you so much for it."

As she spoke, her voice was not playful, but rather deeply earnest. She knew she was emotional, fresh from the images of loss she had seen in Marlene's flat: the locked door leading to a lab no one used, the clothes in the wardrobe, the wedding ring that had clearly never been removed, even for the filthiest tasks. Lily couldn't help but transpose herself and James into that scenario. What would her life be like without him? If he had died?

Lily found herself acutely appreciative of every moment, a heightened awareness of mortality was thrumming through her every thought. She _would not_ take James for granted.

She reached a pale hand out and caressed the side of his cheek. He flinched.

"Are you all right?" she asked with concern. "Do you need another potion?" She was already reaching for her purse, but he shook his head.

"No, I'm fine. No pain, it's just…" he paused and then he leaned close to her ear, "you are really turning me on."

Lily blushed and then giggled, feeling uninhibited from the champagne. She might have known; James' tendency to get randy at her declarations of love was one of her favorite things. She felt a thrill move down her body at his words, his breath on her ear. Suddenly, she found her nipples were aching.

"James," she breathed, "dance with me."

Mischief was coiling in her eyes, and she watched him react to it. Without a word, he stood and extended his hand toward her. She took it, and they abandoned their table for the dance floor.

It was Petunia's wedding so the music wasn't really anything exciting or fun—her sister didn't know the meanings of those words. But Lily didn't mind; she didn't actually want to dance, she wanted an excuse to have her body close to her boyfriend's, to touch him.

James was wearing a suit, but he couldn't seem to be in formal wear for more than five minutes before looking rumpled. His tie was always crooked and his hair always appeared windswept. She met his lustful gaze with heat of her own, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

She pressed her chest into his and sighed as they began to move. His hand was on her back and she could feel it all too well; the yellow fabric of her dress was thin, and she watched his face as he realized that he could not feel a bra beneath her clothes.

Lily smiled seductively and leaned even closer. "I'm not wearing knickers either."

James made a choked sound, and one of his hands balled fabric of her dress into his hand as he clenched his fist.

Lily was quite pleased with his reaction and refrained from telling him that her reasons had less to do with seduction and more to do with the dress being rather unforgiving when it came to the lines of undergarments, so she was wearing two slips instead.

Honestly, she hadn't thought that James would be up to anything amorous today. After his walk this afternoon, he'd come home exhausted and all but collapsed on their bed for a nap. She had even offered to let him skip the wedding, but he had insisted on coming with, downing about four potions to prepare himself to do so.

For three consecutive songs, James' hands roamed restlessly over her back, her sides, her hips—once or twice he even got bold and went for her backside. Doubtless some of the other wedding guests would be scandalized, but Lily couldn't bring herself to care. Petunia didn't even want her there anyway.

Lily's hand drifted from the back of his neck up to finger the hair above.

Finally, he groaned and rested his forehead against hers. "Lily, we have to stop. I'm getting way too worked up."

"I like you worked up."

He laughed humorlessly. "This really isn't the time or place."

"Why not? I'm sure we could find a little room somewhere."

He halted their dance. "You're serious."

"Of course I am." Lily felt herself flush with arousal under his gaze. "I want you, James."

"All right then," he said with amused submission.

At that, they went in search of an abandoned room, someplace private. Lily walked in front to help hide the most obvious part of James' arousal, and the two of them each stuck their fingers in the frosting of the cake as they passed the back of it. They giggled as they fed it to each other and James moaned when she sucked his finger. They eventually found a darkened, dusty room where extra furniture had been stashed under white sheets. The door had been locked, but was no match for their wands.

Before the door had even closed, James' mouth was on her neck. Lily moaned and leaned into the touch.

"I've wanted to shag you senseless all night. That dress, god you look amazing in that dress." His voice was throaty and primal.

Lily kissed him hard on the mouth, her knees growing faint from his touch. She pushed him backward and into a covered sofa, seated him in the center of the cushion. She followed him, her mouth refusing to part from his, straddling his hips as she kneeled.

She did manage to gasp a command between kisses, however. "Trousers. Off."

Four hands fumbled for his belt, yanked and pulled at fabric until it made its way over his knees and fell to rest atop his shoes. Then James couldn't lift the skirts of her dress and two chemises fast enough. It was evident that neither of them needed foreplay at this juncture.

When Lily lowered herself onto him, eased his heavenly thickness inside of her, it was with a whimper of utmost ecstasy. There was no feeling in the world, Lily thought, quite like being filled and stretched by James. It wasn't merely a physical sensation. The emotions that rose in her were so intense that sometimes she had to blink back tears. This was the opposite of loneliness, a feeling of such wholeness—a melding.

And yet the physicality was comforting as well. James was alive, and there was no greater expression of that than this act. She could even feel the proof of it: the heat, the throbbing pulse, inside her, thumping against her inner walls.

She started slow—she tried to go slow. She didn't want to hurt James after all, to aggravate his injuries. But it became plain almost immediately that James was feeling particularly full-blooded tonight. He wasn't interested in slow.

And just like that, an intensity that Lily had not known she had been repressing burst forth. Her mess of emotions—the grief, the anger, the desperation, the relief—all came to the fore. Without realizing it, she had started to move in his lap like a madwoman. Her fingers clawed into his scalp, she bit his lip in the midst of a kiss.

He grunted in pleasure and grasped her waist in his hands, moving just as furiously beneath her as she was above, ramming his hips upward to meet hers.

"I love you," she groaned, punctuated by pants of pleasure.

He returned her words in kind, repeating them over and over as though they were a prayer.

Her teeth and lips found the exposed flesh of his throat, and she left marks there with abandon.

The fire, the ache where they were joined was at the crescendo now, spiraling, soaring. Lily was crying out as though beyond caring if anyone heard them; James was almost as loud. It had been too long since they had fully exerted themselves with each other.

The peak crested and Lily trembled, full-bodied, James' name breaking from her lips. He followed her over the edge.

And then came the contentment, lethargic and overwhelmingly complete. In this state, Lily always felt that her love for James was manifest, so present as to be tangible—as though they had just raised the incarnation through ritual.

They stayed as they were for several long minutes. James' fingers stroking through her hair, the last of the flowers she had woven into her tresses tumbling to the floor.

Lily sighed. "Let's go home."

"All right. Let's pull ourselves together before we go back out."

"Or…we could just Apparate out of here," Lily suggested.

James pulled back to look at her, a sheen of sweat on his face. "Don't you want to say goodbye to your sister?"

A dozen little emotions and inclinations flittered through Lily at his question. But she didn't voice any of those things. Instead, she just shook her head.

She and James gathered their things and Apparated home. The physical activity was already catching up to James, and they took a shower together so that she could aid him. Then she helped him into a T-shirt, pants, and pajama bottoms so that he would be decent enough to visit Sirius for a few minutes before bed.

While James was across the hall, Lily busied herself with a little tidying, but soon abandoned that. She was not much for housekeeping, and the impulse to clean always wore itself out fairly fast.

She found herself sitting at James' writing desk in their bedroom, holding Pilar's letter once more. She should reply, she really should. And how difficult was it, really? There was only one thing to say.

She opened the letter but was then dismayed to find that there was no quill by the inkwell. She did a quick survey of the room, knowing that James had been working on Transfiguration proofs in their bed. But she saw no feathers sticking out from under parchments or blankets, so she opened the desk drawer. While feeling around inside there, her fingers brushed a trigger of sorts and something sprung inside the drawer. Lily gasped and snapped her hand back as though she'd been burned.

Once her heart stopped pounding, she investigated further. It was a secret compartment. And then she smirked. Of course James' desk had a secret compartment—that was so characteristic of him! The contents of the compartment looked to be magazines, letters, and one blue velvet box. Lily was already looking through the things before it occurred to her just what she was doing, what an invasion of privacy she was exercising. She was such a natural snoop that sometimes she riffled before she thought.

So she closed the compartment and resolved to wait for James, to ask before digging. But fifteen minutes passed without James' return and Lily's brain began to rationalize. The contents of the letters, those were private, obviously. But she could at least see who they were from, and the box was intriguing. She could look without opening, surely.

And so she accessed the compartment once more, only to discover that the letters were a not private at all—at least, not to present company: they were all from her. Lily's own handwriting peeked up from every one of the pieces of folded parchment, most written within the past year. There was even an angry tirade Lily had written James during fourth year detailing how much she despised him. It was strangely heartwarming that he had kept it, but also sad. Lily felt an urge to get rid of it, or to apologize for having written it, even though she knew that he had deserved it at the time.

The magazines were porn. Of course they were porn—three issues of _Naughty Witches Quarterly_ from the past year. Lily set them aside and considered their discovery negligible.

So the only true mystery of the compartment was the blue box. Lily set it atop the desk and studied it. The velvet was worn in some places, but the gold brocade embroidery was beautiful. The secret compartment, the dirty magazines, the letters, those were entirely keeping with James' character, but this box didn't seem like him at all. It wasn't his taste and it was so small, only something reasonably tiny would fit inside, like….

Oh, Merlin….

Like…a _ring_? It wasn't quite the shape of a ring box, but it was the size.

She remembered his joke at the hospital about being married, how readily and comfortably the words "my wife" had fallen out of his mouth….

Lily began to hyperventilate. It couldn't be. How could he be ready for that? They were so young! Eighteen wasn't a sensible age to get married. It was 1979, not the middle ages, for god's sake.

Damn it! She didn't care about privacy anymore—not knowing would torment her. Lily reached out and flipped open the lid. And there it was: a ring.

Lily made a noise of…she didn't know what. She was conflicted. It was a beautiful ring: old—very old, quaint, nothing gaudy or overly polished. The light glittered off the blood-red garnet stone, and the white enamel flower petals appealed to her on the most basic level. But that wasn't why she was conflicted.

The door to the flat opened and closed. Lily did not move to cover her snooping; she may as well be honest.

When James passed through the threshold leaning on his cane and saw her sitting there, the open box before her, he froze, stalk still and eyes wide.

She could see it on his face: yes, the ring was an engagement ring; yes, it was meant for her; no, he hadn't been ready to actually ask her.

And then Lily felt very bad indeed. She had pushed this question forward before either of them were ready with her nosiness. And he looked so vulnerable, so exposed and terrified.

Lily grinned without, at first, realizing that she was doing so. A calm gradually took her, a certainty.

There were no guarantees in this life—next week she could be the sad woman with a dead man's clothes hanging in her closet. Or maybe it would go the other way, maybe she would the one to die. But maybe, just maybe, a long life stretched ahead of both of them, and maybe they could be together in that. All Lily knew was a sense of rightness and giddy happiness at the thought. She loved James. She couldn't fathom ever not loving him, so why pretend there was doubt? Yes, they were young, but _why waste time_?

"Yes," she whispered.

He swallowed heavily. "What?"

"I said yes."

* * *

**Author's Note:** What's this? Jily smut _and_ an engagement? You're welcome. ; )

Royal Enfield supplied a good number of motorcycles for the countries of the Commonwealth during WWII, and the model that I picked as a picture reference (WD/C0, specifically) widely fell into civilian use after the war. In one forum I visited while doing research, a guy in India shared some pictures and a story about how, after the war, his grandfather had "rescued" his standard issue bike and brought it home. I liked the story, and so appropriated it on behalf of Marlene.

Also, special thanks to my dad, who worked as a mechanic for most of my life and was my expert consultant for the Marlene section, just to make sure that I wasn't talking completely out of my ass.

Thanks for reading. Please review!


	7. My Own World to Look Through

****Disclaimer:** The characters and situations of _Harry Potter_ depicted in this story are the legal property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

* * *

"_If the sun refuse to shine,  
__I don't mind, I don't mind.  
__If the mountains fell in the sea,  
__Let it be, it ain't me.  
__Alright, 'cos I got my own world to look through,  
__And I ain't gonna copy you._"  
Jimi Hendrix  
"If 6 Was 9" (1967)

**Chapter 06: My Own World to Look Through **

"Where's Richard?" Those were the first words out of Farrah's mouth when the lift door opened and Rookwood stepped through without Avery. It was a strained moment, and her tone was accusatory.

Peter studied her. The slope of her shoulders, her right arm clasping her left bicep, her well-bitten lip, and the nerve-racked tremulousness of her entire demeanor. She had the look of a woman on the brink of understanding that she was being scorned. It hadn't quite set in yet, there was still the denial. After years of keeping company with Sirius and James, Peter knew the look well. He pitied her.

Rookwood didn't seem to, though. "He was otherwise detained. I'll be doing the rounds without him tonight." The Unspeakable studied the scene for a moment, and then addressed Peter. "I could use some help though. Are you available to lend a hand, Pettigrew?"

Peter was torn. On the one hand it seemed callous and rude to leave Farrah alone while she was like this. On the other…what would he even say to her? He could barely conjure up a sentence when she was in a good mood, let alone this. He usually slogged through the hours by sneak-reading Jugson's collection of romance novels that haunted the various drawers of his desk. He'd now read _Her Intemperate Desires_ three times.

So he trailed Rookwood around the circuit of the various halls and followed his directions. "Hold this while I do that." "Tell me what color light flashes when I cast this spell." Simple enough tasks.

Rookwood spoke to him while they worked. He was a pleasant bloke, perhaps the friendliest Unspeakable Peter had met since he started his job at the Ministry. Many of them were a bit high and mighty, but Rookwood always had a grin at the ready. More than that, he had an easy way about him, relaxed, as though little troubled or ruffled him. A man confident of his place in the world and his control over that place. He reminded Peter powerfully of James in that respect.

When they entered the kneazle room, Rookwood turned to him. "I'm going to need you to help a little more in this set of tests. I can't pick up kneazles."

"Are you allergic?"

Rookwood chuckled. "No. They just don't like me—scratch me up something awful."

"Why?"

"I'm untrustworthy," Rookwood said simply. Peter blinked at that admission, but the other man just smiled and shrugged as if to add, _what are you going to do?_ His unapologetic, devil-may-care attitude was endearing, and Peter found himself grinning back.

Peter crouched at the Unspeakable's direction and lifted a particularly mangy looking kneazle that he had secretly named Magrat out of the pen. It was not the first time Peter had picked her up; they were great friends. In this case, the kneazle initially resisted the imposition, but then Peter scratched behind her ears, and she settled into the bow of his arm. She purred while eyeing Rookwood charily.

"So," the Unspeakable said as he began casting the spells for his tests, "Farrah Ingram."

Peter froze.

"You'd like to get into those knickers, give that cunt a good pounding, I can tell."

He goggled at Rookwood, with no idea what to say.

"No one in your way now," Rookwood reassured with a cocked half-smile. "Avery's done with her."

Peter knew that he shouldn't allow his companion to talk this way about a girl—Remus would be horrified. James might think it, but never say it out loud. Sirius would say it, but only with the expectation that he would be chided. Then again, it felt oddly liberating to hear the crude words and let them stand, maybe even a bit wicked.

"_I'm_ in my way," Peter admitted after a moment. "I can't seem to talk to her without tripping over my own words. And she doesn't even look at me."

Rookwood winced. "Rough spot. But I think I may be able to help."

Peter's heart leapt despite himself. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'll talk to her, that'll help. Then just do what I say. You'll be seeing her bedroom ceiling within the week."

* * *

"Oh holy Jesus!"

That was Lily's reaction to seeing the house where James grew up for the first time. He looked at her, alarmed.

Sirius guffawed. "You think that's big, love?" He threw an arm around James' neck. "Your bird's easily impressed. Maybe I should show her what big actually looks like."

"Only if you want to die," James shot back. He shrugged off Sirius' arm and took Lily's hand in his. "Don't be intimidated. Sirius is right; it's not that big."

Lily's brows were raised as she stared at her fiancé with full incredulity. Just how out of touch with reality was he? Normal people did not live in places like this. She knew that he had come from old money, but this was ridiculous.

"Come on," he tugged her forward. "My parents have been nagging me for more than a year to bring you home. They're going to love you."

Lily swallowed, growing more and more uncomfortable by the second. _That_ was a lot of pressure.

James had matched Lily's pace automatically; he always did when they walked together. But Sirius' long, loping gate allowed him to pass them easily, even with the hefty suitcase he carried. He open the door before them, shouting into the cavernous entry hall, "Mum! Dad! We're home, and we brought Lily!"

Lily's pulse was going like crazy, and she had to fight the urge to shrink behind James. She went from trying to pull her hand away from James, to gripping his so tightly she might have been cutting off his circulation.

A man and a woman, both quite a bit older than she had been expecting, appeared with the air of people who were hurrying forward but trying to hide it. The man was tall, taller than James almost by a full head, with a balding pate and tortoiseshell glasses. His shoes were coffee-colored and had a high polish; his robes were well-made, gray, but there was a slackness to the way he wore them. His tie was just a little too loose to be considered proper.

James' mother, by contrast, looked quite prim and put-together. Her robes were white, devoid of stains and wrinkles, buttoned all the way up to her throat. She wore pearls. The one concession to the haphazardness of life was her hair. Though pulled back and up, had enough volume and flyaways that Lily could see where James had inherited his chaotic and perpetually tousled look. Still, on his mother, it managed to look more deliberate, more styled, as though it was something she had spent hours in front of a mirror to achieve. She smiled at Lily, but her expression was less kindly than the one on James' father's face.

Lily and James stepped over the threshold and onto the beautiful rug covering the stone floor of the hall, her suitcase clattering against the doorjamb as she crossed. Her face colored, and Sirius snorted. James closed the door behind them, but had to reach awkwardly with his left hand to do so because Lily would not release his right.

James' father smiled at his son's predicament and stepped forward. "It's lovely to meet you, Lily. I'm Francis Potter."

Lily took his hand, without relinquishing James', and he kissed the back of hers in greeting. She didn't know what color her skin was for sure, but it had to have been pretty bad because Sirius could not stop laughing.

James' mother did not take Lily's hand, instead stepped forward and pulled her into an embrace. "Don't be silly. We're to be family." She smelled of rosewater. "I'm so thrilled to _finally_ be meeting you. I'm James' mother, Philippa."

"Let the girl breathe, Pippa," Francis admonished when the hug went on a little longer than expected.

"We're so delighted to have you come to stay for the week," Philippa beamed at James. "So very overdue. Christmas was just…_bleak_ without you."

Lily could tell James was struggling not to roll his eyes at his mother's melodramatic description, and Sirius took personal offence. "Really, Mum Potter? I'm wounded! That's the last brooch you're getting from me."

James looked to his father for help, and when it became clear that none was forthcoming, he sighed and addressed his mother. "I am sorry that I missed Christmas, Mother. I was unwell, and visiting was just not a possibility." Mrs. Potter seemed gearing up to go on a full attack, but James headed her off directly by changing the subject. He gestured to their baggage. "Lily and I shall just get ourselves settled before dinner is ready then."

This succeeded in diverting his mother's purpose. "Of course. Your room is ready, Jamie, and I have prepared the Heather Room for Lily."

Sirius thought this was hilarious. "Yeah, put them in separate rooms. That'll stop them shagging, I'm sure."

"Mother," James said plaintively, "we're engaged."

"But not married." Her face was resolute and had touch of affected scandal, as though she wanted James to think that his response was unanticipated—even though a twinkle in her eye said it clearly was. Lily was beginning to understand that there was a theatrical component to this woman's personality.

James was clearly intending to argue the point, but Lily spoke first. "Thank you, Mrs. Potter. I'm sure the Heather Room is charming and I shall be quite comfortable there."

James glared at Lily, but she pretended not to notice.

Philippa smiled at her, and it seemed to Lily the woman's first expression of genuine warmth thrown her way since they had arrived. "Aren't you just a darling? Allow me help you get settled."

_Oh, fuck me._ Lily groaned inwardly, but kept the smile fixed on her face. She needed a moment alone to pull herself together. Instead, she and James' mother ascended the staircase arm in arm, while James followed behind them in a full sulk.

