Harry Potter 1. chapter one

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated characters and recognizable names belong to J K Rowling. Obviously they do not belong to me. If they did, I sure as heck wouldn't be posting stuff about them here.

The album _Dark Side of the Moon_ is not mine, either – I'm not laying any claims to things that were dreamt up before I was born. DSotM belongs to Pink Floyd, geniuses of electronic music and mixing that they are, and this fic was greatly inspired by it. Strange that an album inspired by a crazy man so suits this story. Anyway, I'll keep lyrics-insertion at a minimum for the sake of those who are unfamiliar with the album – I know that there's nothing quite so annoying as lyrics you don't recognize inserted in a fic – but I do encourage you to pick up a copy of this album. You can find used copies up at ridiculously cheap, and it will be well worth your Time and Money...

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AN: This is the first fic I've written in a while. I've been working on original stuff for months now, and this is a sort of congratulatory reprieve for me. It's more an idle amusement than anything, but I plan on finishing it, and that's a start.

dark side of the moon

a fic by Jean Farwig

It's pouring rain at the station. Hundreds of children ranging from age eleven to seventeen are milling about the platform beneath umbrellas and drycharms, accompanied by family and searching for their friends. The diversity is almost overwhelming. Here are the rich ones, the children born of old-money aristocrats; here are the underprivileged ones, carrying worn, secondhand books; here are robes of the finest fabric, here are shabby-looking uniforms, here are blue jeans and tie-dyed t-shirts.

It is almost time to leave. A mother is scolding her daughter for losing her gloves; a boy, too young to join the group on the train, is hugging his older sister good-bye; a young man, head covered with a heavy hood, is checking his watch. The smoke streaming from the train's chimney is mingling with the moisture in the air. It bites at the corners of their eyes, the smoke, and they can smell it, the sharp, bitter tang of coal. A whistle screams. It is time.

The children are rushing to the train now, scrambling for seats and waving out of every window they pass, saying good-bye to their loved ones for at least the next three months. These young ones are excited, and their heads are filled with memories of summer holiday, and they cannot wait to tell their friends all about it. They cluster together in the train compartments, forming cheerful, secure little clusters, noisy and bubbling with the pleasure of being back amongst their second family. They are content, despite the hard times the world is going through, and the furthest thing from their minds is the dark threat that seems to dominate the thoughts of everyone else. They know they are safe here, these young children, and they have not a care in the world.

But the older children are worried. It shows in their eyes, though not necessarily their actions. They know what is happening; they know what evil is menacing their idyllic world, and it lays heavily on their minds. They have read about the massacres, about the assassinations, and they all wonder who might be next, who might have fallen into ill favor with the evil whose name they dare not speak. They wonder as never before whether they are truly in safe hands, or whether the safety of the school that was always perceived before was not just an illusion to keep them docile and controllable. They have lost the innocence and absolute faith of childhood, and they sit there in their compartments doubtful and nervous and keeping up the cheerful façade as well as conscience will allow.

Of course, there are always exceptions to the rule, and there are several in this case, in varying degrees of exceptionality. There is one who seems to have maintained that youthful innocence despite the adversity, and there is one who never had any innocence to begin with, and they are sitting on opposite ends of the train.

chapter one

"I don't see why you bother bringing that," James said frankly. "You know it's just going to quit once you get to Hogwarts."

"That's what you think," Lily said as she popped a cassette into the player. "This year it is my goal to adapt this thing so it'll run off magic. I did some reading up this summer and I don't think it'll be too difficult. In fact, I think it's going to be astonishingly simple, if my theory is correct." She smiled beatifically. "Now, if you don't mind, I am going to listen to Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young and there's nothing you can do, short of setting me on fire, to get my attention." She sighed happily and pressed a button. Her eyes fluttered closed, and a moment later James could hear a faint, tinny tune leaking through the headphones.

He snorted. "I bet we could think up something a little less pyromaniacal that would get her attention," he muttered to Sirius, who was sitting beside him. Sirius chuckled deviously, and Remus gave them a disapproving look from across the cabin.

"Don't you dare," he warned.

"We're not talking extreme, here, Remus," Sirius said cajolingly; "just a little mischief. No mayhem at all. We promise. Don't we, James?"

James nodded. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Your mischief always turns into mayhem," Remus said. "At least wait until we're at Hogwarts."

"But we can't get points taken off us here," Sirius said.

"I can hear you, you know," Lily said, not bothering to open her eyes.

"Turn it up, then," Sirius said.

"Absolutely no mischief," Remus reiterated.

"My research shows that mischief is a perfectly acceptable form of dealing with stress," Sirius said. "Therefore I shall be getting into a lot of mischief this year to compensate for the hell that is sharing a house with my mother for two months."

Remus sighed. "Well, can you wait at least another..." He paused to examine his lunar watch. "...another five hours, give or take a quarter or so?"

Sirius affected a tone of long-suffering. "All right," he said, "I'll try, but I'm not putting anything in writing. I guess I'll try to content myself with some relatively innocent entertainment." He pulled a pack of cards out of his pocket. "Anybody up for Exploding Poker?"

"I don't think so," Remus said delicately. "I'm still nursing burns from last year."

"Sissy," said Sirius, and commenced a game of Combustible Go-Fish with Peter and James._

* * *

_

Several cars down, there was a young man who had fallen asleep. 

Or at least he _appeared_ to have fallen asleep. His eyes were shut, his head was drooping, and judging by the pallor of his face and the dark hollows beneath his eyes, it would seem that this nap had been a long time in coming, and was exactly the thing that this boy needed.

However, he was not sleeping. He was quite awake, and had his few companions chosen to investigate, they would have discovered that he was not only awake but that he was as alert as an Auror that had just entered a danger zone. His hands, tucked beneath his arms, were trembling, not from the cold, as he wished them to believe, but with the tension of a deep and precise fury.

It was a righteous rage, and at the same time he knew it was singularly selfish; he had every right to this wrath, and absolutely no right at all. He tried to convince himself that the whole situation was simply ridiculous, but so far he was failing dismally. Or, rather, he was failing to earnestly _believe_ that it was ridiculous, because though he knew it was, he felt the insult and the disappointment like a punch in the kidney.

It shouldn't have made him smile, the fact that the only wisdom his father had ever passed down to him concerned the family reputation and the keeping thereof. It did, though; it _did_ make him smile, partly because of the irony of the situation, and partly because it meant that his father bothered enough to worry about the state of the family's reputation at all.

There weren't many things Severus found amusing, but hypocrisy to this extreme was one of them.

In any case, this year Achaicus Snape had neglected to give him that dour old order, and Severus felt resentfully bereft because of it. He made no attempt to reason with this rage; he knew very well that it had been silly to ever have grown to expect something from his father. He had thought that this was different, though, different because of the nature of the thing. Achaicus might not have cared about his son's well-being, but the family name was a different thing altogether. Despite the fact that it was sullied beyond repair already did not prevent the man from instructing his son not to tarnish it further while he was away at school; Severus could only imagine some personal sort of slight when Achaicus abandoned the tradition without word or warning.

Penelope had driven him to the station, not out of any sudden motherly urge but out of plain necessity. Both Mason, the butler, and Dewey, the chauffeur, had left the previous week without warning. Penelope's escort was a cold and silent as Dewey's had always been, and Severus, riding in the back seat, had felt as disappointed as he did relieved. She dropped him off at the station without ever having said a word, and once Severus had retrieved his trunk from the car and shut the boot, she drove off, leaving him standing in a blue swirl of car exhaust and rain.

Unceremoniously deserted, with his trunk standing on its end and his umbrella clenched in a white-knuckled grip, he had boarded the train in a cloud of burning resentment, snatching up the first empty compartment he found in hopes of having a few minutes to himself to quietly sit and seethe.

Eventually, he had been joined by a flock of first-years, all nervous and excited and too wound-up by far. It could have been worse, he had thought, but not by much; though when one of them bounced into the seat next to him and chirped inquiringly as to who he was and what house he was from, a good, ferocious scowl ensured that no more questions of that nature would be directed at him for the rest of the trip, at least not from these little ones.

And for several hours, all was peaceful. The children chattered incessantly and buoyantly but in unusually hushed tones - due to his brooding presence, no doubt - and only when the trolley-witch came around did one of them hesitantly poke him and ask him if he was hungry. Both annoyed and touched at the gesture, he shook his head and pretended to go back to sleep while the children traded copper and silver pieces with the witch in the corridor in exchange for sugar-loaded sweets and pastries that ensured they would be bouncing off the walls in an hour or so.

Something cold and cheerless moved in Severus's heart as he watched the new students, so full of exuberance. They seemed totally oblivious to the darkness that was swiftly encroaching the fringes of their world, as if their isolated soap bubble was impervious to such things. Severus reflected idly on his own childhood. He had been rooted in Dark soil from the start, from which he had crept like a reluctant, starving vine, always wanting more of something that he never got, or received just enough of to keep him alive. He wasn't sure what he had been lacking in, but whatever it was, these children certainly had it, and had it in abundance.

Severus decided he would rather be a jaded, withering vine that would last forever than an innocent, flowering bloom that would shrivel up and die as soon as the frost hit.

With this last defiant thought still echoing through his head, Severus let himself fall asleep.

_

* * *

_

It was dark by the time the train pulled into Hogwarts Station. Lily and the boys disembarked from the train, yawning and stretching their legs. They were pleased to note that it had stopped raining, though the stars weren't yet visible for the blanket of clouds. Lily joined a couple of girls from her dormitory and they clambered into one of the horseless carriages, and soon they found themselves in the Great Hall, taking their places at the long Gryffindor table, decorated lavishly with wreaths of red and gold cloth and set with the traditional golden cutlery.

Lily was happy to be back. The school was just as she remembered, with the clannish houses and the venerable professors and the terrified-looking first years. She wondered if she had looked that frightened at her own sorting. She couldn't remember. The good memories had clouded over that aspect of that particular recollection.

Headmaster Dumbledore, wearing his customary violet robes and drooping, pointed hat, welcomed them all, gave the few customary announcements, and invited them to eat. The feast magically blossomed over the table, and Lily tried not to gorge herself, but it was difficult not to get carried away. She was so pleased to be back, she could have enjoyed the meal over at the Slytherin table without much trouble.

All summer she had been fretful. Petunia had been distant, as usual, and she seemed to have come back from her school with a new set of friends, girls that Lily didn't know and Petunia didn't introduce her to. Mr Evans had been busy with work, and her mother kept insisting that she invite over some of her own school friends. Lily had had a difficult time convincing Mrs Evans that most of these friends lived hundreds of miles away, and the Evanses didn't have a fireplace to Floo with, anyway.

She had finished her holiday assignments within the first two weeks of being home, and the rest of the summer she had wandered about, extremely bored and impatient for something to happen. She had met some of her old Muggle school friends around the town, but things between them were awkward like it usually is with old acquaintances you've forgotten to keep up with or, as it was in Lily's guilty case, simply forgotten.

But now she was back, and she was convinced that everything was going to be perfect for the next nine months.


	2. chapter two

See chapter one for all disclaimers.

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AN: Maria Welteislehre is my own character. (I got Welteislehre, by the way, from the Welteislehre who hypothesized that the moon was made of solid ice. Nazi leaders promoted this idea when they were in power.)