The Heather Room _was _charming, with shades of purple decorating the chamber, oak furniture, and an embroidered tapestry depicting a bouquet of the flowers hanging on the wall across from the large four-poster bed. A House Elf named Bitsy helped them unpack Lily's things and James' mother carried the conversation. She asked questions in a very innocent way, but it was hardly lost on Lily that she was being interrogated. She answered with as much humor and honesty as she dared.

It was almost an hour later when James rescued her, telling his mother that he wanted to give Lily a tour of the grounds.

The grounds, as expected, were huge and beautiful. The house was huge and beautiful. As the week wore on, nonetheless, Lily found herself still feeling alien, utterly out of place. She was just a lower middle class girl from Cokeworth, the daughter of a factory foreman; she'd never felt self-conscious of her accent until she was speaking with James' parents.

Thank god for Sirius. James was in a little too much hot water with his parents himself to be of much help making Lily feel more at ease, but Sirius' presence kept everyone from taking themselves too seriously, and he had quite a way with James' parents. One word from him, and all the tension was let out of the conversation.

His room, Lily had decided, was the best place to spend her time in the house. It had obviously been a room of some grandeur before Sirius had moved in, and while he'd done nothing to damage the furnishings, he had done everything in his power to undermine them. There was a clutter of toys—building blocks that kept assembling themselves into architectural landmarks, self-cheating playing cards, puzzles and table-top games. Furniture had been rearranged to fit a miniature sized billiards table in one corner. A bookshelf was laden with paperback copies of books by Muggle philosophers and scientists. His walls were covered with cheap posters of barely clothed women, most of them Muggles, but one or two witches. Among these was a black and white poster of Dandelion Whisher, the lead singer of Merlin's Beards, wearing nothing but a pair of lacy knickers, her platinum blonde hair rumpled, her arm across her bare breasts and cigar in her free hand. She winked when you looked at her. This one had been given the place of honor: the ceiling above the bed.

A bed that Lily had immediately taken note to never, ever sit on.

Of course, in Sirius' flat he had taken the next step in this regard; he'd gone from flimsy posters of women in undergarments to "tasteful nudes" on framed canvases. Lily didn't care for them, but had grown so used to their presence that she barely spared them a thought. What seemed tacky and gross in the flat, though, seemed sort of adorably rebellious in this stuffy old house.

James' room was also great—more welcoming than hers at least. There were no posters of women, although Sirius had hinted that maybe there used to be, and then a look from James had made him stop talking. Instead there was a wall of model racing rooms, assembled through the years by hand. There was a huge stack of Quidditch magazines by the bed to complement them. James had a balcony with a dead plant on it, but also a surprisingly comfortable chair. The books on his shelf had a more magical, but also more mathematical, bent to them than Sirius'. Mostly books on Arithmancy, Transfiguration, Astronomy, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, and the table beside the shelf was laden with periodicals on the same subjects. Best of all, James' room had James to recommend it (though, often Sirius' room had James as well).

The only trouble with James' room was that Philippa always looked there for her first, and kept opening the door without knocking as though hoping to deter them from engaging in anything remotely sexual. It was mostly working. Lily was determined that nothing of that nature would happen under his parents' roof, but he was equally determined to wear her down.

The truth was that James had been impossibly randy since the night they had got engaged. Even in public he had difficulty keeping his hands off her. He seemed to find it endlessly arousing that she'd agreed to marry him. They had not had so much sex since the month after they'd slept together for the first time. He had fully rutted her raw, and Lily was sore between her legs. She'd thought it might be nice to spend the night apart from him for a week, take a break. Instead she found herself missing his warmth and weight beside her so much it was almost impossible to sleep.

It didn't help that his nightmares were still in force. After the second night, James had come to her room and wordlessly climbed into her bed. He pulled her to him, buried his face into her neck and the two of them fell into an easy sleep. That had been that; James came to Lily's bed every night after about one in the morning, and they slept together. Just slept. His parents didn't seem to know.

Sometimes, in the morning, James would try his luck, but Lily's resolve held firm and she would peel his hands from her body. Now, that wasn't to say that the two of them had passed the week celibate. That was not the case—good god was that not the case! They Apparated home once a day to make sure that Pumpkin had food and water. It was also a way for James to take his potions outside the prying gaze of his parents. He was down to two potions, once a day; this was the main reason James had felt it was finally safe to brave the visit. Ostensibly, those were the two reasons they popped home once a day. In reality, they'd been so hungry for each other that they barely made it to the bed.

James' mother always gave Lily a slightly peeved look when they returned, as if she knew all about the love bites and claw marks her son was hiding beneath his clothes. The glares caused Lily to blush to the roots of her hair, but James and his father ignored it all.

By the third day, however, Lily had given up trying to hide what she and James did when they went home. She was by that time convinced that Mrs. Potter found her wanting and that there was absolutely nothing she could do to turn that around.

Less than a week, and Lily was already sure she now knew where James' big head had come from. His parents doted on him to a disgusting degree, and Lily doubted any girl could live up to what Philippa felt her son deserved.

At first she had kept telling herself that she was imagining things, that James' mother keeping her at a distance, throwing out occasional backhanded compliments, was all in her head. But James' father had made it impossible to ignore or rationalize away, because he kept calling his wife out for her bad behavior. "Now Pip, go easy on the girl." "For Merlin's sake, Pip! You don't have to answer that question, Lily." And several times just a pointed, "_Pippa_…."

So Lily had taken to avoiding James' mother, sometimes even resorting to hiding. James' father wasn't much better company, though, if truth be told. At least Philippa acknowledged Lily's presence. James' father was not much for talking the way cats weren't much for swimming. He seemed to spend all his days reading this or that and Lily's few attempts to draw him into a conversation had tapered off into awkward nothingness.

Unfortunately, there were a few hours of every day that Lily was left alone in the house with James' parents. James was ecstatic to be someplace where he could fly and play Quidditch with impunity, and Sirius always went with him. They had offered to take Lily with them more than once, but not only would that mean flying, it would mean watching the boys play Quidditch once they got there. This kept James' parents and their company in prospective: they weren't all that bad, really, if Lily still preferred them to Quidditch. In fact, they seemed like perfectly nice people on the whole. Lily was simply a new variable into their lives, and no one seemed to be sure quite where she would fit yet.

This evening would be the last night of their visit, and Lily found herself outside sitting at a table near the greenhouse, reading a book and smoking a cigarette in the early twilight. James and Sirius would be back soon, but for the present she was enjoying the time to herself. She was quite enamored of her book and thus did not hear Philippa's approach.

"I didn't know that you smoked."

Lily jumped. She looked up to see the older woman standing there in white robes, as always, with an empty flower basket slung over her arm and a cornflower blue shall draped over her shoulders.

Had this encounter taken place on the first night, Lily might have tripped over herself trying to explain or hide the cigarette, but six days had taken their toll. Lily was no longer as intimidated by this woman or as seeking of her approval as she had been. Instead, she calmly extinguished the burning embers and then used her wand to vanish the remainder.

"I don't," Lily said. "Not really. Just here and there, nothing routine."

Philippa considered that. "Francis has a pipe that he loves. I hate the smell, so I hide it. I even put a Charm on it to make it impossible to summon. I don't care for the pastime. I'm so glad our boys did not pick it up."

After a moment, Lily said, "My mother didn't like my father's smoking either." It was all she could think to say. She certainly wasn't going to offer up the information that both James and Sirius smoked cigars a few times a month, with the other Marauders.

"What are you reading?" Philippa asked with a slight smile. There was a nervousness or a determined set to her demeanor, Lily could not detect which. Or maybe it was both. She was gathering the distinct impression that Philippa was forcing herself to have this conversation—though why that would be Lily couldn't guess.

She hesitated, studying the woman. Rather than answer, Lily closed the book and held it out for inspection. Philippa took it. It was a battered paperback of Virginia Woolf's _To the Lighthouse_ that had seen better days. The inside cover, the title page, the margins, were all covered in blue ink from a ballpoint pen. The scrawl was the loopy lettering typical of a teenaged girl and it was found on almost every single page. At the top of the inside cover a name was written: Maimie Walter.

"Maimie Walter…."

"My mother's maiden name," Lily supplied. "I found it in the attic when I was helping my sister pack up the house. A whole box of books, actually. They're all like that."

Philippa seemed unsettled by this, and it was a long moment before she passed the book back to Lily. "Well, then this is a treasure."

"Yes," she agreed simply.

Philippa scrambled to find a new path for the conversation. She clutched her flower basket and gestured to the greenhouse door to the side of Lily. "I was going to gather some fresh herbs for dinner. Will you join me?"

Lily wavered, but then nodded, and followed the woman inside.

The warmth and humidity of the enormous greenhouse was jarring compared to the chilly air of the mid-winter evening. It reminded Lily of Hogwarts, and the smell was the best part, notes of earth and life. When she saw just what was growing, she was instantly impressed and enchanted.

Mrs. Potter's space seemed to be devoted entirely to her kitchen. Nothing seemed for decoration only. There was an assortment of wild garlic and onions, rainbow carrots, radishes, and parsnips planted to the left. On the right was a medicinal garden that contained prime specimens of cowslip, valerian, nettles, belladonna, ground ivy, mugwort, and so many others. It was a potion brewer's dream, and Lily found herself regretting that it had taken so long for her to explore this nook of the estate. In the middle was the herb garden. It was stocked with most of the usual suspects.

"I'll get the mustard grass," Philippa said. "Lily, will you be a dear and choose some dill?"

"Of course," Lily said, tucking her book under her arm and moving in that direction.

As she reached the growing table where the dill was situated, her knee brushed something and a scent came at her like a whirlwind. A scent she had not been prepared for.

In a pot at her feet was a lemon verbena shrub, tiny and nowhere near its majority, but still fragrantly potent. Lily was assaulted with images of a well-used pedal-operated sewing machine, burnt eggs on Sunday mornings, and folk tunes sung in the wrong key. She was assaulted with her mother's perfume.

Perhaps if Lily had not just spoken to Philippa about her mother. Perhaps if she had not been reading those old books, exposing herself to the raw thoughts and feelings found in those margins and underlined passages of a sixteen-year-old girl Lily had only known as a woman. Perhaps she would not have started to cry. Perhaps.

It came on so unexpectedly, so swiftly, and so intensely—like a tidal wave, and Lily found she could not breathe through her sobs.

Lily was barely aware of Philippa dropping the basket she had been carrying to the ground, of the gray-haired woman rushing toward her. What she was aware of were arms encircling her tenderly, a soft body pulling her close, and a gentle voice saying, "Oh, you poor lamb. I have you. It's all right, I have you."

As her sobs shook her, Lily found herself returning the embrace. It didn't feel like that of a stranger, it felt old and familiar. Lily wept and wept while a reassuring hand stroked her hair.

* * *

"What have you brought me?" Voldemort asked with barely concealed contempt. "Keep it succinct. Your request for an audience has come at an inopportune time."

Not dissuaded, and displaying none of his nerves, Severus forged ahead. He had practiced this, rehearsed it even. Every response the Dark Lord may have, every question he may ask anticipated. The morning had been filled with meditation and fortifying the walls of his Occlumency. This encounter was going to go his way—his life depended on it.

He placed a large, corked volumetric flask full of malevolent green liquid on the desk where Voldemort sat. "The Emerald Potion," he announced. "I have brewed it successfully."

The Dark Lords red eyes flared wide, and in that first moment, he was so eager that he forgot to be suspicious. He pulled the flask close and studied the way there seemed to be dark shadows moving around in the liquid, present and then gone when you focused on them too closely.

Severus waited, knowing that the next few minutes would be the most important of his life.

They were in a study on the second floor of Aurelian Nott's London townhouse, a fine room with a fireplace and an enormous mahogany desk. Above the spitting fire was a mounted manitcore head, a trophy of some long-dead ancestor. The rug was ornate and handwoven, the walls wood-paneled. The whole room made Severus sick; trappings of wealth displayed by a snob who had looked down his nose at Severus all through school, even though the younger, poorer boy was demonstrably more clever.

Voldemort was now looking at Severus in accusation; this was a foreseen reaction. "You said it was impossible."

"So I did," Severus said as he sat in a leather chair across from the Dark Lord, keeping confident eye-contact as he did so. "So I thought." He withdrew some notes and calculations from his pocket and placed them on the desk before his master. "But that was not the end of the matter for you, and nor was it for me. It was like a riddle that I could not get out of my head. I knew there must be an answer, for the potion did once exist. I knew that you were still looking for someone who could accomplish the brew, and I was deeply ashamed that I had failed you. Serving you is, of course, my core purpose."

Voldemort glanced over parchments Severus has brought. "These are not yours," he accused.

"No," Severus agreed. "They are the notes of Price Wyndham, the man who first tried to recreate the potion in the 1780s. By all appearances, he failed. But, as I discovered, those were just appearances."

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed. "Meaning?"

"The brewing notes are in code. They only gave the impression of failures. Wyndham was successful in reassembling the recipe." The best lies were based in truth, and with an accomplished Legilimens it was essential to tell the truth whenever possible, so Severus had used his own reality and given it to Wyndham. The story would ring true and Severus would have an easier time keeping it straight. Besides, implying that Severus had cracked the code could only have the effect of making himself seem resourceful and brilliant.

Severus continued, "It came to me one night two weeks ago while I was brewing a batch of Draught of the Living Death. I would have come to you immediately, of course, but I wanted to be sure that I was right first. I know that you have no time for theories, only results." He nodded at the flask. "The first batch did not turn out properly; there were a few kinks in the recipe, but I was able to smooth them out with the second brew."

Voldemort did not look convinced. His voice cold, he said, "Why would Wyndham falsify his life's work?"

Severus shrugged as if the answer concerned him little, if at all. "Perhaps he got squeamish. Or maybe he didn't want the unworthy to have access to the potion. Likely he was worried about drawing the displeasure of the new Ministry, wanted to avoid prison or execution. Regardless of why, the result is the same. The code is there. I was able to discover the cipher and deliver you the potion you desired."

"A year late," the Dark Lord hissed.

Severus kept his head, counted to three, and stuck to his script. "An inexcusable delay. And I have been rightly abused and shunned by my peers for it. I fell short of the servant you deserve, my lord. But whatever the impression given, this potion never left me, nor did my failure. By completing this task, have I not also demonstrated my loyalty? My devotion? I would not have taken your Mark if I had not believed that I could be of use to you, and now I finally have been." He swallowed and then continued with his gamble. "I am aware that I have failed you unpardonably. I am also aware that even now that I have delivered that which you requested, I am still unworthy of your forgiveness or praise. Whatever punishment you decide, I will submit."

The Dark Lord studied Severus, and to the untrained eye it looked like a focused stare, but Severus had been expecting this. He felt the Dark Lord in his mind. Calmly, the doors were shut and hidden to the truth behind this potion, the truth about his doubts toward Voldemort's cause, the truth about his love for Lily Evans. Everything else, he allowed access easily, even to things he would have normally hidden—his father, for example. It needed to be convincing, it had to appear that Severus had no idea his mind was being read and that he was hiding nothing.

Severus was grateful that it was happening like this, quietly, secretly. If the Dark Lord had verbally cast the spell, thrown the full weight of his magical prowess behind it, Severus would not have stood a chance. Every corner of his mind would have been laid bare.

Finally, Voldemort spoke. "Have you tested it?"

"What?"

"The Emerald Potion, have you tested it?"

And here crept a fear that Severus knew was showing on his face. This was a turn that had not been anticipated.

"If I chose that at as your punishment, if I required you to prove your loyalty to me in that way, would you do it?"

What could Severus say? It was a trap of the most insidious kind. The potion was lethal; more than that, the death would be drawn-out and agonizing, physically and mentally.

"After all, if the potion has not been tested, how do we know if you were truly successful?" There was a decanter of cognac to Voldemort's left with two crystal tumblers beside it. The Dark Lord picked up one of those glasses and placed it on the desk between them. With relish, he uncorked the flask and smelled the noxious potion as though it were a fine alcoholic beverage, then poured a finger width of the green liquid into the glass. "How loyal are you, Severus Snape?"

There was no escape, no second path. Not now. Bridges had been burned, and the glass of death that rested before him was the result of his own wager. It had not paid off, and now he would die, here in this study.

Because he knew it would be the easiest death offered, that Voldemort could outshine the potion if he wanted, Severus lifted the glass from the polished wood surface. He was numb as he raised it toward his lips, his mouth dry. His movements were mechanical, because this was not real, it wasn't happening, not to him.

When the glass touched his lips, Voldemort began to laugh his hideous high-pitched snicker, as though there was some very entertaining joke. Severus' eyes darted to the man's face.

"Put the glass down, Snape," he said.

The glass clunked to the desk, the liquid sloshing over the side and onto the skin of Severus' hand. He winced as the ingredients burned dully, the way spicy food might on human skin.

"You are going to test it, but not on yourself," Voldemort smirked. "Gibbon!"

The door to the study opened and Gibbon poked in his head.

Voldemort gave his orders. "Go out onto the street and bring us back a Muggle."

* * *

"Madam, we can't let you in there."

Narcissa's nostrils flared dangerously. "The hell you can't. This is my house and that is my husband."

The Death Eater seemed to falter. Though Narcissa couldn't see his face through the mask he was wearing, his body language was clear. He still put up a feeble protest. "The Healer is working on him. He needs to concentrate."

"Then I'll stand in the back of the room and stay out of his way. I will be in that room in thirty seconds. It is up to you whether or not I step over your body to get there," Narcissa snarled.

The Death Eater hesitated, then moved aside, and Narcissa pushed her way into the room. She was unable to contain her gasp at what she saw.

Around her bed, the very bed that she had slept in last night, stood three men, two of them in black robes and white masks, one of them the Healer. Lucius' face was pale, his eyes were closed and he was not stirring; the bed was soaked in his blood. There was a gash at least two inches deep that ran the length of his entire torso.

The Healer's head whipped around when he heard her enter. "What's she doing in here?"

"Don't look at me!" she snapped. "Look at him, look at my husband! I'm none of your concern."

Reluctantly, the man followed her orders.

True to her word, Narcissa kept back from the bed, kept silent. Truly, it wasn't hard. She was afraid to be any closer at this moment: afraid Lucius would be cold to the touch, afraid that he would not wake.

It was dark outside before the Healer announced that her husband was stable, that now it was just a matter of time before they would know whether or not he would regain consciousness.

"You should get some rest, Mrs. Malfoy," the Healer had the gall to tell her.

"This is my bed," she said coldly, gesturing to where her husband lay. "It's occupied."

"Nonetheless, rest would benefit you both." The man seemed unruffled by her hostility.

She bit her tongue and the acerbic response waiting there. Instead she asked whether or not holding her husband's hand would do any damage.

"I can't see why it would," the Healer answered.

"Then that's what I will do," Narcissa said simply.

She ignored the men as they left, and she took her place in the chair beside the bed. His hand was not as warm as it usually was, but it wasn't cold either, and that reassured her. She found his pulse on his wrist, faint but present, and she left her fingers there. As long as she could feel that pulse, she still had a husband.

* * *

"Cloak, mittens, scarf—you'll want it all."

"Why?" Lily was eyeing him doubtfully, and James had to struggle to keep his enthusiasm from reaching a level of obnoxiousness.

"Because I'm taking you flying."

Lily's eyes widened. "No you're not."

He just grinned. His large hand caressed the side of her face and he kissed her. "There is no safer place in this world than on a broom with me."

She looked torn, so he kissed her again. It was a damned dirty play on his part; James had learned that Lily would agree to pretty much anything if he kissed her enough. But he knew, if he could just get her on the broom, she'd love it.

Lily sighed affectionately. "Fine. All right, I'll go. I can see it's important to you."

"And you trust me."

"And I trust you."

She bundled herself up with the layers of warm clothing, and James added his knit cap to the ensemble, being sure to pull it down over her ears. It was January after all, and they would be flying to high altitude.

Once she was ready, he positioned her in front of him on the broom and pulled her close, so that her back was fast against his chest. "You ready?"

She seemed too nervous to speak properly, but she did nod.

He kissed her cheek before pushing off from the balcony in his bedroom. She gasped, but he held her tight and whispered words of encouragement in her ear. He also was sure to fly lazily, nothing too fast, no sharp turns, a gradual ascent. He wanted to do this with her again, often. If there was to be any hope of that, he would do well to keep from scaring her. It wasn't his preferred way to fly—he liked the thrills—but this wasn't about him.

James kept her talking as they flew. He knew that would keep her mind engaged and, besides, he was curious about her day. After popping home around noon to take care of the usual business, he had been occupied by first helping his father sort through his accounts (Francis Potter was not the best with numbers) and then by playing Quidditch with Sirius for a few hours. When he had returned home for dinner it was to find his fiancée and his mother quite altered. At first that had alarmed him, but then when it became plain that the two women had reached an understanding of sorts, James had let go a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.

He would never admit it to Lily, but he had been worried that his mother might not warm to her.

"I spent the early afternoon with Sirius. He taught me a new card game, but I'm pretty sure was making up the rules as we went," she was trying to keep her voice light, but he heard it quaver slightly.

James squeezed his arm around her waist reassuringly. "Wouldn't surprise me."

"After you two went off flying together, I tried to read in your library—you know, one of my mum's books that I've been taking my time with." He nodded while nuzzling her neck. "But that portrait at the back of the library, the one by the fire, wouldn't stop talking. So I politely excused myself and went out to read in the garden, by the greenhouse, instead."

"My uncle Charlus," James said. "The portrait is of my uncle Charlus, and he was a talker."

Lily managed a laugh. "He was very friendly, it was just impossible to concentrate."

"The garden was probably nicer anyway."

"Yes. I sat at the little wrought iron table until your mother came to get herbs for dinner." Here there was something funny in her voice that had nothing to do with her fear of heights.

James chose his words carefully. "You two seem to have hit it off." That was an understatement. Lily was calling the older woman by name, and the smiles his mother was throwing Lily's way were no longer those awful, mistrustful, fake things that embarrassed him to no end.

"Your mother has a lovely greenhouse. She actually has sopophorous beans—did you know that? Thriving, too. They are such temperamental plants; I've never been able to keep one alive. Pippa says I can have some for brewing, which is awfully generous of her."

And that seemed to be all that James would get out of Lily on the matter. He thought it best not to press; it was none of his business anyway, and he was just glad that two of them were getting along.

James guided her head around with the tips of his fingers just enough to meet her eyes. "All right, love?" She nodded bravely. "We're going to rise higher here. We're going to go above the clouds, but I didn't want to go straight through them, because then we would get wet. Are you ready?"

She kissed him and then huddled her face into his neck as best as she could manage. "I'm ready."

Keeping one arm tightly around Lily, James used his steering hand to guide them directly upward. The muggy-grayness of the clouds fell away as he gently maneuvered between them, and the result was a hell of a view.

"Lily," he nudged her with his chin, knowing that her eyes were tightly closed. "You'll want to see this."

He felt her draw in a breath, and then she slowly straightened in her seat, looking forward. "Oh my god," she breathed.

The clouds rolled beneath them like a sea of mist, churning and breaking in waves, right up to the edge of the horizon. Above were millions of bright stars, stark against the black—more than could ever been seen properly from the ground, except in one area directly ahead where they were washed out by the vibrancy of the moon. Only half lit at this time of the month, the moon was nonetheless so brilliant and close that James could clearly see every faint shadow of a freckle on Lily's face. Her eyes were frankly luminous, their color so vibrant as to seem unnatural.

She seemed to open in every respect: her eyes, pulled wide by her rising brows; her mouth as her jaw dropped; her arms, which let go of the broom handle for the first time. Her breathing sped up, and James watched as the emotions played over her features; tiny changes and reactions, too small to be classified or named. All that mattered was that they ended in a joyous smile.

"Happy birthday, Lily."

"Oh, James. It's so beautiful!"

"I thought you'd like it."

"I love it! It's a wonderful present."

James' heart was soaring. "Naturally, I got you a real present as well."

Lily laughed, still not able to pull her eyes from the scenery. "Let me guess, jewelry."

That took James aback, and his grin faded just a hair. "Earrings," he admitted. He scrambled inwardly, suddenly unsure of himself. "Do you…not like jewelry?"

She looked at him like his question was particularly absurd and gave him a kiss. "Of course I like jewelry. And you have impeccable taste. I'm wearing the bracelet you gave me for Christmas right now. You're just predictable in some ways, that's all. Every gift you've ever given me has been jewelry. It wasn't a complaint, James, just an observation." She looked out at the sky, and gestured. "I'm going to remember this forever, you know that? This is something I never would have seen, never even known existed if it weren't for you."

James smiled, and the kiss that followed became a snog. They stayed above the clouds like that for more than an hour, ignoring the cold and talking. Lily seemed to have forgotten completely how high up they were. She even retained some of her relaxed demeanor when they finally began their descent.

At least, until the bird came out of nowhere. Lily jumped and shrieked with freight, causing James to have to grip the broom with both hands to keep them steady. Then she laughed at her foolishness, head falling back on his shoulder, and the lovely sound rang through the night.

The bird, not to be deterred, landed on the handle of James' broom, which allowed the couple to get a good look at him. The bright orange plumage and intelligent eyes were unmistakable. He had a letter addressed to the two of them and to Sirius tied to his leg.

"It's Fawkes!" James said with no small measure of bemusement. He'd certainly been in Dumbledore's office often enough to know for sure.

"Good god, it is," Lily agreed. She cooed to the phoenix softly as she untied the letter.

No sooner was the parchment in her hand than the bird took off and was gone.

Lily removed one of her mittens with her teeth, freeing a hand to open the wax seal. She unfurled the letter, and the two of them read in silence.

It was an invitation.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Heck yeah! Here comes the Order of the Phoenix. Also, in the next chapter, Narcissa will leave the house! (_Finally_, right?)

Price Wyndham may strike some of you as familiar. That could be because his brewing notes were first mentioned in _Buried Treasure and Transmogrify_ (yay continuity!), or it could be because you are a fan of the Buffy/Angel-verse. Wesley Wyndham-Price is one of my all-time favorite characters from anything, and I couldn't resist the shout-out. Love you, Wes! Don't take it personally that I named a maybe-evil Potions Master after you.


	8. Lay it Down Cold on My Skin

****Disclaimer:** The characters and situations of _Harry Potter_ depicted in this story are the legal property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

* * *

"_One blade for breaking my heart,  
__One blade for tearing me apart,  
__Your six blade knife_—_do anything for you.  
__You can take away my mind like you take away the top of a tin.  
__When you come up from behind and lay it down cold on my skin,  
__Took a stone from my soul when I was lame  
__Just so you could make me tame._"  
Dire Straits  
"Six-Blade Knife" (1978)

**Chapter 07: Lay it Down Cold on My Skin **

The ceiling of his bedroom was white. After a week of staring at it Lucius had concluded that was a terribly boring thing for a ceiling to be. Perhaps he would speak with Narcissa about it when she came back with his lunch. Maybe a powder blue would be nice?

He had experienced a whole new appreciation for his wife's boredom being trapped in this bed. Narcissa spent a good portion of the day with him, reading books from the list his father had assigned her. They were currently halfway through Burney's _Camilla_, and he was ready to rip all the pages out of the bloody thing.

After the second day, he had convinced his wife to retrieve her guitar from the cupboard where it had been stashed, and she played for him. She had been hard at work writing songs on the ballroom piano, and a good many about him, which he smugly enjoyed. She translated them easily to the guitar. Her voice was not the best, often off-key in fact, but her playing was impeccable and the tunes were rather arresting. The apparent talent of her musicianship and the warbling voice presented together, innocently, as though they were anything approaching equal, was so unintentionally charming. God how he had missed her.

She had promised to play him a song she had written about the dead swan after they ate lunch. That was a quality his wife possessed of which he would never tire: she always knew how to make him laugh.

Lucius smiled when he heard footsteps approaching because he thought it was Narcissa. Severus Snape entered instead, escorted by a House Elf.

Lucius greeted him, though with some reservation because he could see a grimness on his friend's face. Whatever the reason for the visit, it was speciously unpleasant. He dismissed the House Elf then said to Snape, "Please sit." He gestured to Narcissa's regular chair.

Clad head to toe in black, Snape removed his hat and sat. The guitar had been propped against the side of the chair and made comfort difficult, so Lucius held out his hand to take it. The instrument changed hands, and Lucius set it beside him on the bed.

"You look like a Slicing Jinx gutted your entire torso."

Lucius smiled without humor. "There may be a reason for that." Groaning more than he would like, he leveraged his hands to pull himself up to a seated position. "Are you here to tell me that I am expected back at the country house?"

An uncomfortable pause, and then Snape shook his head. "I came to warn you," he said. "Rosier has set you up to take the fall for this mission. The Dark Lord is none too pleased."

Lucius' blood turned cold. It was a moment before he could respond because he was deeply shocked. "How could it possibly be construed as my fault? The mission went fine until we arrived at the location where the safe house should have been ready with the necessary defensive charms. If that safe house had been there, the mission would have been a success, and I had nothing to do with that."

Snape was removing his gloves. "Apparently, you did." He pushed his greasy hair out of his face. "The orders to set up that safe house were in your hands and Rosier is saying that you failed to deliver them to him. He says he never received them."

"That's impossible! I have always delivered the Dark Lord's orders in a timely—" Lucius broke off. His heart began to hammer as he pictured a ballroom twirling with twits in Muggle attire, free flowing champagne, and the most meager excuse for a library in all of Britain. "Was…was this supposedly around New Year's Day, a little over a year ago?"

Snape shrugged. "I'm uncertain, but that does seem about right."

Lucius' throat was so dry he could not swallow. "Alida," he whispered. "My cousin, Alida Ackerley—I gave the note to her at Juliet Moss' New Year's Ball. She was instructed to give it directly to Rosier."

"Why ever would you do damned fool thing like that? She's not of our ranks."

His eyes narrowed as he snapped, "Precisely. Frank Longbottom was there. He was watching me like a hawk—what was I to do? If you recall, Dexter Pucey had just died because of a sloppy note delivery."

Snape's lips twisted wryly. "If you cannot fix this, you may share his fate."

"You're not helping," Lucius snapped.

The younger man sighed. "Then let's think rationally. Alida was enlisted as part of an exchange. Can you think of any reason why she would renege on her side of the deal?"

Lucius started to shake his head, but then froze.

"What?"

He rubbed his face and fought the urge to slam his fist into the bedside table. "_Potter_. James Potter. Silly bitch dated him for a year." Merlin, what if she had given the note to Potter? He had been at the party as well. Parallels to Dexter Pucey indeed!

Snape was thoughtful. "I'm not sure that adds up. Potter cheated on her and then chucked her—everyone knows that. Why would she betray you for him?" He considered further and after a moment added, "Besides, if Potter had wound up with the note, he would have tried to read it, but this was after the Dark Lord had started cursing his written communications as a precaution. If Potter had read it, he would have ended up in St. Mungo's."

Lucius was at a loss. "Then…what happened?"

"If she weren't in Azkaban, I'd say we should ask her." Snape picked a bit of green grime out from under his nails. "Word is they are checking visitors for Dark Marks—Alastor Moody's doing."

"Bloody Aurors."

"Indeed."

"Where does that leave us?" Lucius asked. "What are our options?"

"Honestly," Snape said, "I don't know."

* * *

Peter had visited Dumbledore's office excessively in his lifetime, but it was an entirely different experience now that he had left school. He was an adult—Dumbledore couldn't expel him, not anymore. And he was with his friends. They were here as _guests_, invited specially. A giddy energy was pulsing through Peter at that thought.

There weren't enough chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk, but he conjured extras easily and they were obliged to sit. Peter took the seat to the right of Sirius and Remus sat to the left. Lily and James took the chairs on Peter's other side. They were sitting in a sort of crescent shape in front of the Headmaster's desk, dozens of portrait faces staring down at them as they took their spots.

It was Lily who opened the conversation, in her polite, sweet way. She thanked Dumbledore for inviting them and then prompted the reason.

The man removed his half-moon spectacles and gave them his full attention. "I am sure you are aware that what began as a small rebellion within our society has become a full-fledged war. Extremists have taken advantage of the latent bigotry in our culture and the cumbersome bureaucracy of our government and they are preying on the population."

"Death Eaters," Sirius supplied as if there could be any confusion as to whom Dumbledore was referring.

The old man nodded. "After watching them attempt to address this threat for the past few years, I have concluded that our Ministry is too corrupt and ill equipped to handle the Death Eaters. Far too many of these scaremongers are well placed and powerful, and they are twisting the laws that are meant to protect the innocent to protect themselves." Dumbledore was grave. Peter didn't think he had ever seen the Headmaster so serious, even when he had been in this very seat awaiting punishment. "It seems that it may be required that we take matters into our own hands."

James appeared hesitant. "What do you mean?"

"Voldemort and his followers operate outside the law. It is my intention to form an organization that will do the same to fight him."

Fear was starting to overtake the excitement within Peter. It was one thing to be daring when mischief was the goal, when it was just a bit of fun. Fighting a war was another kind of bravery entirely. His eyes began darting around the room to see what his friends were thinking. Would they say yes? Would they join? If they did…then Peter would have to follow. He swallowed, terrified; he admitted to himself that he didn't want to.

Remus broke the silence. "You are inviting us to join?"

Dumbledore affirmed that with a sad smile. "I do not enjoy asking this of former students, especially ones that have so much potential, but that is, alas, what makes you desirable for the cause. I have heard how bravely you acquitted yourselves at the S.W.A.M.P. Massacre, and I saw firsthand your determination to do whatever is needed to protect others that night in the forest during your final year."

Remus looked stiff and almost offended. "I fail to see why I am here in that case."

Peter felt embarrassed for him. Not only had Remus missed the S.W.A.M.P. gala due to recovering from full moon, but he had been one of the threats in question that night in the Forbidden Forest.

Dumbledore did not blink, however. "Because I know you to be a brave man of integrity, and because I know your friends are stronger with you than without you." He addressed the group. "It is dangerous work, but I also believe it is necessary."

Peter was surprised when Lily was the first to speak. "Yes, it is. I'm in."

James looked as though someone had poured a glass of pumpkin juice over his head. "Whoa! Wait, we need to talk about this."

"What is there to talk about? Just a couple of months ago, you were going to sign up for the Auror Academy. We both know this is a war that needs to be fought."

He glanced at the room uncomfortably, then brought his gaze back to his girlfriend and lowered his voice. Peter could still hear him. "A couple of months ago we weren't engaged. We make decisions together now, as a team."

"He's right," Sirius mumbled. It seemed Peter wasn't the only one who could still catch their words.

It was awkward, and Peter felt himself blushing vicariously.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Of course, this conversation is just the proposition. I am not expecting an answer from anyone at this time. You'll need time to think this over." He withdrew a parchment from his drawer that was a glowing blue. "I am having a gathering at the Hog's Head three days from now at seven in the evening. If you decide that you would like to join, I shall be glad to see you there. In the meantime, I ask that all of you sign this parchment."

"Why?" Sirius asked bluntly, and Dumbledore's answer was just as direct.

"It is enchanted to keep you from speaking about my organization with anyone who was not invited to join. Security, you understand."

"Of course," Lily agreed crisply, and she shot James an annoyed look before she signed.

The boys all followed suit, and the five of them left Dumbledore's office a few minutes later. They walked toward the Great Hall in relative silence. When they reached the doors leading outside, Sirius held James back. Peter hung close enough to eavesdrop.

"For what it's worth, Prongs, no matter what anyone else decides, I'm going to sign up."

Peter's heart sank, and he was so overcome that he missed James' response. But it didn't matter. If Sirius was going to fight and Lily wanted to, James would as well.

It looked like Peter was going to be fighting a war.

* * *

"Who are you?" Alida Ackerley asked.

"Family," Narcissa answered. She sat down in the uncomfortable metal chair across from the cell. Her blue cloak was stylish but damp from the flurries outside. She held her kid skin gloves in her hands. "We've never met, but my husband is your cousin, Lucius Malfoy."

Alida did not look pleased to hear the name. The girl's white blonde hair was matted to her skull, and she made eye-contact for unnervingly long periods of time as she stared through the bars of her cell, but Narcissa did not allow herself to show anything but regal composure. The haughty demeanor was at least as much for the benefit of the Dementors behind her as the girl before her. No happy memories or thoughts were allowed into her mind, she pushed them down inside her, far down. If she started to think of why she was doing this—her beloved Lucius—she would instead change purposes immediately. The humiliation brought upon her family by her sister Andromeda; a party when she was fifteen and an older boy attempted to force himself on her; her first pet, a dog named Wendy, dead and mangled in her lap after being trampled by a horse: these were her thoughts.

And still the room was cold, still her hands trembled.

"Why are you here?" the girl asked.

"I would like to ask you about a note from Uncle." Their voices echoed off the stone walls, and Narcissa continued calmly, willing a girl she had never met to talk in a code that each of them barely knew. "My husband gave it to you during a party last year. Our dear friend Juliet throws the best balls, does she not?"

Alida eyed her as though she was unsure what to make of her. "I wore blue," she said. "And fur that wasn't real fur. But the dog heart, that was real."

Fantastic. The girl was insane. "Do you remember the note Lucius gave you?"

The grubby face nodded.

"What did you do with that note?"

Alida's brows knit as though this was a particularly absurd question. "I gave it to Evan."

Narcissa's breath hitched a bit. "Rosier?"

Again, a nod.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, he was cheating at snooker and he glared at me because I gave it to him in front of his friends."

This was good: possible witnesses who were not crazy. "Do you remember which friends?"

Alida's face became thoughtful and she chewed on her dirty fingernails. "Well, Festus Wilkes was there, and Robin Mulciber."

Narcissa drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You're certain of this? You didn't just make it up in your head?"

At this the girl glared as though she were offended. "It happened exactly like that. I'm not mad, you know."

Narcissa begged to differ. Insanity had a fairly wide streak in her family and she knew the look of it. Nevertheless, the girl's story made sense. It was likely true. Now it was just a matter of planning their next move.

* * *

Lily was feeling slightly sullen as she climbed the stairs to Marlene's flat, a box of fritters in her hands.

She _hated_ it when she and James were not getting on. Unfortunately, disagreeing was something they were good at; the two of them had spent more than six years of their acquaintanceship at odds despite a deep attraction toward one another. Old habits died hard.

It didn't help that she knew this time she had been in the wrong. James had every right to be annoyed; a marriage _was_ a partnership, and decisions that significant should be made together. They would join Dumbledore's organization and they both knew it. Sure, James was feeling a little gun-shy and circumspect following his torture, and Lily was feeling particularly hotheaded, still raw with a fury that bordered on bloodlust from the same experience and the gruesome death of her friend—but they both knew they would fight. The point was, they should have talked it through, should have decided together.

Now she needed to figure out how to apologize.

The flat was quiet when she entered, and Lily checked the kitchen and peered down the stairs to the garage looking for Marlene and Sirius. The two of them had spent the afternoon rebuilding that motorbike engine and Lily had been sent to get a much needed snack.

As she wandered through the flat, she froze in place at the sight of a door beside the rocking chair propped wide. It was a door Lily had not seen open before, a door that was usually padlocked. She approached Finlay McKinnon's lab and satisfied her curiosity by peering inside, hesitantly at first.