Maria Welteislehre is my own character. (I got Welteislehre, by the way, from the Welteislehre who hypothesized that the moon was made of solid ice. Nazi leaders promoted this idea when they were in power.) 

I'll try to update this at least once a week, on Mondays or Fridays and – if I have a chapter to spare – both.

Thanks, Sabriel41, for your great review! It was very encouraging.

chapter two

There was only one person at Hogwarts Severus truly considered a friend, or as close to a friend as anyone had ever become, anyway. Her name was Maria, and this was her last year as a student. She seemed glad to see Severus; vaguely so, as usual, but what was to be expected of a girl her age with friends like hers? The upper Slytherins were the elite of their house, regardless of skill or personal traits. Generally, the younger years didn't associate with the older ones, and Maria's exception for him—the spidery, mordant, antisocial boy whom even his own housemates shunned—was abnormal indeed. Then again, Maria was an abnormal sort of girl; she was, after all, the only true half-blood in the past century and a half to have been sorted into Slytherin. Her mother had been the black sheep of a highly revered pureblood family in the wizarding community. Not only had she been the first member of the all-Slytherin family to be sorted a Gryffindor, but she also had the gall to go marry a Muggle man from a neighboring town. Maria had always told Severus that the only reason her mother had married a Muggle was to spite her parents.

Severus exchanged a few words with her in the common room before trudging off down the staircase to the boys' dormitories. He was exhausted for no natural reason he could fathom; he only guessed that a mild soporific potion of some sort was mixed with the feast. He changed into his pajamas without ceremony, barely pausing to fling his robes over the back of a nearby chair before collapsing into his bed and pulling the curtains shut around him.

He rose early the next morning, feeling as if someone, during the night, had taken his brain out of his skull and dusted away the cobwebs and given it a rinse for good measure before putting it back. He took a brief, brisk shower, dressed in his black academic robes, and headed back for his dormitory to check his schedule and get his books together.

He frowned as he noted that the first class of the school year was to be Transfiguration. He hated Transfiguration. For one thing, most of it was ridiculous, turning unlikely objects into even more unlikely objects—honestly, who wanted or needed a teapot that might change back into a tortoise at any point in time? For another, it wasn't one of his better subjects. That is to say, he was rather terrible at it. Professor McGonagall despaired of him, to tell the truth, and she had told him so on several occasions.

Well, good moods never lasted long with Severus Snape. He got his books together and walked up to breakfast scowling. 

_

* * *

"Oh yay," Lily said as she examined her schedule. "Charms this morning. What a wonderful way to start the year."_

"Joy," said Cordelia. "What's after that?"

"Um… special class. Arithmancy, for me."

"Don't see how you can understand any of that," Cordelia frowned. "I've seen those charts of yours. They're impossible."

"That is because you, as a wizard-born witch, do not have the advantage of a Muggle education, which involves, among many other useful things, maths. Arithmancy is all adding and subtracting, and it's a lot easier than it looks."

"Brag away, Muggle-born," said Cordelia, getting out her own schedule. "Muggle studies," she said at last.

"You'd think you'd get enough of that from me," said Lily.

"Professor Frame teaches from a wizard's point of view. I can't understand half of what you're saying most of the time."

Lily chuckled. "Well, if you need help with something, you know I'm more than willing to help you out."

"Yeah, thanks, Evans. Oh, look; there's Eliza."

Cordelia waved the other girl over, and the two commenced to chatter about Care of Magical Creatures, speculating what body part their accident-prone Professor Kettleburn would lose this year. The man already had a hook and the last year he had lost two fingers in addition to the usual scrapes and bumps that were inevitably accumulated each lesson.

Lily finished her eggs and toast quickly, and scurried up to the Charms classroom, where Professor Flitwick was writing a few notes on the board. Flitwick always outlined the lesson on the blackboard, not for the student's benefit, as some assumed, but for his. He was an enthusiastic lecturer, and tended to wander and forget what he was supposed to be talking about when he got too excited, so he always had the major points of the lesson noted where he could see them. Lily loved this. Flitwick was by far her favorite professor, though Professor Sprout ranked a close second.

"Miss Evans!" Flitwick beamed as she came into the classroom. "Good to see you again! I trust you had a good summer?"

"Yes, wonderful, but it's good to be back, Professor," Lily smiled.

"You know, class doesn't start for another ten minutes," said Flitwick.

"I know, I just wanted to get here a little early. Get a good seat, you know. Do you need help with anything?"

Flitwick directed her to place sheets of parchment at each seat while he finished summarizing his lesson on the board.

Lily finished with the parchment and went to take a seat near the door. She got out her Charms text and skimmed over the first few chapters for good measure, and by the time she had finished with the third chapter her classmates were coming in.

The lesson was an enjoyable one, as usual. Flitwick taught them how to animate the sheets of parchment to fold themselves into simple origami shapes, which was interesting in itself, but James and Sirius eventually got bored with the easily-mastered charm and when James enchanted his self-folded paper airplane to zoom about the room, the lesson was basically over. Sirius ripped his and Peter's parchments into fourths and made a fleet of little paper airplanes that dive-bombed the other students until Flitwick cast _inflagreo_ on them in midair and they burst into flames.

Lily had to resist the urge to hex James for ruining—well, disrupting, anyway—their first class. She left the Charms classroom in a mood almost as bad as Snape's as he left his Transfiguration. So much for enjoying the first day back.

The rest of the day wasn't as tortuous as it could have been, but it was close. In Arithmancy she ended up paired with Auster Wilkes, a Slytherin boy even nastier than Snape, but for very different reasons. Snape was at least honest in his unpleasantness; he didn't hide it beneath a mask of narcissistic courtesy and sour charm like Wilkes did. Snape made his dislike for her obviously clear, whereas Wilkes spoke to her in a condescending, oily sort of way that made her skin crawl.

Transfiguration was better. The boys always behaved better in Transfiguration because they knew as well as everybody else that Professor McGonagall cut nobody slack, and she was possibly harder on her own students than those of other houses.

At lunch she picked at her meat pie over a potions text, and during History of Magic she tried to pay attention but the notes she was trying to take ended up dribbling off into doodles of cubes, stars, swirls and crosshatching. Herbology was muddy, as usual, and when Lily finally trudged up to her dormitory to put away her books, she was grubby, sweaty and bedraggled-looking. She changed out of her robes into jeans and a t-shirt and washed her face before heading out to the grounds for a walk. It was cool and clear out, a perfect September day, and Lily was glad she could finally enjoy it._

* * *

"Glad to hear your holiday wasn't any better than mine," she said, scratching the back of her neck with the chiseled tip of her quill._

"I'm not complaining," Severus said.

"No, but I am. Pass the teapot."

He did, and she filled her cup to the brim.

"So," she said as she lifted her cup to her lips and blew across the dark surface of the liquid, "did you get any new and unusual ingredients for experimenting with this year?"

"A few," Severus replied, hunching his shoulders in what passed for a shrug.

"Any really interesting ones?"

"They won't sell me those ones," said Severus. Maria snorted.

"No, I suppose not. Any plans for this year?"

"Not really. The usual." He shrugged again. "Keep up in my studies. Stay out of trouble."

Maria quirked a smile. "What about keeping the pearl of the family name free of tarnish?"

Severus smiled grimly. "Not this year, apparently."

Maria set her teacup down and gave a careful sort of cough. "Is that good or bad?"

"Can't you tell from the look on my face?"

Maria shook her head. "No."

Severus closed his eyes and sipped his tea. "Good."

Maria apparently decided not to press the issue and changed the subject. "So," she said; "any suggestion for what I should do once I leave school?"

Severus opened his eyes. "I thought you were going to Salem," he said.

Maria snorted. "That was my mother talking," she said. "She wants me as far away from the Dark Lord as possible. As if any witch or wizard could run from him." She rolled her eyes. "She thinks I can just leave the country and wait until it blows over. As if it actually _will_ blow over. I have a feeling that this will be a long-term campaign, and that if I went to Salem to wait it out I'd be waiting until the next century."

Severus hesitated. "There's… talk of him in the dormitories."

The girl smirked. "Take what you've heard and multiply it by about a dozen and you'll come close to what I've been hearing. The uppers are in a rage about him. Those that haven't already decided to join him are seriously considering it. Even me."

Severus leaned back in his chair. "You—you have?"

Maria chuckled and leaned over the table, bracing herself on her elbows. "Think about it, Snape. Power you never dreamed of. He needs great minds to achieve this great plan. From what I've heard…. Well. One could be revered."

Severus studied his teacup, running one finger around the rim. "Maria…."

"You're only fourteen, Snape, and you already know more about potions than I do, and they've been my best subject for close to seven damn years. Can you even imagine how valuable you could be to him?"

Severus opened his mouth to speak, but Maria shushed him, making a fretful gesture with her cup. Tea sloshed over the brim. "No, don't answer now. I know how you are. You say something and then later realize you were wrong but you'll keep to what you said before because you don't want to _admit_ you were wrong. Don't say anything. Just think about it, will you? I know you're pretty young; you shouldn't get mixed up in something this deep just yet. But consider it. For later, you know."

Maria sat up straight again, wiping tea off of her hand with a napkin. "Anyway," she sighed, "you really should go. I've got a load of stuff to do and I'm sure you do, too."

Severus drained his teacup and set it on the table. "Thank you for the tea."

"Any time. Or, rather," she corrected herself, "any time I'm available and feel like drinking half a pot of tea. See you later, Snape."

Severus left the study alcove, deep in thought. Maria's words sentiments concerning the Dark Lord were disturbing, not because they were particularly alarming but because they so closely echoed his own daydreams. He hadn't really considered joining the Dark Lord; for one thing, he had never thought of himself as passionately against Mudbloods and Muggles—he wasn't really passionate about anything at all except for potions—and for another, he was simply too young to embroil himself in this ripening thundercloud of war.

Severus didn't approve of daydreams. They were too indistinct, too vague. If he wanted something, he worked at getting it. This, though, hadn't been something he considered worth striving for. It was just too risky. A Master's degree in potions was one thing. It was assured. It was tangible. It relied only upon his skills as a potions brewer to achieve, and those he knew he had.

But achieving fame and glory amongst the ranks of the Dark Lord's supporters? What was there to say that the Ministry wouldn't flush this campaign out in two or three years? What was there to say that he wouldn't get caught? The Ministry had been arresting people as of late on mere suggestions of sympathizing with the Dark Lord. He didn't want to get caught up with that.

Then there was the part of him that rejected the idea completely. The way Wilkes and the others talked about it was almost sickening. They lusted after the fame and glory the Dark Lord promised like dogs slavering for a meaty bone, and Severus liked to think he was above that kind of thing. What would he be but a hypocrite if he suddenly tipped the scale of his indecision and joined them? He didn't think he could respect himself if he did that.

And he wondered about Maria. As his surrogate big sister, he looked up to her in a way he hadn't looked up to anyone else. Her opinion mattered to him probably more than she would ever know. Of course, he wasn't going to rush out and join the Dark Lord just because she thought it was a good idea, but it gave him cause to speculate, and speculate some more.


	3. chapter three

See first chapter for all disclaimers.

Professor Eberwulf is mine, as are Eliza and Cordelia.