It was a well ordered brewing lab—one of the cleanest Lily had ever seen and certainly more so than her own corner that she used for brewing in the flat she shared with James. There was a desk with neatly stacked brewing notes in color-coded cubbies beside a row of inkwells and quills. Shelves hung above the desk with alphabetized reference books. More shelves lined the rest of the room, but these cataloged ingredients in jars, rare and mundane. Dried florae hung from the ceiling in bunches above a scrubbed wood prep table. Cauldrons of various materials and sizes were stacked in a corner beside the fireplace, which at present was cold and contained only ashes.

Benjy Fenwick was sitting in the wooden chair beside the fireplace, reading a parchment roll. He was a rather handsome man that reminded Lily of the swashbuckling films her mother had liked so much. His hair was a golden blond and he wore a full mustache and goatee. There was something in the way he moved and dressed that bespoke a deep vanity, and his blue eyes were prone to winking.

"Hello," Lily greeted shyly, more intimidated by his prowess as a visionary in the field of potions than anything else.

He didn't seem particularly surprised to see her there. He studied her a moment before rising and extending his hand. "Lily Evans, I presume?"

She nodded and returned the handshake.

"I read your thesis," he told her, and her eyes went wide with alarm. "Your project was quite ambitious. Very intriguing. I voted in favor of your admission into the Society."

Lily thought she may have swallowed her tongue. She knew he sat on the board, but…. He smiled and Lily admitted to herself that she may in fact be a little star-struck. Fenwick wasn't a celebrity by the standards of the wider wizarding world, but the wider wizarding world didn't idolize potion makers the way she did.

"Thank you," she stammered. She belatedly let go of his hand and scrambled for a new subject. "You look well considering…."

"Considering the injuries I sustained in the attack?" he filled in kindly. "Yes, I was very lucky. I believe they were trying to capture me rather than kill me. Of course, you would know more about that than I. How is your boyfriend, by the way?"

Lily held up her left hand reflexively and flashed her ring. "Fiancé. He's doing very well, no longer taking potions and back to his full strength."

"That's good news." Fenwick gestured to the parchment in his hand. "I'm trying to get myself back to work."

"Oh."

"Fin and I were working on a project together. It's been hard to pick it back up, but I have to. It's my life's work."

"Potential uses of aconite," Lily supplied. She had read his work, as well. It was fairly groundbreaking.

"Curing lycanthropy," he clarified, and Lily's jaw dropped. He chuckled at her reaction. "I know, I know—it's a long stretch, but I really think I may be onto something. This plant…it holds the key, I'm sure of it."

"Wow," was all that she could manage.

Finlay McKinnon had been much more concerned with innocuous matters in his brewing, albeit important. His crowning achievement was making children safe from household cleaners for Merlin's sake. Never mind that it was far more ambitious from a brewing standpoint, coming up with a cure for lycanthropy was a sticky matter politically no matter how you approached it. Many werewolves were proud of their status as such, felt that it was a transcendent state of being, and would be insulted by the very idea of a "cure", not to mention that the wizard world at large feared and mistrusted these individuals on principle. They had no idea how to treat or classify werewolves as it was, and a cure was unlikely to simplify things.

Lily thought of Remus. If there was a way to free him of the curse he would take it in a heartbeat, but she had to remind herself that he was not necessarily representative of the population. What if the brewing research was successful and some didn't want to drink the result? What if the Ministry tried to force them to?

Fenwick was studying her. "You don't approve," he surmised.

"I think it's a worthy goal," Lily hedged.

He laughed. "How diplomatic you are, Lily. Yes, I am aware of the controversies. There is a reason I have not disclosed my true purposes to the Ministry. Our government is far more interested in keeping these people out of polite society by pushing them into the margins and stripping them of their rights than helping them. At this very moment, there is a proposed law awaiting ratification that would make it illegal for a werewolf to carry a wand. Can you imagine? It's ludicrous. If the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures found out what I am actually up to, I would lose my funding."

Lily grinned at him with admiration. "Yet you continue."

"Yes, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't shout it from the rooftops. It's all very hush, hush."

She rolled her eyes. "If it's so secret, why tell me at all?"

"Because I know that you have someone close to you who struggles with lycanthropy."

That sobered her right up.

"I'm a friend of Dumbledore," Fenwick elaborated. "He didn't give me any details or violate your privacy, but he did say that you may be sympathetic to my work." He manipulated his eyebrows into looking slightly vulnerable and gave his best winning smile. "This is really just my elaborate way of offering you a job, in all truth. It's why I'm here. Mar said you'd be visiting, and I thought I'd ask at least. I need a partner to continue my work, and you come highly recommended. Both Dumbledore and Slughorn praise your brewing aptitude and your work ethic. The money's not bad either."

Lily's eyes were wide and her heart was racing. A job? Experimental brewing with Benjamin Fenwick—one of the premier Potions Masters in the world? Oh Merlin, she was nearly breathless with excitement and bursting to say yes. So…why hadn't she? It was certainly better than picking up odd hours at Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary on Diagon Alley as she had been doing since leaving Hogwarts.

Perhaps it was because Fenwick was so smarmy. She'd built up a high tolerance to the stuff since beginning her association with the Marauders, but she was still wary of unknown rakehells she supposed.

"Tell me why," she said.

He blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Tell me why lycanthropy. Is it the challenge?"

Fenwick's smile was gone and he shook his head. "It's personal."

Lily raised her brows expectantly, and he seemed to give in.

"My mother," he admitted. "She was a werewolf. And she killed herself when I was thirteen."

Lily felt like a heel. "I'm sorry," she whispered. However, as she studied him, she realized that the detail had in fact made a difference in the way she saw him. So she gave her answer, "Yes, I'll work with you."

He looked so relieved. "Thank you. Honestly, I wasn't sure where I'd ever find someone sympathetic to my goal who was also qualified to do the work."

Lily nodded. "I understand."

Fenwick clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "All right, first task is to gather all the notes on aconite so that we can take them back to my lab."

Lily's participation in this task was primarily one of holding out her arms so that he could pile the research into them. As they were leaving the lab and reaffixing the padlock, Fenwick looked around the quiet flat.

"Where's Mar? The kid?" He had the box of fritters tucked under his arm as he turned the key.

"Lachlan's at the cinema with his grandfather. Not sure about Marlene. She and Sirius sent me for the fritters, but the place was like this when I got back."

At this, Fenwick seemed to stiffen. The expression that overtook his face was not a pleasant one. He dropped the box of fritters to the ground and then stalked to Marlene's bedroom door and opened it without knocking.

"Oh my god!" Lily whipped around after getting an eyeful she hadn't wanted or expected. Sirius and Marlene were in bed, and they were…right in the thick of it.

"Hey! Close the door," Sirius demanded.

Fenwick didn't even acknowledge him. "Four months. Fin's only been gone four months and your bed's open for business, is it?"

Lily was still facing away from the bedroom, but she heard Marlene make and ugly noise. "None of your concern, Ben."

"Like hell. It's my best mate you're disrespecting."

"Don't you dare look at me like that, Fenwick! You're not is a position to judge anybody about anything." There were shuffling noises as Marlene spoke.

Fenwick snarled in return. "I can judge whether or not Fin deserves better. I can't believe this!" He spun on his heel and stormed toward the door.

Sirius was saying, "Ignore him."

But Marlene followed Fenwick, pushing past Lily. "Oh, no you don't," she fired at her friend when he reached the door in the kitchen. "You hypocrite! You serial philanderer! You do not get the last word in this!" She was tying her dressing gown closed as she walked.

"Marlene!" came Sirius' voice. But she did not reply.

Lily heard him approach from behind her, raised voices echoing in the garage below.

"Well," he said. "That was bloody awful."

Lily wanted to look at him, to comfort him, but there was something she needed to know first. "Padfoot?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you wearing trousers?"

Silence. Then, "Give me a second."

There was rustling of clothing and possibly bedding, as though he had to dig through the pile.

Finally, Sirius said, "All right, you can turn around."

Lily did, and what she saw was Sirius pulling on his boots without lacing them, his long hair hanging loose over his bare chest, but his trousers were on. He started routing through the lump of linens on the bed again.

"What are you looking for?" Lily asked shifting the pile of research in her arms.

"My shirt."

She pointed at a glimpse of black material peeking through the pile. "Is that it?"

"No," Sirius snapped. "It's not mine. It's hers. It's all sodding hers!" Lily blinked and took a step back. "Fuck it," he growled as he picked up his leather jacket from the floor and put it on over his unclothed torso.

He led the way to the door, the main one that led to the outdoor stairs, not following the arguing friends that they could still hear yelling at each other below. Lily trailed after him.

It was snowing outside as they descended the concrete stairs and approached the street. Lily fumbled for her wand to cast a protective charm over the brewing notes so that they wouldn't be ruined by the weather.

Sirius' expression was a new one to her: blank, empty. Yet there was a turbulent energy about him that told her that below the surface was a different story.

She held out her hand for him to take, for side-along Apparation. "Let's go home."

He didn't reach for it. "I need a minute," was all he said, and he sat on the sidewalk, into a puddle of wet and cold, his eyes focused on nothing in particular.

* * *

**Author's Note:** A large part of this chapter deals with wrapping up some loose ends from BT&amp;T. If you found yourself confused about the storyline involving the Malfoys, I would go back and read chapter 17 (the New Year's party) to fill in the blanks. Also a disclaimer: the views of Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy regarding eighteenth century gothic literature do not reflect the views of the author of this fic. (Just to be clear—_Camilla_ is awesome.)

For those that didn't remember/know, aconite = Wolf's bane; they are different names for the same plant. And for those of you wondering if all this werewolf stuff means more Remus in the story (finally!), yes. Yes, it means that. : )

Hope you liked the chapter. Please review!


	9. Everybody's Driving with Full Headlights

****Disclaimer:** The characters and situations of _Harry Potter_ depicted in this story are the legal property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

* * *

"_London's burning! London's burning!  
__All across the town, all across the night  
__Everybody's driving with full headlights._"  
The Clash  
"London's Burning" (1977)

**Chapter 08: Everybody's Driving with Full Headlights**

"I believe her. She said she gave it to Rosier without any leading. I didn't even say his name until she did," Narcissa told Snape in hushed tones. They were standing in the foyer of Malfoy Manor, speaking to each other as lowly as possible to try to avoid the inevitable echo. The ceiling was three stories high and the whole room was lined in white marble. "I don't know what good it does us, really. It's her word against that of a trusted servant, and she's clearly lost her grip on sanity."

Snape's expression was pensive. "I think you're underestimating the value of your visit. If Lucius had given Alida the note and she had not delivered it, the blame would be on him and there would be little we could do. But that's not the case. She delivered it to Rosier, which means that he is lying for some reason and is a strong enough Occlumens to avoid suspicion."

Narcissa worried her lower lip. "What if I talked to him?"

Snape goggled at her. "The Dark Lord?"

"It might make a difference—"

But Snape was already shaking his head. "No it wouldn't. All it would do is make him aware of you and your knowledge of his dealings. He'd either kill you or force you to take a Dark Mark. Lucius has gone out of his way to keep you from that, and with good reason." There was something tight, strained in Snape's features as he spoke. She saw it sometimes on her husband's face as well, and wondered at it. She was very aware of Lucius' desire to keep her clear of Death Eater business, and she was still trying to think of the best way to confess to him that she had gone to Azkaban to speak with his cousin. Snape continued, "Not only that, it wouldn't help Lucius at all. The Dark Lord is not going to trust your word or Alida's over Rosier's."

She was becoming frustrated. "Then what can be done?"

Snape motioned silence at her and she glowered at him. "I'm thinking."

"Mistress?" the tiny, squeaky voice of a House Elf intruded into the conversation. When she looked at the creature, it continued. "Master Lucius is calling for you, Mistress."

She turned back to Snape. "If you'll excuse me, I'm needed elsewhere. Cobble will show you out. Contact me if you ever finish _thinking_ of a way out of this mess." She meant it in the most insulting way, but Snape was smiling in a practically triumphant fashion.

"I believe I have." He gave her that slight bow of his that always seemed on the border between sincere and mocking, and lifted his pointed hat to sit upon his head. "Don't fret, Narcissa. Everything will be all right. We have the truth on our side." And with an enigmatic grin he walked to the door with the House Elf and was gone.

* * *

"I don't understand why we're the ones doing the cleanup."

Lily looked disapproving. "Because we're the ones who made the mess."

James raised an eyebrow. 'We' wasn't really the correct term. _Lily_ had cooked dinner in Sirius' flat for the three of them, _she_ had made the mess. His fiancée had prepared all of his best mate's favorites: pork roast with root vegetables and brown bread. That equaled a lot of dirty dishes, more than enough for three people. Besides, Padfoot had reaped the deliciousness of the dinner—shouldn't he be here to help at least?

Lily correctly read the look on his face. "Stop whining. At least you have a wand. You're forgetting that you are talking to someone who had to clean the Muggle way for years. You get no sympathy from me, Mr. Potter." She kissed him, pressing her whole body against his, which was overkill levels of coaxing. "Now, help me scrub these pans."

"I'll just go get Sirius to pitch in," he said.

But she grabbed his wrist and pulled him up to the sink beside her. "No, you will not. He's had a lousy day. Leave him be."

James sighed and drew his wand. Yes, Padfoot was certainly in a funk, but James wasn't sure he liked the way Lily had taken to mothering their friend. It indulged Padfoot's darker moods too much.

He also didn't know what he thought of this _Marlene_. Lily seemed to adore her, and James had never seen Sirius this way over a bird before—even Maggie when the two of them were just starting out—but James wasn't sure he trusted her. Oh sure, he was fairly certain that she was a good person. Probably. He hoped.

But she was also intense, odd, and…anti-magic almost. She was still mourning the death of her husband, still wearing her goddamned wedding ring. Marlene was emotionally tied up, she had baggage, and that made her likely incapable of giving as good as she got in a relationship. The woman had a kid, for fuck's sake. _Sirius_ was seeing a woman _with a kid_! That was insane in ways he would never be able to articulate.

It would all be hilarious if Sirius weren't so miserable. He'd been moping all evening like a lovesick puppy, and James couldn't even bring himself to take the piss about it.

James turned to look at Lily, and his thoughts briefly derailed. That happened more than he would ever admit to another living soul. He'd be thinking about one thing, catch site of Lily, and she would politely escort all other things besides her off a cliff and out of his head.

Her vibrant green eyes were focused on her task, and her nose was scrunched up in her concentration. Ah, hell…. Fuck it.

He dropped his wand on the counter and kissed her. It wasn't a hungry or lustful kiss, but it was heartfelt. It was a kiss to tell her that she was adorable, that he loved her, that he appreciated every moment that he got to spend with her. He felt the lips under his pull into a quick smile before she returned the kiss. God, he loved her.

"Really? I can't leave you two alone for five minutes. This is _my_ kitchen, you know," Sirius' voice intruded into their moment.

Lily burst into giggles while her mouth was still against his, and James was grinning when he pulled back. He kissed the top of her head before he looked at his best mate. Sirius seemed to think that James should account for himself, but he just shrugged and wrapped his arms around Lily when she tried to move away.

The look on Padfoot's face called them idiots, but they were interrupted by a knock at the door. Sirius shook his head at them one more time before he moved to answer it.

James indulged himself with one more peck before reaching for his wand again. Voices began to drift toward them.

"What are you doing here? I didn't even think you knew where I lived," Sirius' voice sounded like it was trying to be hard, but there was no bite.

A woman's voice answered. "Lily told me you live across the hall from her."

Lily perked up and immediately moved to the doorway separating the kitchen from the main room to eavesdrop.

James rolled his eyes. Marrying a little sneak, he was. He pocketed his wand and strode up behind his girl, scooped her up into his arms, and carried her around the corner.

The door came into view as Marlene was saying, "I don't need Benjy Fucking Fenwick to tell me how much I love or don't love my husband, and what you and I are doing is none of his business either." She seemed startled to see Lily and James walking toward her.

"Hi Marlene," Lily waved.

"We'll be next door, so that you two can have some privacy," James said, and Marlene stood aside so that he could carry Lily by her. He gave Sirius an encouraging smile as he passed. "Get the door, love," he whispered in Lily's ear as they approached their flat, and she obliged.

When the door closed behind them, James continued walking rather than putting Lily down.

"Where are we going?" Lily asked.

He nuzzled her earlobe and then nipped it. "To the bedroom, so that I can make love to you."

She made a noise in her throat at his words, a noise he recognized. He knew from experience that if she had been standing, her knees have gone slack. James loved it—always randy, his girl. Always ready.

But her words said something else. "No, wait."

"Why?" He gave her a love bite at the nape of her neck.

"James, put me down."

And because he could tell that she was determinedly fighting her arousal, that she was in fact serious, he did as she asked.

She was unsteady on her feet and collapsed more than sat on the sofa. He gazed at her, smitten, while she struggled to compose herself. Lily looked up and him and patted the seat beside her.

James shrugged and sat. He could make this work; it would hardly be the first time they shagged on this particular piece of furniture.

Pumpkin jumped up onto the cushion beside them and made to climb into Lily's lap, but he waved the cat off. Lily's lap was his, for the next few hours at least.

"James! Don't be mean to her." She spoke to the cat, "Oh you poor baby, you can come back."

"No she can't," he caught Lily's eyes. "We're going to talk about whatever you want to talk about, and then I am going to—"

Lily clapped her hand over his mouth. "Oh my god, stop!" she was half pleading and half laughing. "I need to apologize to you, and it needs to be respectful and sincere, and I can't do that when you're trying to get into my knickers."

That sobered him a bit. "Apologize? For what?"

Her brows knit as she reminded him. "Dumbledore's office this morning? The invitation to join his organization?"

James' smile was officially gone now. He'd tried to forget about that, at least for today.

"You were right," Lily said. "We're partners now, and we make decisions together."

He sighed and shifted his position so that he was facing forward rather than looking at his soon to be wife. He unconsciously rumpled his hair before he spoke again. "You were right, too. We're fighting this war. Whatever this group is, of course we're joining."

"I'm still sorry."

"It was just unnerving," James continued, "how quickly you agreed. How gung-ho you were about the whole thing."

"Oh James, of course I feel passionately. People are dying." She reached out her hand to caress the side of his face, and his gaze swung her way again. "People are being hurt," and it was clear that by 'people' she was specifically thinking of him. "We're not just starting a marriage, James. We're starting a family. I don't want our children to grow up in fear like this."

He heart stopped beating. "You want children?"

She looked at him as though he had three heads. It was a silly question, and this was a conversation they probably should have already had. Wasn't this sort of thing supposed to come before a bloke gave his girl a ring?

Lily chewed her lower lip. "Honestly…?" and she seemed to lose her words for a moment. Instead she shrugged. "It's not something I thought a lot about growing up. I mean, some girls know, always have known, that they want to be mothers. I've been…ambivalent, I guess. But, since we started dating, and especially since we decided to get married, I've been thinking. I'm still pretty lukewarm about the idea of children in general, but the thought of _your _children, the thought of raising them with you?" She gave a shy, unsure smile. "Yes, I want kids."

Was there any acceptable response to that besides a kiss? His heart was soaring.

Lily chuckled, and when they broke apart she said, "I take that to mean you want kids, too?"

He nodded into her neck and pressed his lips to her throat before pulling back.

"Not now," Lily clarified, her eyes watching his face closely. "Not until after this war is over."

James nodded. "Of course."

She sighed as though relieved. He took her hand in his. Back to the subject at hand. If there was to be a future for them after this war….

"You're angry, Lily. I am too, but not like…. Don't think I haven't noticed." Her eyes had narrowed and she tried to pull her hand back, but he didn't loosen his grip. "You have reason to be—we all do. Just…please, don't do anything rash. When I see you fired up the way you were earlier, it just makes me worry. Lily…I can't do this without you."