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AN: I am going to be nice and not say a thing about the election. Instead, I am offering this chapter as a consolation prize to you Democrats, because I feel sorry for you.

chapter three

The first Gryffindor-Slytherin class came on Friday morning. Professor Eberwulf, an African potions Master with a powerful voice and a knack for keeping the class from getting out of hand even on the worst days, split them into pairs to work on brewing a thickening solution. Lily paired with Cordelia and their sorry efforts combined produced a solution that solidified like concrete in their cauldron. Lily would have liked to have been able to say that this was a result from Cordelia's not dicing the slugs precisely enough, but she knew that the mistake was mainly hers. The thickening solution had to be kept above the boiling point until the powdered shell was added. The shell stabilized it and keeps it from hardening. Once the shell was added, the solution may have been brought down from boiling without threat of it setting. Either she hadn't given it enough flame or the powdered shell wasn't added at the right moment.

Professor Eberwulf sighed in exasperation when he came by to note their progress and discovered that the thickening solution had thickened right to the sides of the cauldron.

"You hardly need me to tell you that this is very bad work, girls," he said. "So, let us rather devote a moment to deciding just what went wrong here?"

Lily told him what she had surmised.

"Correct," the professor said. "The slugs had nothing to do with it, though that would account for the reddish tinge."

Lily gave a small sigh.

The professor patted her on the shoulder. "Girls, your new assignment is to clean out this cauldron, preferably before the end of class, and I am going to have to subtract ten points from Gryffindor for this. Also, Miss Evans, I would like to have a word with you after class."

"Yes, sir," Lily sighed, and they toted their cauldron off to the sinks to start chipping out the mess inside.

"Sorry, Cordelia," Lily muttered above the sound of running water and clunking pewter.

"It's okay," said Cordelia, but she didn't sound very happy. "Everyone has their bad days."

"Well, yeah, but how could I have made such a dumb mistake? Sloppy. I was just sloppy. I wasn't paying enough attention." She scraped harder at the inside of the cauldron. "Ugh."

At that moment, there was a shriek from the other side of the classroom. Both girls whirled around to see Severus Snape leap away from his cauldron just as it exploded, raining bits of pewter and sloshy potion all over the class.

"Oh my god," Cordelia gasped. "That I would live to see the day that Snape exploded his cauldron!" She began to laugh.

But Snape had leapt to his feet and was already pointing a finger at Sirius Black, howling accusations. "He threw a _firecracker_ in my cauldron!" he shouted.

Sirius's blue eyes went innocently wide. "Are you suggesting—"

"BLACK! The potion was just sitting there, finished, waiting to be bottled! Thickening solutions do not just spontaneously combust!"

"Mister Snape," Eberwulf said, hastily stepping between the boys, who had somehow gravitated together in the centre of the room; "calm yourself." To the class he called, "Is everyone all right?" Yes, everyone was fine; Eliza had gotten hit with a bit of flying cauldron but she was all right, it was just a bump. "Good. Mister Snape, go clean yourself up. Mister Black, don't pull that innocent act with me; mop up this mess and see me after class."

Lily hastily turned back to chipping out the solidified potion as Snape stalked over, picking splinters of pewter out of his robes and scowling furiously. At his ruined table, Sirius was cheerfully magicking away the mess he had created; at the other end of the room, she could hear James Potter laughing with Peter. She gritted her teeth.

At the sink at the end, Snape was washing his hands and his face. Cordelia leaned towards Lily and muttered, "Poor Sirius, eh?"

Lily stared at her friend. "Are you crazy? He threw the firecracker; he deserves whatever Eberwulf has in store for him."

Cordelia snorted. "Did it ever occur to you that Snape might be lying?"

"I highly doubt that Snape would have blown up his cauldron himself, let alone pin it on Sirius."

"Oh, come on."

"Cordelia, I saw him! He and Wilkes had already finished their potion around the time we mucked up ours! He was packing away his potions things, waiting it for it to cool so he could bottle it."

Cordelia sniffed. "Hmph. If you'd been paying as much attention to our potion as you were to Snape, it probably wouldn't have turned into concrete."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Cordelia. He was sitting right in front of us; I didn't exactly have to look too far to see—"

Cordelia hushed her. "Shh, he's coming over—hello, Snape!"

Snape faltered a step as he passed behind them, apparently heading for the paper towels.

"Great job on your thickening solution, Snape," Cordelia smirked.

"That's some pretty smart talk, coming from someone who's going to have to grind their potion into powder before they can bottle it," Snape growled.

"Yeah, well, at least I didn't have a screaming fit in front of the whole class," Cordelia retorted.

"Cordelia!" Lily hissed, eying Snape nervously.

Snape's eyes glittered. "Are you looking for a few extra appendages, Bridges?"

Cordelia whirled to face the classroom and called plaintively, "Professor Eberwulf, Snape's harassing me!"

"Cordelia!" Lily said hotly. "Professor, it was provoked."

"Snape, if you've finished over there, kindly return to your seat," the professor directed sternly. "And girls, please finish cleaning that cauldron in silence."

Snape stalked back to his seat, sparing neither girl another glance. Cordelia turned to stare at Lily, mouth agape. Lily couldn't do anything but shrug helplessly and return to scrubbing the inside of the cauldron. 

_

* * *

_

They finished cleaning out the cauldron just as the bell rang, and as the rest of the class headed out the door Lily went up to Professor Eberwulf's desk, bag of books in hand.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Ah, Miss Evans—yes, just a moment of your time." He cleaned a pen nib with his handkerchief as he spoke. "I'm not going to scold you for your poor work today; you've always been a fairly good student, and these things do happen. However, that is not to say that your brewing skills leave nothing to be desired; you are a decent brewer but you have room for improvement."

Lily studied a clay paperweight on the desk in front of her.

"At the moment you are achieving passing grades in Potions. If you are interested in improving those grades, though, I suggest that you seek out the help of a fellow student in your spare time. I could put a word in for you with Patricia Carson – she is a sixth-former in Ravenclaw, I believe. Or you could go to one of your prefects." He puffed on the brass nib and polished it against his robes. "I am more than aware of the rivalries between your two houses, but if you could possibly stand it, Mister Snape could teach you quite a bit."

There was a snort of laughter from across the classroom. Lily jumped.

"Yes, Mister Black, I am aware that you are still there," Eberwulf said dryly, "and I'd thank you to keep your enlightening observations to yourself in the future." He turned back to Lily. "In any case, these are just suggestions, and you needn't worry about supplementary lessons if you don't care to. Like I said, your Potions grade has always exceeded the passing mark."

"I'll think about it, sir," Lily said, though she was doubtful about the case. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure. You'd better run along now; here's a pass explaining to Professor Kettleburn why you were delayed."

Lily took the slip of parchment and scurried off, leaving Sirius behind to whatever it was that awaited him. She hoped it was detention in the hospital wing, cleaning out bedpans. It would serve him right.

_

* * *

_

Care of Magical Creatures was an elective she shared with most of the Gryffindor students in her year. The class was never dull, which accounted for the high attendance rate; while he was more than competent as a teacher, Professor Kettleburn rarely failed to injure himself in the line of duty.

Today they were studying bugbears. The gamekeeper, a huge man named Hagrid, had trapped one in the Forbidden Forest and had it penned up near the cabin that rested on the edge of the woods. It was the size of a small cow and covered in thick, leaf- and twig-entangled black hair, and it growled as it hungrily paced its paddock.

"The bugbear," Kettleburn was saying, "often misleadingly called the bloodsucking bugbear, is most commonly found in northern Germany and Poland. It is omnivorous, feeding on roots and berries and small animals such as chickens and rabbits. It has a fierce temper, and when threatened, it is more than capable of defending itself. Note the elongated canines and the claws—well, you can't actually see them because of the fur…."

"A sickle says he goes in there to get a better look at those claws," a voice in her ear said quietly. Lily jumped.

"Hush, Potter, I'm trying to listen."

"What did Eberwulf have to say?" James continued, as if he hadn't heard her.

"That's none of your business, now, isn't it," Lily said, and moved away from him. He followed her, predictably, rumpling his hair almost unconsciously.

"He didn't give you detention, did he?" asked James.

"Of course not," Lily snapped.

"Nah," said another voice, and Lily whirled around to see Sirius edging towards them, tie rumpled and books slung over his shoulder; "he told her to go ask Snivellus for help with potions."

"Shut up, Black," Lily muttered, but it was too late.

"Snape?" James laughed, a little too loudly. "Why on earth—"

"Is there a problem, Mister Potter?" Kettleburn called from the edge of the paddock.

"No, sir," James called back cheerfully.

Kettleburn returned to the lesson, and James returned to pestering Lily. "Snape?" he repeated. "Don't tell me you're actually going to—"

"James, be quiet," Lily hissed, aware of the odd looks the other Gryffindors were shooting back their way. "I told you it's none of your business."

"I always thought you were fair at potions," James said.

"It was a suggestion, Potter; Professor Eberwulf merely recommended that I go talk with a more advanced student if I wanted to improve a little bit—"

"Cheerful chat that'd be," Sirius said dryly. "I can see it now. 'Oy, Snape, a little help with potions?' 'Bugger off!' Yeah, really constructive." He chuckled.

"You know, Sirius, there are some of us who possess a little more finesse than that," Lily snarled.

"And unfortunately, dear Snivellus is not one of them," Sirius said sweetly.

Lily ground her teeth and tried not to lash out. Generally she put up with the boys, because they could be quite charming and kind when the urge took them, but at times like these she honestly wished she had never resigned herself to the constraints of friendship with them. "You aren't winning yourself any points with this, Black," she hissed under her breath. "Immaturity never does. And you know what? I have half a mind to go speak to him at lunch!"

Sirius laughed quietly. "I'd like to see that," he said. "I'd like to see the look on his face."

"What's going on?"

Remus had surreptitiously wandered over, and now he had joined the conversation. Lily groaned. "It's nothing, Remus," she said. "These idiots are—"

"Eberwulf is suggesting she and Snape become study partners, or some such rot," Potter interrupted with a snort. "We were just discussing the ridiculousness of the idea."

"Shut up, Potter!"

"Miss Evans, WHAT is going on back there?" Kettleburn's voice rang out for the second time, sounding highly irritated.

"We were just discussing some of the more unusual magical aspects of the bloodsucking bugbear," Sirius called back cheerfully.

"Rot, Mister Black," Kettleburn barked, forcing Lily to cover her mouth to hide a huge grin. "I just finished explaining that the bugbear _has_ no unusual magical aspects. Five points from Gryffindor, and see me after class."

"Oh, bugger," Sirius grumbled.

_

* * *

_

The rest of the class was uneventful. The interruptions must have broken Kettleburn's concentration, and for once they left the class without having seen any bloodshed. In the Great Hall, Lily irritably picked at her food, wondering whether she could get away with putting frogspawn in Sirius and James's beds. Probably not.

To her credit, Lily didn't even start when the sack of books slammed unceremoniously down on the bench beside her. She didn't turn to regard Sirius as he plopped down beside her and dragged a platter of sandwiches across the table. "Merlin, I'm starving," he groaned.

"I don't doubt it," Lily said icily, refusing to look at him. "All that effort of disrupting class probably worked up quite an appetite."

"Oh, absolutely," Sirius said, and chomped into a sandwich.

"You're despicable," Lily said.

"Thank you," said Sirius, speaking around the wad of turkey and cheese in his mouth. Lily made a disgusted noise and scooted further down the bench, dragging her plate and books with her. He followed her as if it was all routine.