Her face softened as she studied him.

"I'm okay," he reassured her. "They hurt me, but I'm okay. _You're_ the reason that I'm okay. So, I'm just asking…be careful."

Lily fought back her tears and then blurted, "Marry me, James."

Startled laughter sputtered out of him. "I thought we'd already agreed to do that."

Her face was a little pink from embarrassment. "No," she scrambled to explain. "We agreed to do that sometime in the future, at an unset point in time. I'm saying I want to now."

James blinked. "Right now?"

She rolled her eyes. "Obviously not. But soon."

"How soon?"

She shrugged and suggested, "Next week?"

James shook his head. "That's not enough time."

"Time for what? We're not planning an invasion, James."

"Don't you need to get a dress? Bridesmaids and all that? A cake?"

The look that came over Lily's face was so dejected that James immediately regretted whatever he'd said that hit such a nerve.

"What bridesmaids? My sister hates me. Pilar's in Spain, Hestia is doing her Magical Creatures fellowship in Australia, and Mel…"

James swallowed, definitely feeling remorse for his words.

"I hate buttercream icing, white isn't really my color, and flowers make you sneeze. I have no father to walk me down the aisle…" she trailed off, then looked at him earnestly. "Honestly James, all we need is you and me."

He forced a smile. "Actually, I think the law requires that someone perform the ceremony in front of witnesses."

She glared at him like he was being difficult for the sake of fun.

"And I'm fairly certain that my mother will never forgive either of us if she didn't get to be one of those witnesses," he continued.

"So, let's invite your parents, a few friends, and do it in an afternoon. I know the priest of my old parish would be willing to work us in at a moment's notice."

This gave James pause. "You…want a religious ceremony?"

"I want to get married in the same church that my parents did," Lily clarified.

He considered that, and then nodded his agreement. It was a small concession, and it didn't make much difference to him either way, but it was clear it mattered to her. There was something else, though, and considering what she'd said about bridesmaids he wasn't sure how she would react to it. Nevertheless, he had to tell her. "I already asked Sirius to be my best man."

She didn't seem surprised by this information, and her next words elaborated. "He told me, and I had already assumed that he would be anyway." She didn't seem upset, but she did look pensive.

"What is it?"

Her tiny smile was back, and she seemed almost reticent as she spoke. "I was thinking the other day, after Sirius told me, about a maid of honor and…." She shrugged. "James, I think within the past year, Sirius has become the closest thing to a best friend that I have, too."

James cocked a brow. "So you asked him to be your maid of honor then, did you?"

Lily laughed, and Merlin he was glad that he had made her laugh, wiped the sorrow of a few moments ago right off her face.

"No, of course not."

"We can share him," James declared magnanimously. "So it's settled. We're getting married…next Thursday. How does Thursday sound?" Thursday was far enough after the full moon that Remus would be able to attend.

She beamed. "Wonderful."

"Are we done talking?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes," she granted.

"Thank god," he said. He lifted her like a sack of potatoes and carried her to their bed, where she bounced into a position of half-sitting and half-reclining. "For future reference, an apology doesn't need to be a serious talk—it can involve sex. Personally, I think the bedroom is a great place to apologize. In fact, I'm still hurt. I might need some more apologizing."

Lily giggled and rolled her eyes. "Fine, I'll suck you off."

"Really?"

"You can just ask, James. I know it's your favorite thing—you don't need the elaborate hinting."

He didn't know about favorite, per se, but it was fucking brilliant. She knew him so well.

Lily seized him by the buckle of his belt and pulled him toward her. She had that sexy, devilish expression as she looked up at him and unfastened his trousers. Bloody hell, he was a lucky bastard.

* * *

The dining room was candlelit and shadows were cast eerily against the walls while House Elves walked back and forth serving food. The mahogany table was polished and added to the atmosphere of the room—no lightness of color seemed to be permitted, and the furniture was so sparse that there were whole cold swaths of empty space in the room. The only décor were grim-looking portraits of dead ancestors dressed in black.

It was fair to say that the Lestranges were not cheery people.

The dining table was seated to capacity with Death Eaters of Voldemort's favor, of which Severus Snape had barely made the cut due to his recent brewing of the Emerald Potion. The Dark Lord sat at the head of the table, naturally, even though this was not, strictly speaking, his home. To his right sat his old friend Alan Mulciber, and beside Mulciber was Antonin Dolohov. To the left of the Dark Lord were Aurelian Nott and Tacitus Rosier. These four had been with Voldemort from the beginning, from Hogwarts, along with Stockard Avery, who was not in attendance due to a mission. The sons of Nott, Mulciber, and Rosier were the next seated. This group included Evan Rosier, the target of Severus' plot for the night.

The Lestranges were seated at the other end of the table, along with Travis Gibbon, Augustus Rookwood, Richard Avery, Igor Karkaroff, and Festus Wilkes. Severus was jumbled into the anonymous middle of the dining table with the likes of Walden McNair, Hornby Travers, Carpus Crabbe, Stephan Goyle, and Wendell Jugson. No one took note of him, and he was barely spoken to.

Severus was doing his utmost to project an outward air of calm. What he planned for tonight was an even bigger gamble than his delivery of the Emerald Potion. It could very easily go the wrong way, but Severus had at least taken steps to protect himself if tonight did not go as planned.

The inescapable truth was that Severus had hitched his wagon to Lucius Malfoy early on. If Malfoy became disgraced, they would go down together. Severus was not going down. At the very least, he'd take that arrogant twit Rosier with him.

The meal passed in low conversation. The meeting would not properly begin until after. The men with graying hair at the Dark Lord's side of the table were eating meat still dripping with blood, and Severus found he could not watch. McNair was telling a story in which he compared the finer points of butchering of horse for meat to the butchering of a human body for disposal, and Severus found he could not listen.

He ate his greens, but they had no taste. He had a few spoonfuls of soup, but did not touch his beef or wine.

Jugson kept trying to start a conversation, but Severus did not engage or encourage him.

He pushed everything into its proper place in his mind. He closed all the doors and visualized locking them. He put them at the bottom of the ocean. He began to build his wall. None of his weaknesses had any place at this table tonight.

It was nearing time; the meal was concluding and the House Elves were clearing the plates.

When the snifter of after-dinner brandy was placed before him, Severus managed to keep his breathing even. His muscles did not clench, and his eyes did not betray recognition at the sight of the trio of hawk shaped decanters that were now pouring glasses for the entire table. He waited patiently.

Voldemort rose from his place of honor and gazed down the table at his followers. His glass was filled with snake blood and venom, as was his habit, not the brandy. He raised the glass and toasted their most recent successes, but Severus was not listening to the words at this point. Anticipation was getting the better of him and his gaze was affixed to Evan Rosier; his pulse began to race.

The Dark Lord drank, and in so doing, signaled for the table to follow.

Severus fortified his mind with one final breath, and sipped the brandy.

In that ever so small window of silence after everyone had taken a single swallow, before Voldemort could speak again, Severus Snape took his life into his hands.

"Evan, nasty business about that safe house. What do you believe happened to the Dark Lord's orders?"

All eyes swung to Severus—unfriendly eyes, shocked at his presumption.

And then….

"I don't know for certain. Alida Ackerley gave them to me in the Mosses' billiard room on behalf of Lucius Malfoy and I put them in the left pocket of my waistcoat," Rosier was speaking, the truth, against his will. "When I reached for the note later in the evening, after my midnight wank, it was gone. I asked Fest and Rob about it, because they were there when she gave me the orders, but they had no notion of what had happened. The only explanation I can think of is that they were stolen, possibly by Sirius Black and James Potter. Those two bumped into me in a very suspicious fashion in a hall at the party." Rosier's face was white. His eyes, wide with horror, darted first to his forbidding father, then up toward the Dark Lord.

Before anyone could properly take in Rosier's confession, Robin Mulciber and Festus Wilkes were corroborating story, tripping over themselves and their words, but still compelled to continue speaking.

And then the table erupted. Gibbon began talking about a time that he had lost orders as well, but had managed to muddle and lie his way through the mission anyway. Goyle confessed to knowing about that. Travers blurted that he had a habit of leaving his orders out where his wife might read them, and then Julian Nott said that accidentally left his Death Eater mask in a prostitute's suite and had to go back for it the next day. Avery said that he remembered that. Jugson smiled with relish while he recounted that he loved to kidnap girls from pubs, tell them about the people he killed in detail while he raped them, then _Obliviate_ their memories—at the same time that Crabbe started an exhaustive account of all the things he asked for when he went to see prostitutes. Goyle added that his mistress knew he was a Death Eater and was blackmailing him into debt. McNair stole mints from Voldemort's study every time he visited.

These were just the things that Severus heard—more truth was being vomited at either end of the table than could be made out above the din. But he kept his head, his mouth stayed shut even as he felt the Veritaserum burning in his belly. His breathing was even, and instead he studied the others.

This was an opportunity.

Veritaserum was powerful, but not infallible, and it revealed much about the character of those who drank it. The effects of the potion could be quashed, and not just by antidote. Evidence obtained with the truth serum was not admissible in a criminal trial for the simple fact that it could be overcome, it could be fooled, especially when a person knew it was coming. People strong in Occlumency, strong in mind and will, could master the potion's impulses.

Of course, the people who sat at the table with Severus just now had not known that this was coming. There was a window, a small window, between when everyone drank the potion and when they figured out what had happened and started to fight back. And there would be powerful motivation to fight the effects: the Dark Lord was watching. Their leader was a powerful Legilimens, but many in this room were also skilled Occlumens; this attack was insidious and devastating because it was unprovoked, unanticipated, and came from that little upstart Snape whom everyone had underestimated.

Severus relished the chaos even as his eyes swept the group, taking in the data. Not the secrets—those were now known and thus without value. No, Severus was interested in who managed to work through the dilemma fastest, who identified the cause of the outbursts and were able to stop themselves from talking.

Rookwood was the fastest, and Severus took note of that. The old mages down by Voldemort also managed it rather quickly, and so did most of their sons, including Evan. Richard Avery couldn't seem to help himself, however, and prattled and prattled. The Lestrange brothers and their father were next to pull themselves back, but Rodolphus had to reach around and clamp his hand over his wife's mouth for a few minutes before she was able to contain herself. Severus wished that he hadn't heard what she'd had to say, and judging the look on her husband's face, he wasn't alone in that.

Some were hopeless; Crabbe, Goyle, Jugson, Gibbon, and Wilkes would probably all be uncomfortably honest for hours until the potion worked its way through their system.

Finally, Voldemort's voice could be heard above them all. "Enough!"

Silence fell, and then after a beat a few began to speak again, obsessively, though under their breath as they tried to keep their voices as low as possible.

"Out!" Voldemort yelled. "All of you!"

There was frantic scrambling as everyone pushed their chairs back and clambered to their feet.

"Except you, Snape." The cold, shrill voice carried over the noise, even though the Dark Lord was no longer shouting.

Severus had been expecting this. He had not moved to stand, had in fact not moved a muscle since calling out his fateful question to Rosier. As his colleagues rammed into each other, pushing their way out of the dining hall, Severus finished building a wall, brick by brick, in his mind. It was a strong wall, the strongest he had ever built. He'd been nurturing it for days. Voldemort would not get through. Severus was safe and there was no reason to panic. He breathed in, and out, and believed that. His pulse was steady, and when he looked up at the enraged red eyes of his master, he was not afraid.

Silence hung in the room while the echoes of the retreating faded.

"What was the meaning of that little stunt?" Voldemort hissed.

Severus did not flinch. "I should have thought it obvious." He reached into his robes and withdrew a flask of Veritaserum. He placed in on the table between himself and his master, who was standing across from him. He pushed the flask toward the Dark Lord. "One of your servants was lying to you. I knew that he was lying and that he was too skilled at Occlumency and too trusted to be caught."

"So you thought to make fools of us all?" the Dark Lord's voice somehow managed to become colder.

But Severus did not falter. "I made a fool of _him_, my Lord. If one of us takes advantage of your trust, it's bad for all of us. It's bad for the cause."

Voldemort's lip curled in a snarl. "You expect me to believe that's all there was to your motives?"

"I drank the potion, too."

"Are you not also a skilled Occlumens, Severus Snape?"

"I am," Severus admitted baldly. "But I'll wager you are a more skilled Legilimens." He gestured his hand in invitation toward his head. "By all means, my Lord."

Voldemort studied the young man, shrewd eyes raking over every inch of him. The Dark Lord was no fool, and this time he would not simply mosey into Severus' mind, this time it would be complete, proper. At full power. He drew his wand, pointed it and cast, "_Legilimens!_"

Severus let him right in, without fuss. There were no doubts about the cause, no squeamishness about killing or hurting people, no lies that he had told his master, repeatedly. There was no Lily Evans. Those things were so far away, and so heavily fortified that Severus had forgotten them completely. They did not exist.

Instead, he showed Voldemort the squalor and poverty of his childhood, the fists and steel-toed boots of his father. He showed him how brilliant he had been in school, but also how persecuted and looked down upon, within his own House and without. The half-blood Slytherin, the poor boy Slytherin. The Dark Lord went forward and backward in time. He looked at memories and fantasies, dreams and nightmares, contemplations and ambitions. It went on and on, for what felt like hours. Severus did not become anxious or impatient.

Through it all, the wall held firm and remained invisible.

At last it ended, and the Voldemort that considered him now was a calmer animal. Severus had a sense that he had never had before—a sense that his master was taking him seriously.

"You do not care for the privileged position of many of your peers, do you Severus?"

There was no sense in lying when they both knew the truth. Voldemort had been in his head, he knew Severus' attitude toward these snobbish rich boys who took their place in the world as a matter of course. "No, I don't. Power should earned or taken, never given."

To this, Voldemort said nothing, merely stared. Then he reached out and took the flask of potion that his servant had offered.

"You may go."

Severus rose from his seat and bowed. His footsteps echoed off the flagstone floor as he walked to the door.

When he opened it, Bellatrix Lestrange was waiting for him on the other side. Her natural beauty was obscured by the violent fury on her face, and the still-healing chemical burns that had obliterated most of the hair on the left side of her head.

"He left you alive!" It was a shriek more than a question.

Severus inclined his head. "We had a nice chat."

"Mark my words, you little shit, I will—"

But Severus cut her off. "I wouldn't, not when it seems to be the Dark Lord's will that I live. Unpunished at that." He smiled. "Did you do something new with your hair? It suits you. Thank you for dinner. You were a lovely hostess."

* * *

"I don't know about this Fergus. I just don't know," James told the bartender at the Hog's Head. He was watching as people entered and assembled. The room had been filling up for the past half hour, ever since the clock had struck two in the morning and the Hog's Head officially closed to paying customers.

James had arrived with Lily and his mates right on time, but it seemed some of Dumbledore's friends had loose definitions of punctuality. There was a wheezy-voiced old man by the door, directing invitees as they found their way in. James didn't recognize him, but he knew Sturgis Podmore, the old Ravenclaw stick-in-the-mud Quidditch captain from his fourth year. The tosser would get along great with that git Frank Longbottom, who had raised an eyebrow when James walked in. The two of them were talking in the far corner while nursing Butterbeers with Frank's wife Alice. What a waste, that. Alice was _fun_; James had no idea what she saw in Frank.

Speaking of people who thought they were better than everyone else, there were two witches talking to each other in low voices by the fireplace who hadn't said a word to anyone else. One was tall, middle aged, wore green Healer's robes, and had her blonde hair pulled back into a rather severe-looking bun. James had caught eyes with her earlier, and her gaze had been scathing. He hadn't even said a word to her! The woman's companion was a willowy looking younger witch with chestnut colored hair, a tiny turned up nose covered in freckles, and eyes the color of ice. She kept sending Benjy Fenwick and Marlene McKinnon scowls.

Lily had informed James that Marlene and Fenwick would be at the meeting about eight hours previous, when she herself had found out. Sure, they were familiar faces, and Sirius, Lily, Remus, and Peter were sitting with them at a table just now, but James had yet to make up his mind as to whether or not he felt it was a good thing that his best mate's bird and his fiancée's boss were here.

James turned back to the barkeep. "You got anything stronger than this back there, Fergus?" He swilled his Butterbeer to illustrate.

The white-bearded man just stared back.

"Of course you do," James insisted.

Stoic silence.

"Let me guess, Dumbledore said to keep the good stuff locked up for the meeting?"

The patron shrugged as though it was all out of his hands.

James downed the rest of his Butterbeer in one long guzzle. He plunked the glass bottle onto the bar, and shuddered as he swallowed. "It's all right, Fergus. I forgive you. You're just doing your job."

"What are you doing over here?" Sirius demanded as he approached.

James spread his palms. "Just wetting my whistle."

Sirius studied him for a moment, then knit his brows and looked at James like there was a pustule growing on his face. "You're _nervous_," he accused.

James' eyes widened. "I am n—shut it!" He whipped around and looked back at the barkeep. "Another Butterbeer, old chap."

Sirius leaned against the bar beside James facing the opposite direction, out toward the room. "You're not actually intimidated by these fucks, are you?"

James opened the bottle of his drink rather than answer.

Sirius was mocking him. "Merlin you've gone soft. Now all it takes to make the great James Potter feel inferior is a job."

"You noticed that too, did you?" James said as he took a drink.

"What?" Padfoot tried to pretend that he didn't understand his mate's meaning.

"That these people all have jobs. They're professionals and bloody grownups."

"We don't even know these people, Prongs."

James glared. "We know Podmore—we both know he works in the Department of Magical Transportation. We know Alice and Frank are Aurors now. Alice got a sodding medal just last week for bravery in the field."

"Yeah," Sirius said with a grin. "Alice was always pretty cool. Wouldn't go for me though, even when I promised her I'd give her pie a good eating first."

James choked on his Butterbeer. "Jesus Padfoot! She was like everyone in the House's big sister."

"She's also sexy. You telling me you never thought of her that way?"

"No!"

"That's just your Lily Evans tunnel vision talking."

"Lily also has a job now, you know. A real one, not some juvenile, part-time bollocks."

"Yeah, she told me," Sirius said carefully. "Moony and Wormy are gainfully employed as well. Are you telling me that you're awed by them?"

Rather than answer directly, James said, "What are we doing with our lives, Padfoot? Are we even adults?"

"Yes. We're adults who have the means and privilege to enjoy our lives, without all that nasty back-breaking labor. Working is overrated."

The bartender grunted while he continued to wipe glasses with a dirty rag.

"See," Sirius said. "Fergus knows what I'm talking about." Sirius nudged James shoulder with his. "Besides, I'm more curious about the lovely little bite by the fire. Look at her, Prongs. Freckles, just how you like."

James glanced at the woman. She had a leather satchel, stamped with the Wizengamot seal. "I think she works for the courts."

Sirius whapped him across the back of the head. "Will you stop it with the jobs nonsense? Forget for two minutes that you're engaged and simply admire the scenery."

He glared at his mate. "No."

Sirius threw his eyes up toward the ceiling in exasperation, but Lily was in the room and James wasn't daft.

"Wormy, back me up," Padfoot spoke to their friend whom James hadn't even heard approach. "The bird by the fire—fuckable, right?"

Peter sort of squeaked. "No, don't look at her!" He pushed his way in between James and Sirius and lowered his voice. "That's Dorcas Meadowes."

"She scary?" Sirius asked.

"She's fucking terrifying," Peter declared adamantly. "And she's in a mood because Fenwick's here."

"They know each other?" James asked.

Peter nodded. "She used to be a friend of Marlene's from Hogwarts and she and Fenwick dated for years."

The mention of Marlene perked Sirius up. "What happened?"

"Fenwick can't keep his wand in his pants," Peter said at a whisper. "He fucked around on her with, like, five other women. Two of them were his own assistants. One was his main donor's wife. When the whole thing blew up in his face, Meadowes went a bit vengeful."