"Leave me alone, Black."

"Have you talked to Snivellus yet?" Sirius smirked.

"I mean it, Sirius."

"What a coincidence! So do I."

"I hope Professor Eberwulf gave you a really vile detention," Lily growled.

"Alphabetizing cures in the infirmary, actually, but you didn't answer my question," Sirius said.

Lily ground her teeth. "I am _warning_ you, Black…."

"You haven't talked to him, have you?" Sirius grinned.

Lily stood up. "See you later, Black," she said softly, and, hefting her book bag over her shoulder, she strode out of the Great Hall. She could hear Sirius giggling to himself over his turkey and cheese.

Lily fumed, but inwardly there was a small part of her that was smirking in an extremely self-satisfied way. Sirius Black had just sealed the deal; there was no way on earth that she was _not_ going to finagle Snape into at least _talking_ about helping her with potions, not after that little scene. If it came down to slipping a persuasion potion into Snape's evening pumpkin juice to get him to cooperate, she'd do it. Lily refused to walk around feeling like Sirius Black had bested her.

So, let him giggle. There was plenty of time for him to get his comeuppance.

_

* * *

_

That afternoon, after lessons were finished, Lily went to the library.

She did intend to work on the various assignments she had spread out over one of the tables, but mostly they were just there as an excuse to sit and wait for Snape to show up. She couldn't imagine where else he might end up at on a Friday evening, other than perhaps the Quidditch field, but she knew for a fact that the boys had planned on a bit of flying and she highly doubted Snape would be at all willing to share a field with them. So, other than the dungeon labs, the library seemed like it would be the first place Snape would head once lessons were over.

But as she sat there, ostensibly studying and wrapping up her assignments one by one as she waited, it became apparent to her that Snape wasn't going to show up. Perhaps he _was_ down in the dungeons; perhaps he had found a different place altogether to lurk during his free time; whatever the case, the fact remained that the only other people passing through the library were a gaggle of studious upper-former Ravenclaws and what looked like some second-year Hufflepuff girls hopefully nosing around the Divination section.

And it was close to dinnertime. Lily shut her book with a sigh and began packing her parchments and texts and writing things into her leather satchel. Thoughtfully, she climbed back up to Gryffindor tower to put her things in her dormitory; then she wandered back down, exchanged a few polite words with the Fat Lady and eventually found her way to the Great Hall.

She ate her dinner quickly, aware of Sirius (whom she had purposefully sat down at the other end of the table to avoid) smirking at her from time to time. Soup bowl empty, she dashed back up to Gryffindor tower to finish the rest of her assignments.

She wasn't very disappointed at failing to locate Snape; tomorrow was the weekend, after all, which meant she had two full days to track him down. He couldn't hide forever.

_

* * *

_

Saturday was spent wandering around the castle and the grounds, in search of the elusive Slytherin. It was the perfect day for walking; it was warm, but not overly so, and the sky was decorated with billowing white cumulus clouds that warned of a storm to come but were pleasant to watch in the meantime. Eventually, Lily once again adjourned from her search and set out merely to enjoy the day. She went to Master Pruidwick, the flying instructor, and he gave her permission to borrow one of the school brooms.

Lily was no natural when it came to flying, and even if she had wanted to, the school broom couldn't have done better than fifty, but the sheer alien feeling of flight and the freedom of complete mobility was all she wanted. Things looked so different from atop a broomstick, so glorious and majestic and idyllic and it made her wish she had been born winged. She spent the afternoon in that way, soaring around the school until she began to shiver from the chill. She flew back to the Quidditch pitch, put the broom away, and returned to the school, thoroughly content and almost serene. She could almost ignore James and Sirius wreaking havoc in the common room.

_

* * *

The next morning she got caught up in trying to figure out how to get her cassette player to run off magic. She made what she felt were some definite steps in the right direction, but until she had a word with Professor Flitwick about some reading material she doubted she'd get much further. Until lunch, she quietly contented herself with flipping through the pages of various charm texts and sound manuals she had purchased over the holiday, highlighting passages she found might be useful and making notes on a pile of cards next to her._

Thus, it wasn't until Sunday evening that she finally caught up with Snape. She went down to dinner with a book—yet another relevant charms text—and, while she munched on her shepherd's pie, she happened to glance up from her book and saw him, sitting over at the Slytherin table by himself, wolfing down his dinner.

Keeping a surreptitious eye on him, Lily turned back to her own meal. It wasn't long before Snape finished and got up to walk out of the hall. Lily waited just until he had passed through the open double-doors before pushing her plate away and standing.

"Not hungry?" Eliza, sitting next to her, asked.

"I don't really care for shepherd's pie," Lily confessed, and left hastily before any other questions could be directed at her.

The corridor outside the hall was empty, but Lily could hear quick footsteps echoing from the passageway down the right. She sped to a quick jog to catch up.

She rounded the corner and saw him, walking briskly in that odd way of his, with his head down and his shoulders hunched. Tucking her book beneath her arm, she called out softly, "Snape!"

He reacted as if he had been expecting an attack: he spun around, and he had drawn his wand from his sleeve almost before she could blink. Startled, she flung her arms up in what she hoped was a non-violent gesture. Her book clattered to the floor. "No, wait!"

"_Evans._" His voice, though soft, carried well enough across the hall, tinged with suspicion and wariness.

"Snape," Lily repeated weakly. "Will you put your wand down? I – I just wanted a word."

Severus Snape regarded her with narrowed eyes. "What could you possibly have to say to me that would in any way entice me to lower my defences, Evans?" he asked coldly.

Lily forced herself to relax. "I'm not going to – hex you, or anything," she said, trying to sound harmless and assuring.

"Because, of course," said Snape, "it is impossible to reach for a wand when your elbows are bound to your forehead."

Lily hadn't heard of such a curse, but she figured if there were one, Snape would know it. "Please," she said, "please, I just want to talk with you a moment. I promise – no tricks." She spread her hands out to the sides. "Just for a moment."

Snape's upper lip curled, but at last he lowered his wand arm. Lily breathed a sigh of mixed relief and annoyance and wondered whether this was actually worth the trouble she was going to. "Thank you. I – actually, I've been trying to find you since Friday – " Snape scoffed, but didn't say anything, so she continued: "…but you aren't the easiest person to find. I – um – I was actually wanting to talk to you about potions."

Was it her imagination, or did Snape seem to perk up just the tiniest fraction at that? "Continue," he said, and the tone with which he spoke it wouldn't have been diminished in effect by an imperious wave of his hand.

"Yes. Right. Uh."

"Sometime this year," Snape growled.

Lily, struck by sudden, vicious inspiration, smiled her sweetest, most guileless smile. "Of course," she said, in tones as pleasant and sincere as if she were speaking to a dearly loved one. "I was wondering if you'd be interested in helping me a bit with potions."

Snape's narrow, beetle-black eyes widened a fraction of an inch. "Absolutely not!"

Lily let a disappointed expression cross her features. She'd asked him, and he had refused, quite emphatically so; Sirius hadn't said anything about getting him to _agree_ to help her. Now, though, if she was so inclined, she could walk up to Black, Sneakoscope in hand, and tell him quite truthfully that she'd asked and been turned down.

So she gave a resigned little shrug and turned to go.

"Wait."

Lily stopped, surprised and a little confused. When she looked over her shoulder, he was stepping towards her, his shoes clopping loudly against the flagstone.

"You dropped your book."

Lily looked down and saw her book of charms still laying on the floor. There wasn't anything shocking about _that;_ what was shocking, however, was that Snape had pointed it out, and that he didn't halt in his stride towards her as she knelt to retrieve the text. When she had returned to her feet, he was standing right in front of her, just feet away, his eyes glittering strangely. "Er… thank you," she muttered, her voice tapering off to silence in her uncertainty.

"What kind of help?" Snape inquired.

Lily blinked.

"It's not a terribly complex question," Snape said. "Don't make me repeat myself."

"I – just – it's not very – process," Lily babbled. "Process. I'm fair with theory and the like but I'm weak with the actual process. I'm – sloppy."

Snape's eyebrows arched. "And why, exactly," Snape said softly, "are you asking _me_ for help with this?"

Lily bit her lip. Had she anticipated that Snape might actually _condescend_ to lend her a hand, she would have thought up a plausible excuse beforehand, something he might actually believe. As it was…. "Because you're the best," she said, settling for the relative truth.

Snape snorted. "You expect me to believe you?" said Snape. "Not that I need reassuring that my skill at brewing potions is superior to the norm, far from it; but it is ludicrous that you should think I'm so naïve that I'd trust your motives are entirely innocent." He paused, as if for effect.

"I'm not sure I follow you," Lily said frostily.

Snape rolled his eyes. "You're being deliberately obtuse. You honestly can't be that stupid; I've seen you at work, and I've heard more than a few complaints from…" He seemed to change his mind in the middle of his sentence, and he moved onto the next one with hardly a pause to indicate the backtracking. "Potter put you up to this, didn't he?"

Lily's eyebrows shot straight up. "He most certainly did not!" she said. "What makes you think I'd willingly get myself involved with his nefarious little schemes?" Lily felt guilty not mentioning the fact that it had been Black, not Potter, who had 'put her up to this'. But she felt that all parties would benefit without her divulging this information.

Snape regarded her callously for a moment, but then he relaxed a fraction and crossed his arms over his chest. "All right," he conceded. "I'll accept that." His voice lowered to a soft mutter: "I imagine that no one else, short of Sirius Intractable Black, would be brash and brainless enough to try anything more offensive than bewitching my textbooks shut." Louder, he repeated, "All right. You want help."

Lily tried a nod, but he was still speaking.

"…That I can do. It will cost you, however."

Lily stiffened. "Cost me what, exactly?"

Snape gave a strange, one-shouldered shrug. "That point is up for debate."

Lily opened her mouth to speak, but Snape shook his head. "The dinner hour's almost over," he said. "And we've loitered far too long in this corridor. And I expect that we couldn't do wrong to think about this conversation before actually having it."

That Lily could agree with. She nodded. "Of course."

"Tomorrow," he said. "Two and a half hours after classes. You won't be busy?"

Lily shook her head, trying not to succumb to the dazed feeling that was threatening to overtake her. "No, I'm free."

"The library, then."

"Yes. The library. Of course. I'll see you then."

"No doubt before, as we do have an Arithmancy class tomorrow morning."

"Oh. Right."

Snape spared her one final, inscrutable look before turning and striding away down the corridor.

_

* * *

_

Lily shook her head to clear it.

She hadn't anticipated anything of that sort to happen. All she'd wanted – all she'd _expected_ was to ask him whether he'd be interested in tutoring her, to be refused in turn, and then to dash off to Sirius and try to salvage what little pride she had left.

That last thought stung angrily, and as she turned her charms book over in her hands she grinned. Things hadn't gone so badly after all. Now, along with really being able to reassure herself that she wasn't some cowardly little thing who would bow to lick Sirius Black's smug and smirking boots and be _happy _about it, she would get a chance to perfect her potions-brewing technique, guided by a prodigy, no less. She tucked her book beneath her arm again and set off in the opposite direction for Gryffindor Tower, feeling rather self-satisfied.

_

* * *

After Charms the next morning, Lily stayed behind for a moment to ask Flitwick about some conversion spells. Flitwick happily recommended her several different books, most of which could be found in the school library, and the remaining ones could be purchased at Flourish and Blott's for a reasonable price. Lily thanked him and left for Arithmancy. Once again, she was paired with Auster Wilkes, who made taking notes as difficult as possible by casting a spiteful little hex on her quill that caused it to dry up whenever she tried to put it to parchment. Lily solved this problem by getting a normal Muggle pencil out of her bag and ignoring him until it was time to head to Transfiguration._

After a particularly dull Herbology session, Lily hiked back to the castle to clean up, wondering what she could offer to Snape in exchange for help with potions. She had pondered this for some time the night before and hadn't come up with anything very helpful. If she had any clue as to what Snape himself had in mind, she might have had better luck, but she doubted it. She didn't have much to give.

Her allowance for the year was slim as it was, and what she had wouldn't make up half of a decent payment. She supposed she could write to her mother and father, but that was an iffy idea. The Evanses' budget had been tight since Father lost his job the previous year. It had been difficult enough getting Lily's school books, even when purchasing the majority of them second-hand, and Lily didn't have much of an inclination to guilt her parents into sending her money so she could show up Sirius Black.

She could offer miscellaneous favours, but that thought made her uncomfortable, as there was no fair way to judge how many she owed, and the thought of owing a Slytherin – or anyone, for that matter – unidentified, indefinite favours did not appeal to her.

The ideal exchange, of course, would be to lend Snape a hand with his own studies. However, the only area Lily really excelled at was Charms, and she wasn't sure whether Snape had any particular difficulty in that subject.

The fanciful part of her briefly imagined herself as Snape's saviour, drawing him up out of the pit of snakes he'd fallen into, providing the friendship and good counsel that he had obviously been denied… but she repressed a shudder and a laugh at this thought. Snape didn't need saving. He could take care of himself, as he'd proved on countless occasions when he'd clashed with the boys. He seemed entirely self-sufficient.

Which was the problem. What would he want that she could possibly give?

Perhaps, Lily thought as she scrubbed dirt out from under her fingernails, perhaps Snape will have thought up something reasonable. If she had thought about it, she would have wondered why she was expecting Snape to be reasonable, of all things, but she left the lavatory whistling through her teeth.

_

* * *

_

He showed up at six-thirty, just when everyone else had finally worked their way to the Great Hall for dinner, leaving the library – and most of the castle – all but deserted. Lily looked up from one of the books Flitwick had recommended to see him slip silently through the library doors, slim as an evening shadow and almost as silent. He stalked across the room, passing up her and her chosen table entirely as if she was invisible. With a tolerant sigh, she got up, gathered her few things together and followed him to the back of room, out of sight of the main doors, where the tables and benches were replaced by creaky old armchairs that were almost too dusty for comfort.

"Don't want to be overheard, eh?" Lily said as she settled herself into a chair that faced him.

"Do you?" Snape retorted.

"Good point," Lily said. "No, I don't."

Snape responded with a judiciously curt nod. "Right. To business." And he folded his hands expectantly.

Lily cleared her throat. "Well," she said, "I gave some thought as to what I could offer to you – as a fair trade for your… expertise. And I found myself, ah, rather at a loss."

Snape's lip began to curl, so she hurried ahead. "I don't have much money, but – "

"No," Snape said immediately. "I don't want that."

Lily mentally stumbled. "Ah – beg pardon?"

"You heard me."

Lily hesitated. "Right. Right, I did. Um. I… I was really hoping you'd had some idea yourself… what you think would be… acceptable. I mean, I could," she went on hastily as she saw his expression darken, "I could think of something else, I'm sure. Favours…."

Snape waved his hand irritable, as if brushing away a fly. "No," he snapped. "No, no. I had in mind more of an academic reimbursement. None of your petty favours, if you please."

Lily's ears had perked up hopefully, despite his prickly tone. "What kind of 'academic reimbursement'?"

Snape eyed her for a moment. Lily could have sworn he looked almost apprehensive, though that glitter in his eyes could have meant almost anything. "How adequate are you at transfiguration?" he asked at length.

Lily's heart sank in disappointment, but almost at the same time it rose, swelling with the bloom of an idea. She was passable when it came to transfiguration; she wasn't anything spectacular, though. "Fairly good," she said truthfully.

Snape leaned back in his chair. It was funny, she hadn't noticed him leaning forward as he had been. "And how fair is fair?" he asked.

"Better than I am at potions," she told him. He snorted.

"That's not saying much at all," he said, obviously recalling her mistake on Friday. "How much better?"

"It's my best subject, next to Charms," Lily said, only lying a little bit. In truth, transfiguration fell two notches below Charms, taking second place to Arithmancy. "And I've always gotten top marks in Charms," she added for clarification.

Snape fisted his chin in his hand. "All right," he said. "I suppose that will have to do. In exchange for tutoring you in potions, you will help me with my transfiguration. And if I decide your lessons aren't – of use – I won't hesitate to terminate the arrangement. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly," Lily said, frowning a little. "And, of course, if I decide _your_ lessons aren't _of use,_ I have just as much right to end it."

"Naturally," Snape said. "Now, as for study sessions. Once Quidditch season begins, it may be rather difficult arranging for fixed sessions, as our captain is fond of erratic practices. Until then, however, I think we can plan on meeting at least twice a week."

"I have a study group I meet with on Wednesday nights here in the library," Lily said. "But other than that, I don't participate in any extracurricular activities."

"How do Tuesdays and Thursdays sound?"

"Fine with me," Lily shrugged. "I do have Astronomy on both of those nights, but that shouldn't be a problem. What time should we meet?"

"Before dinner," Snape said automatically. "That way, neither of us will be inclined to run over a time limit."

Lily gave a dry laugh. "I don't think you'll have to worry about that."

Snape gave her a death glare. "We can meet at five-fifteen, which will give us time enough for an hour-long session plus cleanup. There are unused classrooms in the dungeons that will be useful – "

"There are other rooms we could use," Lily said. "Ones with better ventilation than what you get in the dungeons. The fourth and seventh floors, for example, have loads of – "

"I don't pick the dungeons for sake of atmosphere," Snape said, sounding annoyed at the interruption. "The fact is that the dungeons hold up better against explosions. Why do you think the potions classroom is located down there?"

"Yes," Lily said, "but we won't be creating explosions. You – "

"Explosions are inevitable," Snape interrupted. "Therefore, we shall work in the dungeons." His tone said, quite clearly,_ end of subject._

"I'm not that bad of a brewer," Lily said, rather piqued.

"It's not a question of your skill, Evans," Snape said through gritted teeth. "Sometimes, mistakes must be made intentionally for the sake of education. To learn how to control something, you must see how far you can let it get out of control, and then see what it takes to bring it back _under_ control. I take the phrase 'learn from your mistakes' quite seriously."

Lily sighed and resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands. "I'm not going to enjoy this at all, am I?"

"Probably not," Snape said.

"All right," said Lily. "We'll meet in one of the dungeons. You'll have to show me which one, because I can't keep track of them all."

"You'd better learn," Snape sneered. "I have no inclination to teach someone something as complicated as potions when they can't even remember where the lessons are taking place."

"Right," Lily said tartly. "Of course. And I have no intention of teaching you transfiguration in the dungeons. We'll meet upstairs for that."

Snape shrugged. "I had expected that."

Lily pulled a Muggle notebook and ink pen out of the bag at her feet. "Five-fifteen on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Do you want to start tomorrow?"

"Yes, and what are you doing?"

Lily looked up. He was glaring pointedly at the ink pen she held in her hand. "Making a note of this," she said.

"Why?" Snape's voice was cold.

"So I can remember," Lily began, her voice loud with exasperation, but he cut in rather sharply.

"Do you need _help_ remembering details as simple as these?"

Lily stared at him, green eyes wide beneath arched eyebrows. "Well, it's just in case I forget – "

Snape snarled. "If you're that absent-minded, what makes you think you could possibly remember when to add an ingredient, or how many times in which direction something should be stirred? Potions-brewing is all about details, Evans; if you can't remember that and act accordingly, you'll never improve. Put that away, or the deal's off."

Lily _gaped._ "Good god," she said in amazement, feeling her shock overpowering her indignant annoyance; "you're fitting into the professor niche quite smoothly, aren't you?" Normally she would have fought back against such tones, but he had a point, so she put the notebook and the pen away without further comment. Snape merely sneered at her.

"Meet me tomorrow evening in the first corridor adjoining that of the potions classroom," he told her. "Bring basic potions supplies. And don't dress up."

"Work robes," Lily verified. "Gotcha. Anything else?"

"No, that's all."

"Okay." Lily got to her feet, slinging her satchel over her shoulder. "Five-fifteen tomorrow evening; work clothes and potions stuff. Got it. I'll see you then."

_

* * *

_

She left the library, unsure and not really caring whether Snape was following suit. By the time she ended up in the Great Hall, dinner was over, and the Hall was empty save for a few straggling study groups. She climbed back up to Gryffindor Tower, stomach twinging with hunger, wondering what she had gotten herself into.

In the common room, she sank into the chair beneath the painting of the crotchety wizards in the bistro and retrieved her books from her bag. She flipped through them, trying to concentrate, distracted by both the crabby discussion going on in the painting and her current train of thought, which involved mostly speculation on what she might expect the following evening, and whether it was worth the trouble she was preparing to put herself through.

As she absently flicked through pages of spells and charm theories, the very person she most and least wanted to speak to wandered over and leaned casually over the arm of her chair.

"Hello, James," she said pleasantly, not taking her eyes off the pages she was scanning.

"Charms, eh?" asked James.

"Mm-hmm."

"I prefer transfiguration, myself," James said.

Lily glanced up. James, she noticed, looked as if he was trying his best to appear cool and detached, and he might have fooled her, had she not been so familiar with that hopeful glint in his eye and the fact that he purposefully mussed his hair like that. Any other time she would have rolled her eyes and returned to her reading, but she had a favour to ask.

"Yes, I know," she replied, shutting her book and using her thumb to mark her spot. "And actually, I was wanting to ask you about that."

James's eyebrows went up in delight. "Oh, really?"

Lily nodded genially. "Yeah. Why don't you sit down?"

James glanced around. There were no empty seats near hers, so he simply ejected the hapless second-year out of a conveniently placed ladder-back chair and turned it so he could sit facing Lily.

Lily glared at that; she needed his help, but that didn't mean she would excuse such blatant egoism. "Really, James," she said disapprovingly. "There wasn't any call for that."

"Are you going to make me get up?" James asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

Lily's mouth twisted into a wry smile. "No."

"There you have it, then," he said cheerfully. "Now, what were you going to ask me? Something about transfiguration?"

Lily nodded. "Yes. I was, actually… say, James," she interrupted herself, "where'd Sirius and the rest get off to?"

James sat up a little straighter so as to look over the heads of the other students inhabiting the common room. "I dunno," he said with an offhand shrug. "Maybe they went out to catch some time on the field. Why?"

Lily shook her head. "Just wondering. Usually you four act like you're joined at the hips."

James snorted. "We're not that close," he said with a smirk, and Lily, realizing what he'd just said, blushed.

"Oh, honestly, James," she sighed. "That's so juvenile."

"Is this going to turn into a discussion about my dubious sense of humour?" James asked.

"No. Sorry," Lily said. "I didn't mean to get off-track. I was just wondering – about transfiguration – whether you'd be interested in giving lessons."