Sirius considered that. "Understandable."

"Well, apparently, she planted Class A Non-Tradable chimera eggs in his potions lab and got him arrested. That's why he has a Limited Apparation License—his criminal record."

"Morgana's frigid tits, that's cold," Sirius said with a whistle.

"She also got his research funding pulled for three years."

Padfoot clapped him on the back. "I think your story peaked with the arrest, Pete."

Wormtail's face colored. "Well, I just wanted to be thorough. I didn't even get to the part where one of Fenwick's assistants cornered Meadowes in a Ministry lift and threw a Tar Curse at her face. Meadowes broke the girl's wand in half and then used a Shearing Charm to cut off all her hair. It was so powerful, the girl's _still_ bald."

James' eyes were wide. "Jesus, Peter! You're such a bloody gossip."

His face now beet-red, Wormy shrugged. "Farrah knows a lot about what goes on at the Ministry."

"And it just came in handy." Sirius rumpled their friend's hair. "I knew you were getting shagged—you always talk more when you're getting shagged."

Peter grinned guiltily through his pink skin.

Sirius' eyes found Marlene, where she was talking animatedly to Remus at a wooden table. "Everything's better when you're getting shagged."

James fought the urge to roll his eyes, somehow doubting that they were even discussing Peter anymore.

The old bartender hummed in his throat.

Sirius said, "Fergus knows what I'm talking about."

With a pitying sigh, Peter said, "Moony doesn't."

Padfoot made a face. "Too right. Bless him, but that stubborn bloke is going to die a virgin."

"We shouldn't let that happen."

"Of course we shouldn't, Wormy. We're excellent friends and we'll find him someone. There's got to be some girl, somewhere, who wouldn't mind being bored out of her mind in the sack." Sirius turned to the barkeep. "You know any birds with low standards, Fergus?"

"I know some goats," the old man said.

All three young men froze and stared. They hadn't expected him to speak—he never spoke!

After a moment, Sirius choked out a wicked laugh. "You're brilliant, Fergus! Brilliant."

Peter also laughed uproariously at the joke.

James cracked a smile, but found himself strangely out of the moment. His mind had snagged in the middle of that last conversation, and he was having trouble moving on. Benjamin Fenwick had a history of seducing his assistants. James couldn't help but note that _Lily_ was currently Fenwick's assistant. He didn't like that, not one bit.

He turned around on his barstool and his eyes went right to Lily, as they were wont to do. She was talking to Fenwick now, and James was seeing the man with new eyes. He was good-looking, charming, and a potions genius; Lily had been known to settle for one out of the three.

James felt sick, and his eyes went to his lap. What was he thinking? He trusted Lily, didn't he? They were getting married in a matter of days. And she was so excited about this job. She was a gifted potion maker and she had been offered an opportunity to foster that potential. He couldn't really ask her to give it up, could he?

"Prongs? You all right, mate?" Sirius asked.

James sat up straight and nodded, but his friend still looked concerned.

The main door banged open and four huge men entered. A tiny dark haired woman followed. James recognized the largest of the men—and he was largest by far. Rubeus Hagrid, the barmy gamekeeper at Hogwarts. James had only spoken to him once, but Sirius had a passing friendship with the man.

With him was a man with a bald head and a long sandy colored beard, and two beefy red-headed men who were obviously twins. The three of them were rugged-looking, with weather beaten skin. They were laughing as though there were some hilarious joke.

"Good lord," Sirius muttered, taking stock of them.

"Gideon and Fabian Prewett," Peter supplied. "They've been cited twice for illegal breeding and selling of magical animals. Which is crazy, because that man they're with? That's Gwythyr Hash, and he's head of the Beast Division for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

Sirius clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Corruption in the Ministry. I'm shocked."

"Who's the little one?" James asked, indicating the woman.

"His wife," Peter answered in hushed tones. "Isaura Hash. She works in the Improper Use of Magic Office. They say she's part hag."

"Blimey, Dumbledore's got some weird friends."

The barkeep grunted in agreement behind them.

Remus was weaving through the tables and chairs toward his friends. "What are you doing over here?"

"Pete's gossiping like an old biddy," Sirius said with an expression of disgust.

Wormtail let out a noise of offense.

"We're _all_ gossiping like old biddies," James corrected.

Remus looked like he regretted coming over.

"We were just talking about getting you some skirt so that you don't die a virgin," Sirius said. "Unfortunately, it looks like we have Marlene and Lily—which you _cannot_ have; Alice, who's too good for you and married to bloody Frank anyway; a vengeful Valkyrie of Shearing Charms; a half-hag with a mountain troll for a husband; and a goat that Fergus knows." Padfoot sighed. "You may have to settle for the Healer with dust in her vagina."

Remus' eyes swung over toward the fire and woman standing there. "Emmeline Vance? She's lovely."

Sirius scrunched up his nose. "Tell that to her face."

"Fancy her, do you?" Peter waggled his eyebrows.

Remus didn't deign to respond to that.

"Fine!" Sirius sighed in exasperation. "You're a finicky one. The goat it is."

"I thought we were here to fight Death Eaters," Remus said mildly, motioning that he would like another Butterbeer and paying for it. "Sex isn't really part of that."

"It is if you're doing it right," Sirius disagreed.

Even James gave him a look for that one.

But Padfoot persisted. "_Everything_ involves sex if you're doing it right. Especially heroic stuff—birds eat that shit up."

"Dumbledore's here," Remus announced, and he sounded relieved.

James, Sirius, and Peter turned toward the door to confirm. It was indeed Dumbledore, and he was flanked on either side with middle-aged men. One was a short, jittery wizard with a purple top hat, and the other even James recognized.

"Edgar Bones," Peter breathed. The Head of the Unspeakables Office.

"If we _are_ gossiping old biddies, and I'm not saying we are," Sirius said they watched a lot of handshaking taking place, "then I feel it is our duty to discuss which old man in this room right now is wearing the stupidest hat."

There were a few to choose from, but Dumbledore dashed any plans of discussing the matter because he began to speak.

"I would like to thank you all for coming to the first ever meeting of the Order of the Phoenix."

One of the twins spoke up. "That's what we're calling it?"

Dumbledore fixed the man with his gaze over the top of his half-moon spectacles, but there was an affectionate twinkle there. "Yes, that is the chosen name." The Headmaster addressed the room. "We are about to begin, but first, if you require any refreshment, my brother should be able to help you." And then he gestured right at the bartender behind the Marauders.

The four of them turned to stare at the man who had been serving them alcohol for years, shocked to silence. There was something there, in or around the eyes—something familiar, and James wondered how he could have possibly missed it before.

Sirius seemed to be the only one of them who could muster words. "Son of a bitch…."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Um…I take no responsibility for the things that Sirius says. He starts talking and before I know it, I've written like ten pages and he's run away with the entire scene. I might be possessed. The Marauders calling Aberforth Dumbledore "Fergus" is an old joke that I resurrected from chapter 8 of BT&amp;T. I just meant to toss it in there once, but then Sirius happened…and you know the rest.

There are a few reasons why the Order meeting did not include everyone that Harry saw in Moody's photograph (OotP), and why there were a couple of people that weren't in the photo at all. I don't want to go into it yet, because it could get spoilery, but I just wanted you guys to know that the inconsistency was done on purpose, and it's not going to be a departure from canon at all. I'm staying on script—I promise! In a later author's note I will explain more.

So, Snape's becoming a baller, right? Obviously, this chapter required research into Veritaserum, its effects and limitations. Rowling's interviews and the Harry Potter Wiki have a lot to say about it, but I tried to work the relevant details into Snape's POV. If you still have questions, feel free to do your own research or you can review/PM me—I always answer inquiries.

Hope you liked the chapter guys. Please review!


	10. Send Me Dead Flowers to My Wedding

****Disclaimer:** The characters and situations of _Harry Potter_ depicted in this story are the legal property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

****Warning:** This chapter contains a sexually explicit L/J encounter.

* * *

"_And you can send me dead flowers every morning,  
__Send me dead flowers by the mail,  
__Send me dead flowers to my wedding,  
__And I won't forget to put roses on your grave._"  
The Rolling Stones  
"Dead Flowers" (1971)

**Chapter 09: Send Me Dead Flowers to My Wedding**

"Severus?" A voice called up the winding, dark stairs. "Is that you?"

Severus closed his eyes and nearly winced at the sound. He had hoped to slip out unnoticed while his mother was at the market. There were rapid steps of clattering high-heeled boots on the wooden stairs to his old bedroom.

He had just finished tying the canvas sack closed when his mother appeared in the doorway. She wore faded clothing of gray and black that hung on her skeletal frame, and her limp, dark hair had been knotted at her nape. He had expected to see her trademark sour expression, but instead there was something pulling at her sallow, sunken features that looked almost like concern. It served to harden him—_she had no right_.

Her chest heaved a bit with emotion, and she walked her way around the bed and pulled him close in an embrace. He allowed it, but did not return it. When she pulled back, her eyes were shining. She swept his hair off his face and caressed his cheeks.

Severus felt a tug inside him, and he revolted against it. She deserved nothing of him.

"I'm not here to see you, Mother."

Eileen Snape paused at his words, then withdrew her hands and wrapped her moth-eaten gray cardigan tightly about her body. "I know," she said softly. She could see that he was preparing to leave. "Let me make you some tea to take with you. It's a chilly day, and the church is not well heated."

Severus looked at her sharply. So…she knew. She knew what was happening on the outskirts of Cokeworth today.

Slowly, he nodded and then he followed his mother out of the room and down the creaky wooden steps.

The tiny house was a creature of his maternal grandfather's invention. A poor but brilliant and inventive man, the whole house was lined with bookshelves and every doorway was a hidden secret passage. If you didn't know where to find an entrance or how to open it, it would all look like unbroken shelves.

His father had hated the house. Severus remembered one particularly bad night, when his father had gotten drunk, started a fight with his mother, and then lit a bonfire with over fifty books out in the street, in front of the whole town. One of them had been his son's treasured copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. Lily had tried to comfort Severus by bringing him another copy the next day that she had purchased at Diagon Alley. That book was now in the canvas sack he'd brought with him, along with all the other gifts from over the years, every picture of Lily he owned, every letter she'd ever written him.

It was three passages from Severus' bedroom to the cramped kitchen. His mother wasted no time in putting the kettle on and then seemed to busy herself trying to put together a snack for him to go with the tea. He allowed her to do so, even though he knew he wouldn't eat it.

"I heard about the Evanses dying in that automobile accident," Eileen said the word 'automobile' as though it were foreign, each syllable enunciated carefully. She knew what it meant, she had married a Muggle after all, but it was not a comfortable part of her vernacular. "Did you attended the funeral?"

Severus waited until she glanced up at him before nodding.

"Did you visit your father's grave?"

He simply stared at her, saying nothing. After a moment, she looked away and began slicing some brown bread. She did not press the issue.

"I didn't think you would ever set foot in that graveyard again. Isn't that what you said?"

The tea kettle began to whistle before he answered. "I was sixteen, Mother."

She removed the kettle from the heat. "Yes, but my boy is a stubborn boy," she smiled at him, but it was a hollow thing that did not meet her eyes. "And you did love your grandfather so. His funeral was hard for you."

There was nothing to disagree with there and nothing to say. He watched as she wrapped the buttered bread and apple up for him, and put the tea in what he knew to be her least favorite cup. She seemed to understand that he would not be coming back to return it.

As she gave the items to him, Eileen indulged herself in another hug. It lasted longer than the previous one had. "I'm so sorry about Lily, my love," she whispered in his ear.

He jerked away from her. "That's none of your business," he snarled. "You know nothing about my life."

His mother studied him with a pained expression. "Perhaps not. But I know all about Lily Evans."

Severus banged his cup and bundle of food down on the table, enraged. She had no right! No right at all. "Her name is not Lily _Evans_. Not anymore, not after today." And then he stalked to the door and slammed it behind him. Without looking back he set off down Spinner's End toward the church.

* * *

Peter had never seen James so jittery. Ever. Even before a Quidditch final or after an Acromantula encounter. All the same, he didn't seem nervous, just overly energetic with every movement and reaction exaggerated. He kept laughing very loudly and a goofy-looking smile hadn't left his face all morning.

"Bloody hell, Prongs. Will you just sit down for a moment? Your pacing is giving me a goddamned headache," Sirius growled, his body draped over a pew.

The priest shot a glare their way that only Peter and Remus noticed. It seemed that the man of God didn't much care for all the swearing they were doing in his church.

"Can't help it, mate," James said with a shrug. "Best day of my life, you understand."

"Is your tie crooked on purpose?" Moony asked.

James looked down. "Fuck! Why does that always happen?"

"Because you won't leave it alone."

"Fix it," James begged.

Remus raised an eyebrow. "I'm not your mother."

"Could've fooled me," Sirius said, then addressed James. "Calm down. No one gives a bleeding damn about your tie."

There was a huff as the priest slammed his Bible shut and walked away from where the four boys were waiting at the front of the country church.

"What's his problem?" Sirius asked with a chuckle.

No one answered him, and James was now trying to adjust his tie, but only making it worse.

Peter tried to fill the silence. "Where's Lily?"

James shrugged, his fingers caught in the silk knot he was trying to straighten. "Marlene's helping her get dressed in one of the side rooms. They both have wands, so hell if I know what's the hold up."

Sirius ran his fingers through his long unbound hair. "Can't start anyway, not until Mum and Dad Potter get here."

"Should be interesting," Prongs flashed a grin. "Father's never worn Muggle clothes before."

"Isn't anyone from Lily's family coming?" Remus asked.

James shook his head. "We invited her horrible sister, but I wouldn't count on it." He had finally managed to knot the tie, but it was somehow more crooked than before.

"That's awful," Remus said with sympathy.

"Well," James shrugged, "Lily and I stuck our fingers in her cake and then snuck off to have a shag during her wedding, so I suppose…." He abruptly trailed off when he saw his parents approaching. "Hello, mother," he squeaked out as though he hadn't just been talking about having sex in a church.

James' parents were dressed impeccably as always, with Mrs. Potter even abandoning her typical white clothing for the day. Instead she wore a dress of violet. Peter noticed that Mr. Potter looked quite uncomfortable in the pair of slacks he was wearing, but they both looked the part of proud Muggle parents.

"Really, Sirius," Mrs. Potter tisked. "Get your feet down off that pew."

Padfoot did one better and stood. He lifted Mrs. Potter into a twirling hug. When he placed her back on the ground, he kissed her cheek and said, "Hello, mum."

She blushed and pushed him away. "Now, really."

Sirius then embraced Mr. Potter, while Mrs. Potter greeted Peter and Remus. She was always warm toward James' friends, and Peter quite liked her.

"Jamie, how in Merlin's name did you manage _this_?" Mrs. Potter said when she saw the state of her son's tie.

James gave his best daft-little-boy shrug and allowed his mother to fix it. Sirius mockingly pantomimed behind Mrs. Potter's back, but James seemed to be ignoring him.

Peter backed away and went to stand by Remus when the older woman started to gush about her "baby getting married." Moony gave Peter a strained smile, and they both looked on the scene uncomfortably. It went unsaid, but they both knew what the other was thinking: James had no idea just how lucky he was to have such a good relationship with his parents.

Sirius approached the two of them to gripe. "Dunno what's wrong with Lily that she would choose this place," he said. "Who gets married without alcohol?"

"James said there was champagne for afterward," Remus offered.

Padfoot made a face that indicated he didn't think champagne counted.

Moony looked at him and seemed to be screwing up his courage. Peter had noticed this multiple times today—Remus on the verge of saying something to Sirius only to think better of it. This time seemed to be _the_ time, however.

"Um…Padfoot…?" he began, and waited for his friend to look at him. "I've…I seem to have stumbled upon some bad luck of late. That new law compelled me to, erm, declare myself to my employer, and I'm afraid that I no longer have a job. That leaves me short of scratch to pay the rent next month and my parents say that they cannot afford to take me back just now."

Sirius eyes flashed throughout Remus' story with anger. Peter knew that the taller boy's sense of loyalty was kicking in, full force. He threw an arm up around Moony's neck and ruffled his hair. "Stay with me. I've got an extra room being used for nothing but card tables," he preempted Remus' request, ending the awkward moment for everyone.

Remus sagged with relief. "Really?"

"Yeah," Sirius defused casually. "Stay as long as you like. Be nice having a flat-mate. To be honest, James and Lily do nothing but shag anyway. Not exaggerating—they are in a constant state of fucking like rabbits. It's just going to get worse now that they are making this monogamy thing official. We'll probably never see them again. I need a lad to tear up the town with."

Suddenly, Remus' face was showing some trepidation, and Sirius confirmed what he seemed to be fearing with his next words.

"We'll take care of that cherry of yours."

Moony's eyes went wide.

Sirius placed a finger over his lips. "No need to thank me. We're mates. It's the proper thing to do." With a look toward Peter he added, "Wormy will help too, won't you?"

With a laugh, Peter nodded.

"Well…thank god," Remus said as though he were looking forward to it about as much as he would regrowing bones or eating a cauldron full of tripe.

It was then that Lily entered with Marlene, and all conversation stopped. That was customary with a bride's entrance wasn't it? Peter was sure it was. She wore a white dress of some kind of light, airy fabric. The sleeves weren't proper sleeves, more just lace wrapped around her arms like a shawl would. The skirt grazed the stone floor, and her waist was cinched with a leather belt, which Peter belatedly recognized as the one James always wore. Her hair was unfussy, hanging down her back with a few fake flowers woven in here and there, and her smile was as broad as the one the groom wore.

James bounded up to Lily like a puppy and kissed her. That got him a scolding from his mother, who told him he should be doing things in the proper order. Mrs. Potter apologized to the priest and everyone began to take their places for the ceremony.

* * *

Severus was hardly foolish enough to think that it was appropriate for him to enter the church. He knew he wasn't invited, wasn't a guest. He knew what today was.

It was goodbye.

The river, polluted by the old mill and neglectful populace, ran through the graveyard that connected with the church. Severus approached it with his canvas bag and sat on the bank. He pulled at the drawstring, withdrew a fist full of letters, and began to read.

_…__don't know what I did to anger her so this time. Mum says to give her space, but it's hard not to be hurt. And I'm so worried. What if it's never the same again? What is she just keeps finding new reasons to hate me forever? This feeling is awful…._

_…__Slug says that if you add the knotgrass first you get a more potent brew, but the recipes I've found conflict on that point. My own brewing results have shown that…._

_…__was certainly uncharitable of him, don't you agree? I think there is good in everyone. The world would be a really ugly place otherwise. Of course, Tuney thinks that he was right…._

_…__what you said about wand grip really helped, Sev. It gave me a whole new spin on my thesis for the essay…._

_…__stuck to his face, for all the world to see! I kept trying to tell him, but he wouldn't stop talking. Pilar and I couldn't make eye contact, because otherwise we would have laughed. Of course, when Melody walked up and saw, she couldn't help but interrupt by blurting out…._

_…__because Dad said that we can take the train at the end of the week. I'm so excited! You'll love it, Sev. Just you wait till you see…._

_…__owl delivered my letter. Have you seen our book list for this year yet? I'm getting the feeling that fifth year is going to have a good deal more work than we've had before. Makes sense of course, what with O.W.L.s and all, but it's still intimidating. And to think, you're taking one whole subject more than I am. Are you nervous about…._

As he finished each one, he folded it up and replaced it in the bag. Some of these letters he had not read in years, and it was almost like reading them for the first time. Others had worn creases showing that they had been folded and unfolded many times.

When he was done with the letters, he looked at the pictures. There were only a handful of them, and they all had shabby edges. As he placed each one back in the canvas bag, there was an actual physical pain in his chest that he had not expected. It was difficult to breathe.