James's eyes lit up, but he said in an unconcerned way, "Well, that would depend on whom I was to give these lessons. I wouldn't do that for just anybody, you know. For example, I wouldn't volunteer on tutoring first-year Hufflepuffs. Or second-year Slytherins."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, I know. The great James Potter is many things, but interested in house charity work is not one of them. No; what I wanted to know was whether you'd be interested in tutoring _me._"

James laughed. "Interested? Merlin, do you really have to ask?"

Lily was a little taken aback by his enthusiasm. "Yes," she said with a frown. "Will you do it?"

"Sure," James said warmly. "No problem at all. Might get a little hairy around Quidditch season –"

"I know, I know," Lily said with a hasty wave of her hand, "practice and all that."

"Right," said James, not phased the slightest by her impatience. "When do you want to start?"

Lily blinked. Well, that was sudden. She hadn't expected it would be that easy, not after Snape. "Um… would this week be all right?"

James nodded. "Sure. When? Where?"

"Uh, Wednesday? 'Round sevenish? I meet some girls for revision before dinner, so it'll have to be after."

"Absolutely. Seven's perfect. Do you have any particular place in mind for studying?"

Lily shook her head. She still had to figure out which classroom would be good for teaching Snape the lessons James was presently agreeing to give her. "No. Do you have any ideas?"

"Well, there are some deserted classrooms on the third floor…."

Lily gave a hysterical little laugh. "Sure," she said recklessly. "Sure. Pick one out. I don't care which."

James looked elated. "Great. I'll meet you on the third floor Wednesday evening."

Lily nodded. "Sounds like a plan." _Oh, girl,_ she thought,_ you are getting yourself in so deep…._


	4. chapter four

****

See first chapter for the usual disclaimers.

_Potiens Interdiu, Potiens de Nocte – _Latin; Potions by Day, Potions by Night_   
Jean Bodin – _Jean Bodin was a demonologist born in Prague in 1529 and gained fame as an occultist for his book, _Demonomaie des Sorcies,_ in which he promoted and defended sorcery and witchcraft It was published in Paris 1581, and again at Wiort in 1616 as _Fleau des Demons et des Sorciers. _For more information on Bodin, go to the Mystica ). (This is an awesome site, and indispensable for both fanfic and fantasy writers!)_   
Bilanx et aboleo – _Latin; 'balance and destroy'._   
Tonique de curatif – _French; roughly, tonic of healing.   
Archibald the Lightheaded – This fellow was rumoured to know a charm that would keep a dog from barking and help to open a lock. According to the Index of Mystica, this charm was 'especially useful to young men during their courting days'. People thought Archibald was insane because he would mutter the charm so fast no one else could understand it.   
Grissell Gardner – Grissell Gardner was indeed burnt as a witch in 1610, in Newburgh. She was the ancestor of a man named Gerald B. Gardner, who was a prominent Witch and head of several covens in the 40s and 50s.

****

AN: Oh, beautiful, wonderful people that run FFN, THANK YOU for fixing the Quick Edit thingy! We have LINE BREAKS! ::dance of adulation::

Say hello to chapter four. Thanks for the reviews, everyone – although, Amscray, I have to say I was rather mystified at yours!

chapter four

She got down to the dungeons and Snape was already there.

"Have you been waiting long?" Lily asked, adjusting her grip on her satchel.

Snape shook his head. "No. Follow me."

She did so, and as she followed him into an old disused room with cavernous dimensions she realized that he had already set up. There, sitting on a low worktable that looked a splinter away from being tripedal, was a cauldron, a small collection of different-sized bottles, an array of various instruments – a pestle, several different knives, and at least three spoons, each fashioned out of a different material – and a small stack of books Lily didn't recognize.

"Professor Eberwulf gave me leave to make use of this chamber," Snape said, his voice echoing slightly in the chamber. "It's in poor condition, but it'll serve its purpose. Don't put anything on that end of the table," he warned her as she made to set down her satchel; "the leg on that corner is especially unstable."

"So I see," Lily said as she saw the table wobble. She moved down further and began taking her potions things out of her bag. "I don't suppose there are any chairs in here?"

Snape gestured towards an alcove hidden in the shadows at the end of the room. "Stacks of them," he said. "But most of them are rotted to bits."

"Oh." She finished laying out the rest of her potions kit. "What are we going to be doing this evening?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You," he said, putting a brittle emphasis on the word, "are going to make a standard Warming Draft."

Lily looked up at him. "Why?"

"I want to see exactly how appalling your brewing skills are," Snape said bluntly.

Lily frowned, but she knew better than to be too offended. Translating Snape-speak into a more civil tongue, she decided he was saying that he wanted to know what he was dealing with, where her weak spots were. A perfectly reasonable idea, masked by a nasty remark. She could deal with that.

"All right," she said, shrugging off the rudeness – after all, she couldn't possible expect Snape to change his attitude just because they had an _arrangement._ "A Warming Draft. Right-o." Warming Drafts were on the first-year syllabus, quick to brew and quite simple; she knew the recipe by heart. She began selecting the necessary ingredients out of the small selection she had brought with her: chicken teeth, dried radishes, and cinnamon.

"I'm afraid I don't have any…." Lily began.

"I do," Snape said, pushing a little pot into her line of vision. _Fresh salamander skin._

"Oh, thanks. I would have brought some…."

"Just get on with it," Snape said as she assembled the rest of the ingredients. "And halve the recipe." When she looked up at him inquiringly, he said, "So it'll fit into a single bottle. I don't want to waste anything."

Lily shrugged and did as she was instructed.

"You're forgetting something," Snape said as she reached for a knife with which to slice the radish.

Lily glanced around. What was she…? Oh, yes! Water. The water had to boil before any ingredients could be added. "Oh, right," she said sheepishly. "Um… a sink?"

"Behind you," Snape said. "There's a pump."

A very old pump indeed. The water came out pink with rust, and Lily waited until it rushed clear before putting the cauldron beneath it.

She brought it back to the table and lit a blue fire beneath it, and commenced preparing ingredients. She could feel Snape's hollow, beetle-black eyes on her the entire time she sliced and diced and chopped and measured, following the movement of her hands as she worked. And as she did, she found her attention slipping away from her work and more in the direction of the boy who was scrutinizing her.

A sharp reprieve told her he had noticed her lapse in concentration. "Pay attention," he barked as she almost scattered another teaspoon of crushed beetles over the roiling surface of the Warming-Draft-in-progress. She jumped, and hastily redirected her hand to put the beetles back in their jar. "Sorry," she muttered.

"Tell that to the parents of the student you just poisoned," Snape said.

She almost laughed as she reached for the dried nettle.

Five minutes later she brought the potion down from boiling and stood back. Snape stepped forward to inspect it.

"This is adequate," Snape said.

Lily began to smile.

"But I wouldn't expect anything less from a fourth-year brewing a first-year potion. Bottle this up and we'll start on the next one."

The smile faded from Lily's face, but she ladled the draft out into a bottle, wiped the drips up, and made to seal it up.

"What are you doing?" Snape barked. "Don't seal it yet, or else the steam will condense inside the bottle and the potion will decompose. Don't you know anything?"

"Sorry," Lily snapped. "You told me to bottle it."

"You should have been able to deduce what might have gone wrong. What happens when you spend eight hours hovering over a batch of Veritaserum only to finally bottle it and have it ruined before it even cools properly? Details!"

Lily's mouth thinned in the effort of swallowing a retort and she set the open bottle aside.

"Now take that cauldron and those utensils over to the sink and give them a quick scrub."

Lily did so without complaining, but it was a near thing. As she rinsed off the marble spoon, she glanced over her shoulder; Snape was leafing through one of the books he had stacked on the table, totally ignoring her.

She wandered back over a minute later and set the cauldron and the utensils down. "What next?" she asked.

"Hmm." He gave a low grunt, absorbed in whatever it was he was reading, and she watched as his hand wandered blindly over the stack of books to withdraw a sheet of parchment from between the pages of the first text. He handed it to her, still reading. "Here," he said, in the distant tones of one not paying particular attention to what one is saying; "the next potion. I copied it out of…." He trailed off for a moment, eyes flicking across the page, and then looked up. "The wizard's version of _Fleau des Demons et des Sorciers._ I've made a few adjustments to incorporate more basic ingredients than what Jean Bodin had listed."

Lily glanced over the list. It was Snape's handwriting, all right, crabbed and spiky and almost illegible. "I don't have any of these ingredients," Lily said after a moment, "except for the vervain."

"I know," said Snape. "Most of these ingredients aren't included in the standard potions kit. I've brought some from my own stores." He indicated a small wooden box that had been hiding behind the stack of books. "Now," he said, coming around the table to examine the inside of her still-slightly-damp cauldron, "this potion I guarantee you're unfamiliar with. It's on the sixth-year syllabus, and while not particularly time-consuming, it incorporates most elements of potions-brewing – meticulously prepared ingredients, intricate brewing process, and a certain degree of volatility before being properly completed. If one – that is to say, you – does not pay proper attention to the _details,_ it is very likely to result in an explosion."

He seemed amused at Lily's expression.

She turned her eyes back to the parchment, skimming the list again. "If I may ask," she said, "what exactly is this potion for?"

"From the ingredients, what do _you_ surmise?" Snape replied instead.

Lily scanned the list of ingredients. "It looks, " she said slowly, "like a draft of protection against… jinxes… and the like. Or is it a curative?"

"Both, actually," Snape said. "Its purpose is ambidextrous. Do you have your wand with you?" he asked suddenly.

Lily patted her left sleeve. "Wouldn't go anywhere without it," she said.

"A simple 'yes' or 'no' would have sufficed," Snape said irritably. "Take it out." Lily did so, and Snape withdrew his from his own sleeve. "You'll need your wand for a particular stage in the process. Repeat after me. _Bilanx et aboleo."_

"_Bilanx eddaboleo,_" Lily muttered.

"Slow down," Snape said. "Enunciate. _Et. Aboleo._ _Bilanx et aboleo."_

Lily repeated it for a second time and got it right. "What's it mean?" she asked.

"It's Latin," Snape said. "Literally, balance and destroy. To balance the humours and destroy the bad ones. You will recite that while you stir the potion with your wand."

"Ah," Lily said, in tones of great understanding. She knew what humours were. "All right."

"Get started," Snape said. 

_

* * *

_

This tonic was considerably more difficult than the Warming Draft. The preparation of the ingredients had to be, as Snape had said, meticulously exact, and more than once she found Snape correcting the angle of her knife or the motion of her pestle with a snapped command and a directing application of his own fingers. And more than once did she have to consult him concerning a particular ingredient, as his handwriting was so abominably indecipherable that she almost couldn't read half of it.

"What's this say?" she asked, pointing at a cramped phrase. "I can't read your handwriting."

"Pickled murtlap growth," said Snape, glancing over the parchment. "You should have checked that before you began the potion," he added. "And try not to let the juice escape. It all has to go in."

Lily continued with the potion, wrinkling her nose a little bit at the foul, briny smell of the anemone-like growth, but she didn't complain out loud. It wouldn't amount to anything, and it wasn't as if murtlap was _poisonous_.

With the threat of an explosion looming over her, Lily was very careful in her work. She took painstaking measures in the readying of the ingredients, and in stirring and adding them at the precise times, and even so, though she avoided any really embarrassing mistakes, the finished product Snape declared to be imperfect.

"It's not a complete waste," he said as he held the still-smoking bottle up to the light, "but it's not half as effective as it should be. The colour is quite off, and the consistency, as well."

Lily stared up at the bottle. It looked almost exactly the same as any other potion she had brewed – they all did in the end, turning an unattractive shade of mud. Generally, this was not a sign of poor brewing but the result of a miscellany of weird, earthy ingredients mixed together. "How can you tell?"

"See the flecks of orange sinking towards the bottom?" Snape gave the concoction a quick slosh. "They should be more vibrant, and they should stay evenly dispersed throughout the potion." Quite abruptly, he set the potion down on the table. "The _tonique de curatif_ is intended as a multipurpose elixir. In its perfect state, it heals minor curse-related injuries and maladies, and, when drunken, it lends a minor, temporary resistance to further curses and hexes. The latter power is slight, but when properly brewed it does take _some_ effect. This, however, will only be useful as a cure, and not a very fine one at that." He glared at her.

Lily found herself rather ashamed of herself, but she knew it wasn't entirely her fault. "Well, it was a new potion," she said, "and quite an advanced one at that."

"That's no excuse," Snape growled. "This particular potion I've been brewing for three years now. I was only twelve when I first brewed it."

"And I'll bet you didn't do any better than I did on your first try," Lily said, though she wondered why Snape would have learned such a potion at such a young age. "It's okay, you can seethe all you want; I'm going to congratulate myself that it'll work at all."

Snape's black eyes went wide for a moment, and his already pale cheeks went even whiter. "You think this is _acceptable?_" His voice was flooded with incredulous disbelief. "When are you going to take this seriously? It's not – "

"Snape, you take everything _too_ seriously," Lily said frankly. "I'm just glad I didn't blow us up, and that what I made can be used for something, even if it won't be as effective as something, for example, that _you_ made." She grinned suddenly. "I'm here for a price, anyway. What's the use in it if I do it perfectly the first time? Then I'd only owe you one transfiguration lesson, and that wouldn't be much use, would it?"

Snape seemed, for once, too mad to counter that. "Clean this up," he spat. "And dry those silver utensils particularly well; if they end up spotty you're replacing them."

Lily gathered up the dirty potions things without comment and took them to the sink. She wondered if he _expected_ her to do a shoddy job; if he did, he was bound to be disappointed: she had been washing dishes since she was six and hadn't once tarnished any silverware.

"Snape?" she called over the gurgle of water. "Could you tell me what exactly you're having trouble with in transfiguration?" She glanced over her shoulder; Snape was again leafing through one of the books he'd brought; he looked up as she spoke, a scowl on his face. "I just want to know what to prepare for," she explained.

He didn't answer for a minute, and just when she was getting ready to shake the water from her hands and turn around, he spoke. "At the moment," he said, sounding extremely reluctant to divulge such information to Lily; "I am experiencing the most difficulty transforming inanimate objects to an animate ones."

Lily nodded. "All right," she said, making a mental note to herself. "Like turning a doornail into a dormouse. We can start on that first." She dried a silver spoon on the underside of her robe in the absence of a towel. "I found a good room today, by the way. On the third floor. It's next to the painting of Archibald the Lightheaded and the dog." She finished drying the last knife and turned around. "It's rather dusty, but I imagine it'll be fine once it's cleaned up a little bit…. Speaking of which, do you have any plans for tidying up _this_ room?"

"If anything," Snape said, "I'll call for a house elf."

Lily hadn't thought of that. "Good idea," she said, causing Snape to look a little startled. "Though this place'll need a score of them to fix it up in time for next lesson." She wiped her hands off on her robes and changed the subject. "I finished up with your things," she said. "Everything's been dried quite well, and if there's nothing else, I'll be heading down to dinner now."

Snape held up a finger. "In a moment. I've a book for you to look over during the week."

Interested, Lily came forward, joining him at the table. He handed her a ragged-looking volume. Embossed on the cover was the title _Potiens Interdiu, Potiens de Nocte,_ beneath which was the image of a ribbon-bound spray of herbs juxtaposed by a sharply curved sickle.

"On page eighty-three there is a recipe," said Snape. "Make an attempt to memorize it, and read the preceding bit about the significance of various herb-harvesting methods."

Lily flipped the book open, scanning age-spotted pages with an intrigued eye. "This is your book?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, sounding rather dangerous, "and I'd be careful with it if I were you. There are four different hexes on the spine alone, and if you dare to dog-ear a page I refuse to reaffix your fingers."

"I'll be careful with it," Lily said, her grip on the book now rather more sensitive.

"See that you are," Snape said.

"Is that it?"

"For now. I suppose I'll see you on Thursday."

"On the third floor," Lily reminded him, and, after putting her scattered things into her bag, she left.

_

* * *

_

"Bet you can't guess where I was," Lily said as she slid into a seat across from Sirius, who was already halfway through a bowl of soup.

Peter Pettigrew, sitting beside him, looked up as Lily pulled a basket of rolls towards her. "Quidditch pitch," he guessed.

"Nope. Try again."

"Owlery," Sirius tried, slurping at a spoonful of soup.

Lily shook her head. "Wrong."

"In the library?" Peter asked.

"You'll never guess," Lily said, spooning broccoli on her plate. "Hey, Remus, what are you reading?"

Remus, sitting on Sirius's other side, looked up from a slim book. He looked haggard, but he offered a smile. "Grissell Gardner," he said by way of explanation. "Burnt as a witch in sixteen-ten. She was one of the few true witches to be executed in such a way."

Sirius snorted into his soup. "Bet she was a Hufflepuff," he said. At Lily's stern look, he shrugged and said defensively, "Nobody else would've allowed himself to get caught without a wand!"

Lily gave him a look of dislike. "It's terrible how prejudiced some people can be," she said.

"I second that," Remus echoed. Sirius's expression only became more defiant, and Lily was once again unpleasantly reminded that he was a pureblood boy born of an old Slytherin family. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak Lily interrupted him.

"Let's not get into a big discussion about this," she said quickly.

Sirius glared at her. "What's there to discuss, Evans?"

Lily smiled. "Precisely."

"But think about it," Sirius protested. "Would a Gryffindor be walking around in the sixteenth century – "

"Seventeenth," Lily corrected.

"_Whatever. _Would a Gryffindor just walk around in the _seventeenth_ century without a wand? Totally unprotected? I don't think so, not with all the Slytherins wandering around – and the Ravenclaws are just too smart – "

Lily rolled her eyes. "And a smart Ravenclaw might come to the conclusion that waving an occultish stick around might come off as a bit _suspicious. _And there certainly weren't that many true witches and wizards, Slytherin or not, 'wandering around' in those times – most of them were in hiding with their covens." She rolled her eyes. "Magic folk didn't have time to lynch each other. They were too busy hiding from the Muggles."

"Someone should have told that to the Blacks," Sirius said darkly. "Our family had been actively feuding with the Potters since the fourteen-hundreds. No little Muggle Inquisition was going to get in the way of that."

The self-loathing in his voice made Lily drop her gaze and the subject. Well, it was no secret that Sirius was the white sheep of the family Black; he had been so from the moment he had been sorted into Gryffindor. Lily suspected that his friendship with James was a matter of defiance that had turned into something more genuine. The Potter-Black vendetta was practically legendary amongst the old-magic families.

Lily finished her dinner, talking quietly with Remus about Grissell Gardner and her Muggle occultist descendant Gerald. Once she had polished off the last of her potatoes she returned to Gryffindor Tower, relieved to finally be able to escape the now-moody presence of Sirius and get to her studies.

_

* * *

_

It was well past eight o'clock when she finally finished up her last essay – a particularly dull History of Magic assignment – and got around to the book Snape had lent her. It was an arcane little volume and, as Lily, laying flat on her back on her bed, opened it for the second time that evening, she felt a rather queer anticipation for the knowledge Snape was imparting to her through this tome – but as she began reading it, she realized, with a sheepish disappointment, that it was rather boring and not really anything new. The section about the harvesting of various herbs was fairly straightforward and rather obvious, and the potion that Snape had instructed her to memorize turned out to be a process for a wizarding kind of superglue. The undodgyness of it was anticlimactic; arcane little volumes with names like _Potiens Interdiu, Potiens de Nocte_ should have contained formulas for foreign, grey-magic sorts of brews, not recipes for _paste._

Lily laughed at this thought, and at her own expectations. She was reacting as if she was _dismayed._ She laughed louder at this thought, curling up on her side as giggles shook her, earning her a strange, annoyed glance from Cordelia, who was reading in the window seat.

"What's so funny?" the other girl asked.

"Paste," Lily laughed. "Just paste."

"Yeah, I'll bet it's just paste," Cordelia muttered. "Bet you've just been sniffing it. You know," she said in a louder voice, "we have Astronomy in a couple hours."

"I know," Lily said. "And I have every intention to take a nap beforehand. Honestly, if there's one thing I miss about Muggle schools it's that all the classes took place in broad daylight."

"Lucky Muggles," Cordelia said in tones of such envy that Lily laughed again.


	5. chapter five

See chapter one for all disclaimers.  
_Vivo novatio – _the _novatio_ spell – Latin, roughly translated it means 'live change' or 'live renewal'.  
_Rudolph Johann Glauber_ was indeed a real man, a German alchemist born in 1603 who believed quite firmly in the Philosopher's Stone and the _elixir vitae_ (the elixir of life). No authentic records of his life were made, but he wrote many articles on medicine and alchemy, among which were _Philosophical Furnaces,_ _Heaven of the Philosophers _or_ Book of Vexation, Miraculum Mundi, The Prosperity of Germany _and_ Book of Fires.  
_The quote attributed to him in the following chapter, however, is my own, and if Herr Glauber ever said it I apologise to him and wonder at the strange coincidences of the world.  
_Spiro mutatorius – _Latin, obviously; roughly translated, it means 'breathe change'. Yeah, really original, I know.

Author's Note: I apologise for this being so incredibly late. Exercising brevity, I'll simply say that in between PC problems and temporary prohibition from internet access, I've not had an opportunity to post. And this chapter is embarrassingly short at an undersized six pages. Please excuse this; they'll get longer soon.

I'd like to thank everyone for the reviews – and Lavinia Lavender, I was delighted at having the quality of my fic compared with Liz Barr's magnificent 'There Is No Such Place', and I assure you that I WILL, on pain of recalcitrant Band-Aids and excruciating indomitable hangnails, FINISH THIS FIC. Unlike some people we could name, eh?

And, save for the fact that I've currently got Kiss's (really annoying but infuriatingly catchy) _Rock n Roll All Night_ playing on repeat, I have no other announcements.

Read on.

chapter five

Lily paid especial attention in Transfiguration the next morning, and managed to transfigure her crystal ball into a Quaffle on her second try, though it did retain a glassy sheen that James assured her was quite acceptable – new Quaffles _did _have a certain glossiness, he said, and he told her not to mind it.

Lily was anticipating the evening's lesson with something akin to trepidation. James was a free spirit, to put it lightly, and she wasn't sure whether she would take as well to his instruction as she could to Snape's. She could ignore Snape's harsh comments and surly nature easily because she didn't particularly like him to begin with, but James hovered somewhere between the categories of 'friend' and 'adversary' and his joker's personality could get a bit tiresome after a while. Still, it heartened her that she would be learning transfiguration from _him;_ he, along with Sirius, were easily as good at the subject as Snape was at potions, and she couldn't think of anyone else she'd rather be taught by.