Knowing what was coming, what he intended to do, he found himself staring at the last picture they had taken together, during Christmas holiday of their fifth year. Lily's father had taken the photo while Severus had been in the middle of unwrapping her gift to him. They were both in pajamas and huddled on the Evans' floral patterned sofa, surrounded by discarded wrapping paper. Tensions had been high at the Snape home at the time, and Mrs. Evans had invited Severus to stay for the duration of the holiday. It had been the best Christmas of his life.

He studied the photo. Lily was making silly faces the way she always did when she knew a camera was around, and trying to cajole Severus into joining in. He looked staid and dark beside her, just as he always did, and she all the brighter for it.

Just months after this photo was taken, Severus had taken a path that had led him forever away from this moment. Up until that awful day of the Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L., Severus had been playing it coy: slowly building credibility with his fellow Slytherins, while maintaining his friendship with a Muggle-born Gryffindor. The indoctrination of his grandfather's views, his ugly feelings toward his Muggle father, and the ideals of his Hogwarts House, all warred with the perfection of his best friend, with the kindness of her parents.

At the time, Severus had thought having one foot in either world was difficult. He had felt torn, had felt like a hypocrite. However, now that the choice had been made, he was acutely aware of what he had lost the day he had called Lily a "Mudblood". It was a word he had not used since, a word he would never use again. There was a price to using that word, and Severus respected that now. No other word in his vocabulary cost the friendship, the love, of Lily Evans.

The "what if…" of the moment tormented him.

The night before that fateful day had been a glimpse of that possible, alternate future. He was no idiot; he knew that he and Lily had done what they did under the effects of a potion. He knew that it wasn't a declaration of intent on her part. It probably never would have happened again, no matter what. Severus knew what he looked like, what he was—Lily never would have loved him, not romantically. And he had been too stubborn, too short-sighted, and too scared to see that he loved her. But it had been his virginity; it had been his, and it had been hers, and that was something wasn't it?

Severus told himself firmly that the path not taken was not a path to the altar of this church with Lily. In all likelihood, it was, in fact, a path to a seat in the pew of this church watching her _still_ marry that pompous pillock Potter. Would that be worth it?

He thought of his rising status within the Dark Lord's ranks, of the respect he had gained from his peers, the power that was now possible before him, and he decided no. No, a seat in that church was not worth it. He loved Lily, he missed Lily, but he grimly set his jaw and admitted that he had made the right choice. He was on the correct path.

That thought made it easier to replace the picture in the bag, to tighten the drawstring closed, and to take every memory he had of his childhood best friend, the woman he loved, and hurl it wholesale into the slimy, dirty river. He watched the current carry the sack away, around the bend and out of his sight.

* * *

James' hands were practically vibrating in hers, and it made Lily smile. Father William was rattling off a very stuffy and old-fashioned ceremony, but Lily was barely listening. She couldn't keep her eyes off James—his messy hair, his well-sunned skin, his lovely eyes beaming with joy. She had never seen him so happy and it was ludicrously contagious.

Sirius pretended to have misplaced the rings, Lily thought more to annoy the priest than James, and he kept the lark going too long. It was only when Mr. Potter cleared his throat pointedly that Padfoot reluctantly produced the rings from his pocket.

When James recited his vows, holding her hand while he slid the ring into place, his gaze arresting, Lily felt herself getting lightheaded. Forever. With utter sincerity and confidence, James promised her forever.

When it was her turn, she heard her voice quavering with some measure of surprise, and was further so when she realized she was crying. Her heart hammered in her ears. Sirius' grin was gone as he watched her, and she could tell that her raw emotion had taken him off guard as well.

James kissed her before Father William told him to, and Lily returned it without thought. James was _hers_; her partner, her ally, her friend, her husband—for life.

* * *

Severus stood at the top of the hill at the farthest end of the graveyard, gazing upon a lie.

Tobias Henry Snape  
August 3, 1931 - February 24, 1978  
Beloved Husband and Father

He was appalled. What a deluded woman his mother was. _Beloved_... In reference to the man buried here, that word belonged nowhere near "father."

Laughter trilled upward on the wind toward him, and he turned to face the church from his distance once more. The wedding party was exiting through the wide principal doors. Severus could make out the streak of Lily's vibrant red hair as the wind gently rippled the airy fabric of her white dress. She was far enough away that he could not see her smile, but he knew it was there.

The wedding party was small, little more than a handful of people and they were all embracing while a camera flashed. Black popped open what seemed to be a bottle of champagne, and there was a toasting of flutes full of the celebratory drink. Black finished his and then began to drink straight from what remained in the bottle. A formidable-looking older woman scolded him for it and took the bottle away from him. Severus guess that she must be Potter's mother.

Severus watched in silence, the wind pulling ever so slightly at his black cloak. _I feel nothing_, he told himself. _I've lost nothing_.

When they were gone, he turned back to the grave at his feet.

Severus was not his mother. He would never find himself where she was now: a pathetic heap, love the only thing about her that remained unbroken. Love for a husband who had never really loved her back, who was the cause of every bad thing in her life, who even in death held sway over every bit of her.

Eileen Snape was weak, she was disgusting. She had sacrificed everything for this monster, never faltered in her devotion. Even when she saw her son covered in bruises, burns.

Today, Severus was free. Tobias Snape was dead, Eileen Snape was a ghost in a house she would haunt alone for the rest of her days, and Lily…_Potter_ was gone. She was part of another world now, a relic of another life. It was entirely likely that he would never see her again, their paths had diverged so absolutely. This was a good thing, his life would be better for it, and besides, he'd barely notice the difference. Any tiny voices that said anything in the contrary were walled up in the back of his mind where Severus had stashed everything else that was of no use to him.

He was free. Cokeworth held nothing for him anymore and there was absolutely no reason to ever come back after today.

Severus pulled his wand from the inner pocket of his robes and he pointed it at the grave. With a sneer of variegated hatred and satisfaction, he wordlessly blasted his father's headstone into rubble.

* * *

James gloried in the feeling of Lily sighing beside him in contentment. Their nude bodies were pressed against one another enjoying the breeze from the window, not yet having made it under the covers. It was the third recovery period of the night and Lily had been telling him a silly story about Sirius and Marlene working on the motorbike together, but she had trailed off when it concluded and her breathing was becoming even.

He shook her faintly. "Oy," he said with a slight grin. "I already told you—you're not sleeping tonight."

He felt her chuckle against him. "I think you've done your husbandly duty. I'm well shagged."

She was at that, James thought smugly. Her lips had a fully bee-stung appearance, her nipples were teased sore, and he had left lovebites all over her skin—her thighs, belly, shoulders, the cheeks of her arse, her back, neck, and the underside of one of her breasts. Her beautiful little slit was red with use. Admittedly, his body was no better off—teeth and claw marks everywhere.

"I don't even think I could come again if I wanted to," Lily said as she gave his nipple an open-mouthed kiss.

James perked up, and he felt his cock stir slightly. "That sounds like a challenge."

Her green eyes flashed up at him from where her head was nestled on his chest. "Maybe it was."

A rumbling noise of need shook its way from his throat. "God love, you'll be the death of me."

She giggled as he rolled her onto her he back. James buried his face into her neck and tasted the skin he found there with his tongue. His hand cupped her face, then stroked her throat, collarbone, bypassed her breast and instead caressed the sensitive skin on the side of her ribcage, stopping only to grip her hip and hold her wet heat against him. She entwined her fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth to hers.

"Merlin…oh, _James_," she whimpered. "You're always hard."

He chuckled before countering, "You're always wet."

"I didn't use to be!" she protested and he kissed her jaw. "It's your fault."

Blame he would take gladly, and he told her so.

His cock nudged the folds between her thighs, and he heard her inhale sharply—more in pain than pleasure. James felt a twinge of guilt for the vigor with which he had taken her earlier, but he also knew that she had enjoyed herself.

He kissed the tip of her nose. "All right, love?"

Lily nodded. "Little sore, but I want you anyway."

Shit, she was perfect. He kissed her, caressing her tongue with his. "I'll be gentle."

With that, he began to move down. He moved his lips against the surface of her chest, the stubble on his chin stimulating the skin between her breasts, her flat stomach, and yet he went lower.

Lily may say that she still wanted him inside her, and she may mean it, but he had no desire to make her sorer than she already was. It went against his big picture goals to put her cunny out of commission. He had to think of tomorrow night, and the night after, so his cock would just have to go hungry.

But he was still going to give her a good come. She had asked for it, challenged him even. He could feel her thighs vibrating with excitement, with anticipation, when she realized what he intended.

James kissed the sensitive skin where her legs met her torso, took his time, made sure every millimeter received love. Her pretty lips were next, tender and fragrant with her want. He went gently, but deliberately, with knowledge of her body and what made her clench the sheets. Licks, nibbles, nuzzles, kisses, and he was still working his way to the _coup de gras_. Her clit had been given quite a bit of attention tonight, and he needed to approach with finesse, lest he overstimulate it.

Lily was panting, keening moans filling their little bedroom. The noises she was making were getting slowly brasher, gradually more insistent, but there were no words save his name sprinkled here and there. Her hands were in his hair again, and his arms had snaked under her open thighs so that he could stroke her stomach, her aroused little tits. She arched into his touch, hips lurching and pulsing against his mouth.

When his tongue at last found her sensitive nub, it was not in a frontal assault, but rather more a guerilla methodology—there and gone again when least expected.

James' jaw began to ache as the minutes progressed, but he ignored that and continued. Her moans were getting louder, sharper. He graduated to one of his tried and true tactics: drawing Quidditch plays on her pink folds with his tongue. He could feel the build inside Lily's body; every muscle was tense, her breathing was frantic, and the sounds issuing from her throat took on a shrill quality.

He flicked and savored her clit with his tongue, lapping her juices, while his hands gently pulled at her raw nipples. He did not slow or falter, taking her bucking hips and the sharp nails on his scalp in stride. And then…the tipping point came. She screamed her release, her whole body quaking and her hot center clenching at his lips. It went in waves until she was drained and spent, crumbling back down onto the bed. James nursed her orgasm, taking care that she got every throb of pleasure she could out of it.

It was a few minutes later when he finally disentangled himself from her legs, prized her fists from his hair, and moved up to settle beside her with a groan of his own. He felt a swelling satisfaction at the effect he was able to have on her body, and ignored how desperately his cock was now throbbing. Lily's orgasms always had that effect on him.

After a moment of enjoying her contented bliss, he glanced at the clock. "It's three o'clock in the morning. I know we said we wouldn't be sleeping, but I think we properly celebrated our wedding and I'm knackered. What do you say we clean up and go to bed?"

Lily's eyes cracked open. She smirked and then nodded her head, but then she stopped him when he started to rise. She placed her hand on his chest and used it to push him onto his back. Then she rolled herself up onto her knees and swung her leg over his hips so that she was straddling him.

"Did you really think I'd let you go like this?" she said with a mischievous smile, taking his engorged length in her hand.

He drew a sharp breath, and he gave a half-hearted noise of protest when she lowered herself onto him, enveloping him with her heat. "Oh fuck," he groaned, throwing his head back into the pillow.

She began to ride him with steady, rocking pulses. "I know you were trying to spare me, but there's no need to be noble. If I get to come, you should, too."

Naturally, he couldn't even talk, let alone argue now that he was inside her. Good god, her walls were so_ tight_…so_ slick_. The chafed, rawness of his own skin was making itself known, but it was just adding a sharp quality to his pleasure, heightening his response to her.

Oh bugger, he was coming already. He gripped her hips to his tightly as he shot himself into his wife for the fourth time that night.

"I love you," he grunted when he regained his powers of speech.

With a smile, Lily leaned forward and kissed him as she returned the words.

He groaned when she lifted herself from the bed and he slipped out of her. He listened to her footsteps as she padded to the loo, then heard the water in the sink running.

James was sorely tempted to just drift off, but forced himself to his feet instead. He used his wand to make the bed hospitable for sleeping and picked their crumpled wedding clothes off the floor.

He took his turn in the loo when she was done. James washed up and brushed his teeth, pulling on a pair of boxers when he was done. The room was dark when he emerged and he felt his way to the bed. He removed the glasses from his face before lowering himself beside her. She immediately nestled up to him. He draped an arm over her and took note that though she had pulled on a long T-shirt, she had left off the knickers. He rumbled in appreciation at that and kissed the crown of her head.

He sighed in exhaustion and was already half asleep when he heard Lily speak.

"Forever…."

"Hmm?"

"Today," she said. "You promised that you would love me forever. I'm still in shock about it," she teased.

"Well, I'm easy," James smiled tiredly. "And no change, really." He stroked her hair. "Just saying out loud what I've known for years."

Silence, and then her voice came again, this time small and hesitant. "How do you know? How _can_ you know?"

He shrugged as best he was able in his exhaustion. "Dunno. I just do. Made my mind up a long time ago."

He felt her chuckle against him in the darkness. "You just decided? Is that what you're saying?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, obviously, there's a part of it that is just instinct, that just…comes to you, and takes you over. But that's just the beginning, how it starts. Love is a choice, too, and that's how it keeps going." He brought her hand up to his mouth and pressed his lips to her palm. "And I will. I promised I will make the choice to love you, you know, every day."

"Forever," she added.

"Forever," he agreed.

She kissed his chest and they fell to silence. He was too tired to think much about the conversation they had just had or to wonder at what was going through her mind that she would bring it up in the first place. He was dozing almost immediately, and in the morning he did not remember what had been said.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Happy end of finals! At least it is for me. I decided to celebrate by writing smut, I hope that's all right with everyone. I also hope no one died from the fluff and sap. That's why there's the Snape stuff—I needed that lovely nastiness only he can bring to balance things. ; ) Besides, I thought James' choice to love Lily and Snape's choice not to might provide a nice contrast to each other. Though, of course, we all know how Snape's choice ends up in the long run.


	11. The Windows are Open Wide

****Disclaimer:** The characters and situations of _Harry Potter_ depicted in this story are the legal property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

* * *

_"And the streets they're lined with lamplights,  
__And there's one for every door.  
__The gates ain't even padlocked  
__And the windows are open wide,  
__And the drapes they're pulled completely  
__For what they have to hide."  
_Suzi Quatro  
"Official Suburban Superman" (1973)

**Chapter 10: The Windows are Open Wide**

"This is some kiddie table shit right here," Sirius grumbled.

"If it makes you feel any better—"

"It doesn't," he cut Remus off.

James wasn't happy about their mission either, but there was no use complaining. Playing lookout was better than not getting to play at all. He motioned the waitress over and requested another coffee.

"This isn't really what I had in mind when I signed up to fight Death Eaters," Padfoot continued his grousing as soon as she was out of earshot. "What makes bloody Frank and this Dearborn wanker more qualified to break and enter than us?"

Remus didn't mince words. "Auror training. Years of it." He yawned in an exhausted fashion—it was after midnight, after all—then continued. "Besides, it's not just breaking in. It's also casting all the right tracking charms and planting the surveillance jobberknoll. You've never done either of those things."

"I learn quick," Sirius retorted. "Even Pete gets to do more than us tonight."

"I told you that our lack of job experience was a liability," James said bitterly. "We have no marketable life skills."

"Speak for yourself," Sirius snapped. "I can brush my own teeth. Planting a jobberknoll can't possibly be harder than that. Besides, if they were planning to develop our skills at all, Gibbon would be good target to use to break us in. Blighter if there ever was one. They only reason we know he's a Death Eater in the first place is his own incompetence—left orders in pubs all over town. Idiot wouldn't notice an entire person hiding in his broom cupboard."

Remus looked skeptical, but did not challenge his friend. "Be that as it may, this is our assignment.

"Advanced coffee drinking at all-night cafés," Sirius' sarcasm was in full form. "Thank Merlin they had the three of us on call, else they might have to use monkeys."

James thought it prudent to change the subject, and he did so by bringing up something that had been eating at him for weeks. "Am I crap at giving gifts?"

Sirius and Remus each paused, a light, night breeze buffeting their hair as they sat around the little outdoor table. A look of discomfort passed between them, with the former in particular appearing as though he were bracing himself for a maelstrom of bollocks, but James was undeterred.

"Don't roll your eyes, I'm not joking," he snapped.

"We know," Sirius said. "That's why we're rolling our eyes."

Remus ignored him. "Where is this coming from?"

James raked his fingers through the hair at his temples. "Something Lily said."

"What did she say?"

"That I always give her jewelry."

Sirius was wastefully dropping cube after cube of sugar in his long-abandoned, cold coffee. "You _do_ always give her jewelry."

"Was she complaining?" Remus asked neutrally, spreading some butter on bit of toast. He was the only one of them to have ordered food.

"No," James admitted. "She said she's fine with it."

"And yet we're having this conversation," Sirius muttered.

"Last night, she gave me Quaffle signed by Drusilla Waters." James sipped his own coffee as he recalled opening the gift. Honestly, he'd been floored. Waters was a record-holding Chaser for the Falcons, his favorite team. She'd played for England! Never mind that Lily had exploited Fenwick's connections to get it, James had been impressed and touched.

"That sort of thing is wont to happen on birthdays," Remus said dryly.

"Yes, but it got me thinking. Lily never gives me what I'm expecting. I just…. I want to make sure that my gifts are on her level. I don't want her to ever think I'm taking her for granted or something."

Sirius interrupted his own mime of vomiting to get affronted. "Wait. So this is _really_ all about Lily? All that matters is that she gets spiffy special gifts?" He nudged Remus beside him and said, "We're not even an afterthought anymore mate. That brain of his is just all Lily, all the time, with no room for us and our own predictable gifts."

James paused, lowering his mug, eyes widening at his friends. "Wait, you lot hate your gifts, too?"

Remus glared at Sirius. "Of course not, Prongs. No one has said they dislike your gifts—not even Lily." He took a sip of his hot chocolate and James noted that he chose his next words carefully. "All that has been said is that you tend to find something that works and stick with it."

"Puzzles," Sirius said pointing to himself, then to Remus. "Books."

Remus nodded. "Peter always gets Gobstones, and it seems with Lily you've focused on jewelry."

"Not a bad choice when you're shagging a girl," Sirius said around some bacon he had nicked off Moony's plate.

Remus seemed to agree, but James was unconvinced.

"You two really don't mind that you always get the same thing?"

Sirius seemed to be considering taking the piss a little longer, but finally shrugged and shook his head.

"I've never received a book from you that I didn't want to read," Remus reassured.

James was slightly mollified, but he couldn't stop himself from asking his next question. Turning to Sirius he asked, "What kind of gifts do _you_ get Lily?"

"Whoa," Sirius said as he pushed his chair back from the table. "I'm out." He stood and reached for his jacket.

Eyes wide in alarm, Remus snapped, "Sit down, Padfoot! Are you out of your mind? We can't leave—we're mid-mission."

Sirius scoffed and didn't even bother to keep his voice down when he said, "It's just surveillance." He even turned and pointed to the stoop with the dead plant and the blinking streetlight across the way. "Are you two telling me that you can't watch that door without me for another fifteen minutes?"

James and Remus reached out, almost in unison, and jerked Sirius back into his seat.

"Merlin's knickers, Padfoot. Grow up," James scolded.

His eyes rolled as he lifted another piece of bacon of his friend's plate. Remus acted as though he didn't even notice.

"Don't compare what you give Lily to what I give Lily. That's not even the same Quidditch Pitch, not to mention that it's none of your business—and it doesn't matter. Stick with the jewelry, mate. It's working. She didn't shut up about that bracelet you gave her for weeks. Trust me, she's happy."

Remus cleared his throat and waited to speak until all eyes were on him. "If the consensus is that we don't want to be stuck doing surveillance missions going forward, the best way to get more training and then better assignments would be to execute this one well."

"Always have to be the voice of reason, don't you Moony?" Sirius griped. "Fine. We'll watch that damned door. We'll watch it better than it's ever been watched before."

* * *

"We're up and running," Sturgis announced.

"How can you tell?" Peter asked curiously.

With one of his wide, blunt fingers, Sturgis pointed. "You see that little glowing wand that just appeared, the purple one?"

Peter's eyes searched the oversized map of the city of Manchester, the one covering most of the wall in the pitch dark room that served as a Tracking Hub for the Department of Transportation. Tiny parchment lanterns dotted the cityscape, as well as little blue, heatless flames and assortment of miniature wands. The blue flames represented fireplaces connected to the floo network, the lanterns stood for registered Portkeys, their routes and destinations glowing softly in pulses. The diminutive wands represented witches and wizards registered to Apparate, and these were moving. There were some thirty or so wands meandering over Manchester, sometimes disappearing and reappearing, though it only signified a small portion of the wizarding population of the city.

"Most people aren't tracked," Sturgis had explained. "Just people with visas, high ranking officials, people under government protection or investigation—things like that." And to track a person's Apparition required physical contact, a task that had been given to Alice earlier tonight. It seemed she had been successful in tagging Gibbon.

The map was humming with activity, though Sturgis had assured Peter that it was much busier during the day. "This is right quiet, actually," he'd said as it was nearing half of one in the morning.

"There it is!" Peter couldn't help but blurt when his eyes finally found it.

Sturgis raised his brows, but refrained from mocking and merely nodded.

"What do we do now?" Peter asked.

"You're going to head down to your department and make sure the connections between Gibbon and the designated augury and wupple are equally strong. Then we wait."

Slightly nervous and a little embarrassed, Peter nodded and went to do his part.

* * *

The silvery vixen bounded through the open window and landed on the shop floor between two dismantled cars.

Lily cried out before she could catch herself, but the fox was just a wisp of herself, no substance to speak of. Marlene rose from where she had been crouching, reaching for a shop rag to wipe her hands.

The animal opened its muzzle and spoke in a feminine voice that arrestingly strong. "All hands are needed. Travis Gibbon has Apparated into an unknown area and we don't know what we are walking into."

Lily's eyes flew to the clock on the wall. It was just after three in the morning, and they had only begun their surveillance of Gibbon tonight. Surely they were not going to pull the trigger on the operation so quickly?

The vixen gave coordinates for a rendezvous spot and then left the way she came.

Marlene sighed, then walked over to her workbench and grabbed up her wand and her cigarettes. Her hand flicked a button on her stereo, effectively silencing the Beatles. She turned to face Lily, her voice oddly uneven.

"You ready to do this?" she asked. "Really do this?"

Lily had been feeling slightly frightened a moment ago, but seeing her friend tremble caused her courage to return in force. She nodded confidently.

Marlene lit a cigarette and took a drag or two before she Disapparated with Lily, following the coordinates they had been given.

The crack rang in Lily's ears and the air was pressed from her for an uncomfortable instant, but then she found herself in a cold and dark forest. Marlene was beside her after a moment. In the clearing with them were two very large men with ruddy skin and ginger hair. Lily remembered them from the meeting as Gideon and Fabian Prewett. Also with them was a wheezy old man called Elphias Doge, sitting on a weathered stump.

"Is this it?" one of the red-haired men asked Lily. "Anyone else coming with you?"

She shook her head, her wand at her side, but the fingers that held it thrumming with energy. "It was just the two of us when the message came through."

His twin shrugged and said, "It's just as well. Everyone will meet us at cottage."

"What cottage?" Marlene asked, some of the anxiety having left her voice.

He gestured westward. "Gibbon Apparated hereabouts, with a woman he kidnapped this night, then trekked roughly a mile to a cottage. There's anti Apparition and Disapparition charms all around it. Frankie and Caradoc followed him when Sturgis sent out the word. Apparently hooded men have been arriving all night. Caradoc reckons there's a good seven or so of the bastards in the cottage."

"Looks to be a Death Eater outpost—our very first." The other Prewett's teeth flashed in the sparse moonlight.

Doge nodded. "Dumbledore has given orders. He wants us to take the cottage and rescue the civilian."

Then the old man gave some instruction on how to approach the cottage without being detected, but he was more than once interrupted or contradicted by the Prewett brothers, and Lily privately thought that they were probably the more knowledgeable parties. Neither of the brothers looked as though they even slept indoors.

"We will join with the rest before converging on the cottage," Doge concluded.

"How many are we tonight?" Marlene asked.

The man who had a moment before been addressed as Gideon by his brother answered rather than Doge. "Moody's back in in the country, so he's leading the operation. Frankie, Alice, and Caradoc led their group here first. They have Potter, Black, and Lupin with them. Gwythyr, Hagrid, and Dorcas are also on their way. That's all we could scrape together tonight without drawing attention."

Fabian shrugged. "We outnumber them and we have the element of surprise. Should be fun."

Lily secretly felt grateful for the update on James' whereabouts.

The Prewett brothers cast spells on the group to keep their footsteps and voices silent to anyone but those within a few feet before they set off. Lily stayed close to Marlene.

"You all right?"

After a moment of consideration, Marlene nodded. "Look at you," she said affectionately. "So calm and cool."

Lily smiled and wrapped her arm around her friend, giving a comforting squeeze. She wasn't as collected as her outward appearance might indicate, but there was nothing to be gained in telling Marlene that she was scared, too. Instead she changed the subject.

"I wonder when they'll teach us to cast a Patronus so that we can send messages, too," she said as they walked.

Marlene shrugged, "Soon, most likely. Never was able to do it at school—just little smoke trails from my wand. They say your Patronus is supposed to be a reflection of yourself, of what makes you feel safe and strong."

"I wonder what mine will look like," Lily mused aloud, though privately she had a few theories. "That fox was beautiful."

Marlene glanced her way. She was silent for a moment as though she were deciding whether or not to volunteer information, then seemed to decide in favor of divulging. "It was Dorcas."

Lily hesitated. James had shared with her what he had discovered at the first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. She had not been able to help seeing her boss in a different, more repugnant, light after hearing the gossip, but she had been too shy to ask Marlene about it. It was none of Lily's business after all.

But then, if Marlene was going to just bring it up…. Lily checked and their companions were just out of the radius set by the spell and would not hear their conversation.

"I heard you used to be friends."

Marlene nodded. "Oh yes, through all of Hogwarts. We ruled Hufflepuff, she and I. We did everything together—Quidditch, skiving off class, even dating Ravenclaw boys. We both had a weakness, you see. Smart men—there's nothing better. Of course, in retrospect, maybe Dorcas should have stuck to her own house. A nice Gryffindor mightn't have been so bad, either."

Lily looked at her in confusion.

"Loyalty is very important to Dor, and Ben…well, I gather you heard the story?"

She nodded.

"Benjy fucked that one up royally. Blew up his entire life because he was thinking with his blasted cock."

"So it's all true?" Lily had been hoping there was another side to it, or that it was just silly, fictitious blather.

Marlene inclined her head. "Mostly, I guess. Not sure what you've heard specifically, but it's probably true. Benjy was brewing with some illegal substances, sleeping with a young and stupid girl, and the Exploding Snap tower went down and fire-balled right in his face. Dor made sure he paid for it."

"Is that why you aren't friends anymore?"

"Right after it happened," Marlene said carefully, "all I could think about was Dor—was she all right? I was there for her. But she took it too far, she got too mean. She snitched that he had non-tradable substances in his lab and had him arrested. She told his donor that Ben had been sleeping with his wife—which actually wasn't true—got his funding pulled, and she campaigned to have all of his work discredited. Incidentally, that funding and that work was also Fin's—they were working together. The work _was_ valid and important, whatever she testified in that hearing. Fin was able to crack the child protection component for common household potions because of the work he and Benjy had done together. She didn't care. She just wanted Benjy to suffer. It got to a point where I just…couldn't relate to her anymore."

Lily absorbed that for a moment, let the new information fill in blanks. Tentatively, she pressed. "Weren't you angry with Fenwick?"

Marlene nodded, stepping over a fallen log. "Furious. He broke my best friend's heart, killed it dead…permanently, it seems. He put my husband's career in jeopardy, and I was pregnant at the time. It was a long time before I forgave him."

"But you're friends with Fenwick again now."

"Didn't speak to him for more than a year." Marlene shrugged. "He's an idiot. Smart men can also be the stupidest. He lost _everything_ and he learned his lesson."

Lily pictured the state of the art potions lab he had now. "Seems to have gotten it back."

Marlene smiled a little evilly and she shook her head. "Not the thing he wants most. He'll never get Dorcas back, doesn't matter how hard he tries. All his gifts and letters will be returned unopened, she'll always have him thrown out of her offices. The irises he has delivered on her birthdays go straight into the fire. Even if he's one day able to convince her that his remorse is real and that he still actually loves her, she will _never_ take him back."

"What about you?" Lily asked, lifting a branch out of the way so that it would not hit her face. "Would she take you back?"

"I doubt it," Marlene said honestly. "Dor is not a very nice person these days. Damned good prosecutor, but…the girl I knew at Hogwarts, the one who was my best friend for so long, she's just gone. I've accepted that."

* * *

"As I have told you before," Severus said through clenched teeth, "the potions you are requesting take a fortnight to prepare. I cannot rush them if you wish for their effects to be fully mature."

The old man before him glared downward superciliously. He had evidently taken a dislike to Severus during the unexpectedly truthful Death Eater dinner party, and Lucius wished Severus would stop rising to the bait.

The Mulcibers were not to be trifled with. The patriarch was flanked by each of his sons: Robin, who was glaring malevolently, and Geraint, the elder of the two, who looked bored. His eyes wandered to Lucius, who immediately found an excuse to look away. Geraint had always made his skin crawl, even at Hogwarts.

Wendell Jugson and Travis Gibbon were messing about with some chicken feet behind the intimidating old man and Lucius fought the urge to roll his eyes. The Dark Lord must be recruiting all comers for these two morons to have snuck through. He caught McNair's eyes and indicated wordlessly that something should be done. McNair strode forward and ripped the chicken feet out of the outstretched hands of the snickering younger men.

"I was told you would cooperate, Snape. I was also told that you were the most skilled potion maker to which we have access. Was the Dark Lord mistaken in that?" Mulicber's voice was sharp and forbidding.

"I received nine N.E.W.T.s in my final year of Hogwarts," Severus said coldly. "Yet I am afraid I never mastered the ability to speed up the lunar cycle, and I have never heard of a Potions Master who can."

Lucius felt the tension in the room rising to a boiling point, and he stepped between his friend and the old man. "Of course, the instant the potions are finished, we shall Apparate them to you immediately. You shall not have to wait a moment longer. We live to serve, sir."

Lucius almost choked on the words, but saying them was preferable to being choked to death in reality. Severus made a noise of disgust behind him, but Lucius ignored that and continued to smile in a goddamned simper, staring up into those baggy, jaundiced, old eyes.

Mulciber did not appear convinced or impressed, but Lucius did not have to endure the coming tongue-lashing, because there were some frantic footsteps on the wooden stairs leading up to the ground floor.

"There's movement in the trees!" Igor Karkaroff shouted down the stairs.

A thrill of fear shot through the room.

Lucius whipped around to face McNair. "Are we expecting anyone else tonight?"

McNair slowly shook his head, his eyes wide. "Just one subject for interrogation. That was our only delivery."

Mulciber walked, the cane he leaned into taking nothing away from the menace he was capable of instilling, up to the cowering form of Travis Gibbon. "Imbecile, were you followed?"

Gibbon was vigorously shaking his head. "No! No, of course not!"

"It could be an unscheduled drop-off," Geraint suggested with a shrug. The gaunt young man was the only person in the room that seemed unconcerned by this turn of events. "Perhaps there was an unexpected capture."

"Karkaroff!" McNair shouted up the stairwell. "Is it one of ours?"

Instead of replying in kind, the footfalls on the stairs returned, this time joined by another set of feet. Karkaroff and Yaxley were soon joining them in the crowded cellar.

"I doubt it," Heath Yaxley's voice was almost shrill. "Ours wouldn't sneak through the undergrowth."

"Aurors!" Karkaroff hissed.

McNair smacked him on the back of the head. "It is _not_ Aurors. It would have to be an official investigation for it to be Aurors, and we have too many eyes in the Ministry. We'd know before the ink on the warrant dried."

He had hardly finished speaking when a godawful shriek ripped through the air.

"The Caterwauling Charm!" Karkaroff was already speeding to the door of the secret passage exit behind the bookcase on the far wall, the one leading to the underground tunnels beneath the forest.

"What about our captive?" Yaxley asked in a panic.

McNair shook his head. "Leave her—there's no time. She's been under a Blinding Charm the entire time. She didn't see any of our faces."

The men were clamoring for the secret passage exit when they heard the windows break above. The only person who wasn't rushing to escape was Severus. Lucius was in the tunnel before he realized that his friend was not with him. Closing his eyes and cursing silently, Lucius turned back.

"Severus! What are you doing? We need to get out of here!"

Black eyes flashed in Lucius' direction. "I'm not leaving my work to be found." Severus was stuffing scrolls of parchment in his pockets and then grabbed up his recipe book and hurled it into the fire.

There were voices upstairs now, and the sound of the door in the entrance way being blasted apart with a bang.

Lucius seized the scruff of Severus' robes and dragged him bodily to the secret tunnel. The younger man struggled, but Lucius just lifted him off the ground, and when a parchment scroll dropped, he did not allow Severus to retrieve it. As soon as they were safely inside the tunnel, Lucius triggered the door closed.

* * *

"What's that cindering in the fire?"

Lily leaned closer before she answered. The pages were largely obliterated as the book had landed with its covers butterflied in the flames, but the title was still readable: _Moste Potente Potions_.

"It's a potions book," she announced.

Remus was beside her. "A Dark one," he amended.

"Goes without saying," Frank said. He was checking the contents of a cauldron simmering over a portable flame.

Sirius and James made rude and mocking gestures behind his back. Lily pretended not to notice.

"We searched the forest, but they're gone," Dorcas Meadowes was telling Senior Auror Alastor Moody, who was examining the bookshelf against the far wall.

"Little wonder," he tugged on a book and the shelf slid aside to reveal an unlit tunnel. "They rabbited through here. Long gone by now."

Moody was an intimidating man, with cold dark eyes and scarring lining a face that had never been handsome. Lily was instantly frightened of him.

Alice Longbottom provided her report next. "Dearborn, Doge, and I took the woman we found upstairs to Dumbledore. She's safe."

"She have a name?" Moody asked without looking at his subordinate, still examining the mechanism of the secret door.

"Arabella Figg," Alice said readily. "It's unclear why the Death Eaters had such an interest in her. According to her, she's a Squib."

Moody grunted as though he were unconvinced. "We'll see about that." Something seemed to catch his eye, and the man stooped. When he straightened there was a scroll of parchment clutched in his hand that had rolled under a nearby stuffed chair. "What's this then?" he asked before unfurling it.

Alice and Dorcas, who were nearest to him, leaned in.

"It's a recipe," Dorcas said flatly, her freckled nose wrinkling almost as an involuntary impulse. "Potion brewer's shorthand."

"Can you read it?"

Dorcas shook her head.

"Any brewers here?" Moody demanded.

After a heavy swallow, Lily raised her hand.

He motioned impatiently to her, and Lily jerkily approached. She took the offered scroll, and her eyes scanned the scribbling. It wasn't just any shorthand: it was coded. And Lily recognized it instantly.

Even, heavy steps clomped down the stairway before Lily was asked to translate.

"Moody," Gwythyr Hash said from the landing, "you're going to want to come see this."

Even though it was only Moody that had been summoned, the cellar emptied out of curiosity and followed the two men up to ground level.

Hash led them behind the cottage to a garden patch that had been destroyed, completely dug up. The large man called Hagrid stood beside the hole, a spade in his hand and mud on his clothes. Marlene sat on a nearby stump, face grim, the Prewett twins beside her.

Lily advanced toward the recently excavated soil, and she felt James' arm move around her shoulders. When at last she was near enough to see down inside the hole, she gasped and her left hand came up to cover her mouth. The roll of parchment in her right crumpled as she clenched it into a fist.

A man and a woman, stained and smeared with soil, faces screwed up and frozen, flesh rotting and sagging, occupied the pit. It was a grave.

* * *

James stopped in the doorway, eyes fixed upon his wife. His hair was still dripping from the shower, chest bare and ready for bed in his flannel pajama bottoms. She was seated upon the hearthstone and had removed her cauldron from the hook over the spitting fire. Her clothing was crumpled and her shoes were piled on the nearby rug. A shoebox full of parchment was open on her lap. She wasn't moving.

"Lily? Love, are you all right?"

When she turned, he was dismayed to find her face streaked with tears. Heart pounding, he went to her immediately. The shoebox was briefly crushed between them while he knelt to embrace her.

"He was there," Lily whispered against James' ear. "At that awful place. I recognized his handwriting."

His brows knit. "Who?"

Her voice was so soft he almost didn't catch her answer. "Severus."

James froze, at once stiff. Then he pulled back.

Lily's eyes were wide, wet, and begging him not to be angry or jealous.

He swallowed, indecisive of how to react, studying her face. His gaze dropped to the collection of parchment she clutched in her lap. Letters, James realized. From _him_.

"I've kept these," she confessed the obvious. "They're from before, so I thought…" Her hands were trembling and fat tears were landing in the shoebox. "These are happy memories, from…from my best friend. It seemed okay—I'm mean, really, what harm was it? I told myself that our history was complicated, and that made it okay to feel nostalgic, to miss him sometimes."

Sobs were wracking her dainty shoulders, and without thought, James took her hands in his to steady her.

Her halting voice continued. "But it's not okay."

"Because it's not complicated," James supplied. "It's simple."

She shook her head. "No, it _is_ complicated. It's always complicated when a good person stops being a good person," she insisted. "But it doesn't matter that it's complicated." Lily bit her lip. "There are things, things so awful…that it just stops mattering that it's complicated. His side of the story, his justifications, who he was before…it doesn't matter."

Something hard had crept into her features, and James had to move his arm out of the way because she had extricated one of her hands from his and lifted the shoebox. In one motion, the whole thing was dropped into the fire.

There was a long moment before James could react. He rubbed his hands against his face and then raked his fingers through his hair. Shock was vibrating through him, because the sight that had just presented itself was one he would have sworn he'd never get to see. He had long resigned himself that a soft spot for Severus Snape was simply part of Lily. Sirius had even made the argument that this was a good thing, that it spoke to hopeful and good-hearted parts of her nature, and James had reluctantly made his peace. But that wasn't what was happening in this room now.

James' Lily, his sweet, resilient, endlessly forgiving Lily, had just given up completely on someone she loved.

* * *

**Author's Note:** To all the Snape haters who have been asking for this scene in reviews and PMs for _years_, I just have one little word of caution: don't celebrate too hard. Everything in moderation, people. Tomorrow's a weekday and you have work/school. Party responsibly. ; )

It's weird to think of Moody with both eyes, but he has them in the photo he shows Harry in OotP, so there's that.

According to _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, a jobberknoll is a little bird that makes no sound until the moment of its death, and then it lets out a long scream consisting of all the sounds it has ever heard. I thought it might be interesting if Aurors used these as surveillance tools—raise them in isolation in a soundproof room, plant them in an area they need bugged, then kill them to harvest information. _Super_ dick move, but it was the '70s. I like to think of this as something that modern Aurors would never dream of doing, a practice that has since been outlawed as inhumane.

Thank you so much for being supportive and patient even though I ditched y'all for France for two months and then took another two months to get my ass back in gear writing. I'm getting the ball rolling on my writing again, so the regular updates are going to start back up.


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Harry Potter, Drama, Romance