That evening, after dinner and revision with the girls in the library, Lily made her way up to the third floor. James was waiting on the first landing, standing beneath a portrait of an old wizard carving a unicorn horn. "You weren't at dinner," Lily said as she joined him at the top of the stair.

"I had a sandwich," James said, rumpling his hair. He walked beside her into the corridor, talking as he did. "So, what's the problem?" he asked.

"What? Oh, with transfiguration? Um…."

"Off the top of your head, what would you say is giving you the most trouble?" James prodded.

"Inanimate to animate transfiguration," Lily said, trying to sound natural. In truth, she imagined it would be more difficult for her to fake total ignorance than actually perform the magic. She hoped James wouldn't notice anything.

"Ho! Nothing simpler," James said enthusiastically as he stopped in the hall and pushed open a door, stepping into a room which Lily recognized only belatedly as the very one she had chosen to tutor Snape in. "Yes, I thought this'd be a good place to study," James said, seeing her expression. "Nice, isn't it? I had the house elves clean it up a little bit. You wouldn't believe how bad it was before… could hardly inhale without choking on the dust…."

Lily made a strangled sound that James didn't notice.

"I thought about doing this in the common room, but I figured the noise would be too much of a distraction…. Anyway, animate transfiguration, eh? Well, it's always more tricky when you bring life and breath into the equation, but it's not a terribly difficult spell. Got your wand? Okay, take a seat…."

They adjourned the lesson a quarter of an hour early, James having happily declared Lily quite adept at the spell. Lily was uneasy. She had indeed mastered the spell – it was rather hard faking incompetence, she discovered – and James hadn't explained much of the theory at all, which was really what she had wanted. Of course, James had no way of knowing that. She didn't blame him in the slightest. She was more than aware that whatever trouble came from this was going to be wholly her fault. And she was worried.

Because what on earth would she do if either James or Snape found out what she was doing? There was nothing inherently wrong with it, of course, but the whole thing was, she felt, incredibly sneaky. And rather brilliant, she had to admit, if she managed to pull it off. But if James found out that she was swapping _his_ expertise for _Snape's_ – that she was only coming to him so she could improve her Potions grade – he would be…. Well, she didn't exactly know what James's reaction would be. He might be outraged, or perhaps just disappointed. But Snape – she knew without a doubt what _his_ reaction would be. He'd be absolutely furious. She knew that it would wound his pride most grievously to discover that he'd been getting second-hand lessons from James Potter, his arch-nemesis. She was sure she'd feel the same way in his position.

And she wasn't sure he wouldn't hex her when he found out. She was sure that James Potter, while not exactly angelic in nature, would be able to control his temper – at least with her – to some extent. Snape, on the other hand, bore her no goodwill whatsoever, and she wasn't sure whether his code of ethics – if he even had one – extended to the reach of 'thou shalt not strike a woman'. Or hex. And he knew some pretty nasty hexes.

Lily pushed these thoughts out of her mind and thanked James for the lesson. "It was very helpful," she lied, feeling more than a bit guilty for using him – because, of course, that was what she was doing, wasn't it? "Same time next week?"

"Same time, same place," said James. "Are you going back up to Gryffindor?"

Lily nodded. "Yeah," she said; "I've got some stuff to look over. Charms stuff."

"I'll walk you," James offered.

"You don't have to," Lily said.

"Well, I'm going back anyway," James shrugged. "I've a letter I need to take up to the Owlery, and I left it in the dormitory."

"Oh," said Lily. "Okay, then." They walked out of the room together, Lily speaking quietly. "I've been meaning to write home, too," she said. "I've not written since we got back and my mum'll be expecting it…."

"You have a sister, don't you?" James said after a moment.

Lily nodded. "Petunia," she said. "She's older than me by two years."

"Muggle," James said softly.

"Hm. Yes." Lily smiled down at her feet. "Very Muggle."

"What does she think about… all this?" James asked with an expansive gesture.

"Very little," Lily said. "She thinks it's quite unnatural."

"Sorry to hear that," James replied. "Merlin."

Lily shrugged. "It's not bad," she said. "We weren't that – well, we _were_ close before, but I've pretty much… gotten over it."

James didn't say anything. Tactful of him, Lily supposed.

"What about you?" Lily asked. "You don't have any siblings. What's it like, being an only child?"

James grinned at that. "I wouldn't know," he said. "Since Hogwarts, I haven't been home by myself. Every holiday, at least one of the boys comes home with me… usually Sirius, but Remus and Peter pop by quite often, too. Peter lives close."

Lily laughed. "I'll bet your mum loves that," she said. "A houseful of mayhem in the form of four teenage boys."

"I'll have you know we're perfect saints at home," James said piously. "Relatively, anyway. We don't blow up half as many toilets during the holidays, at any rate."

Lily laughed again. "Mad," she said.

"Only sometimes," James replied.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Sorry I didn't write sooner – I'd say we've been quite busy, but truthfully I'll tell you to chalk it up to simple laziness. Have you gotten any letters from Petunia? How is she doing at Saint Christine's? If you remember, please tell her I said hello – I'd send her an owl, but you know how she is about that kind of thing. By the way, I'm sending this with a friend's owl. His name is Remus (the friend, not the owl – the owl's called Eko) and he's a real sweetie – one of the few Gryffindor boys in my year who seems to take his academic studies seriously. Anyway, this owl should wait for you to get a reply together, but do hurry, because I don't want to hold up Remus's correspondence longer than necessary._

_Another friend of mine – James Potter, I told you about him – is currently helping me out with transfiguration. Tonight he showed me how to change a book into a bird. He actually let me practice on his old copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, which is a highly prized book among the Quidditch enthusiasts – you wouldn't believe the state of the library's _numerous_ copies. Anyway, it ended turning into a puffin. Why a puffin, I have no idea. The spell doesn't specify a particular bird; I can only assume that my subconscious is puffin-shaped, which is a disconcerting idea if you think about it too much._

_Anyway, I have to confess that I'm not taking these lessons purely for my own academic benefit. That is _not_ to say that I'm spending an hour a week in James Potter's company simply to spend an hour a week in James Potter's company. The fact is that I'm actually taking potions lessons from another student – and he demands payment in the form of transfiguration lessons, which I misleadingly told him was my second-best subject. While I'm not bad at transfiguration – well, you know I'm not; you've seen my marks! – I'm not half as good at it as Snape is at his potions. And I imagine he'll figure that out without some sort of divinely inspired intervention. Which is why I'm taking lessons from Potter, as well._

_I'm afraid to imagine what you think of your dear, sweet Gryffindor daughter displaying such Slytherin tendencies. Bad and awful things, no doubt. But I'm at a loss as to what else I should do, short of revealing my dastardly plot to both boys – who, incidentally, hate each other with the passion of a thousand burning suns. Hopefully I'll be able to pull through 'til end of semester without either of them finding out. Unless you have any suggestions? (Hint, hint!)_

_Have I ever mentioned how excruciating it is writing with a quill? It's almost unspeakable. Why wizards haven't adapted to some form of ballpoint pen is beyond me._

_I hate to say this, but my shoes are getting small again. It's ridiculous, I know; we just bought them in August. It's not terribly urgent, but in a month or so it will be – if you could spare a few pounds I'd appreciate it. And a bottle of aspirin. They don't sell it in the village and the headache cures these people come up with are effective but they taste terrible._

_Also, do you think you could send a few of my tapes with your next letter? Pink Floyd, Dark Side of the Moon – it's on my dresser, beside the radio; it's black and it's got a picture of a prism reflecting light on the front. (I can't believe I forgot that! I was listening to it the night before we left for the station, and I was meaning to put it in my bag, but it completely slipped my mind!) And David Bowie's 'Diamond Dogs', which should be in the cardboard box on my cedar chest. It has a picture of a fellow with the bottom half of a dog on the front. You should be able to find it easily; it's right on top of the rest. And Imagine, if you're finished with it, Dad. There's a girl in my dormitory who hasn't even heard of John Lennon, if you can believe it. If I can get this stupid cassette player working I plan on introducing her._

_Could you say hi to Aunt Leona for me when you see her on Michaelmas?_

_Have to run now – if this letter gets much longer Eko won't be able to carry it!_

_Much love,_

_Lily_

Lily walked down from the Owlery, her satchel swinging from her shoulder, wondering whether she should get her own owl. She certainly could use one, especially during the holidays; it was a pain having to go all the way to the public Owlery in Diagon Alley just to send a note off to Eliza or Remus, her two chief correspondents. But owls were so expensive – good ones, anyway, the ones that were bred for all-weather speed and dependability. They cost Galleons upon Galleons, and that wasn't even beginning to count the cost of the various protective enchantments you could have placed on them. And owls weren't the only creatures you could get to deliver your mail, though they were the most popular. She'd seen songbirds, ravens, and even falcons delivering mail in the Great Hall, and once she could have sworn she'd seen a bat drop a scroll off to Professor Eberwulf.

Ruminating on the subject of owls, Lily stopped at the painting of the Fat Lady and gave the requested password – _errare humanum –_ and climbed through the portrait hole. The common room was a blaze of red and gold upholstery and candlelight; it was fairly deserted, owing to the fact that half of the students were still in class (the other half were expecting an Astronomy lesson later in the evening) and it was far too nice of a day to be sitting inside around a fire. Lily, though, had a lesson to prepare for, and she ran up to her dormitory to gather together all her transfiguration books.

After an hour or so of feverishly cramming information she already knew into her head, she decided that she was as ready as she ever was going to be. She put her things away and then headed off to the third floor.

In the room she had chosen – clean now, due to James – she arranged a jumble of odds and ends on the table and began to practice transfiguring them. It was strange doing this on her own without the distractions of classmates or dorm-mates to divert her attention; she could focus on the magic better, feel it flow through her veins in fitful, erratic pulses, tingling beneath her skin like a sheen of electricity imbued within her flesh. It was hard to pinpoint the exact sensation that accompanied actual spellcasting; it felt a little like the static jolt that occurred when one walked across a carpet in socks and touched a metal doorknob, but somehow more subtle than that, smoother and not half so startling. It was a satisfying feeling, and it fascinated her.

Eventually, she was distracted by the sound of the door opening. She looked up from the jewellery box she had just refigured to see Snape edge into the room, looking dubious and rather insolent.

"Evening, Snape," Lily offered in greeting.

"Evans," he said.

She gestured towards the chair on the other side of the table. "Have a seat."

He glanced at the chair, a sneer lifting his upper lip –: "I prefer not to sit with my back to a door," he said.

Lily rolled her eyes, ducking her head to hide it. How affected. "Of course," she said with exaggerated sweetness; "just pull it around to this side, then."

Surprisingly, Snape did so without comment, and in a minute he was seated on her side of the table, spaced a cautious few feet away.

Lily had to admit to herself – no, she _freely_ admitted to herself that she was nowhere near ready for this. She wasn't a teacher; she didn't function well in that aspect. She was not as gifted with words as James was, and neither was she as familiar with the concept of this branch of transfiguration as Snape was no doubt expecting her to be. But she refused to be cowed by these thoughts; she cleared her throat and began.

"Take our your wand," she directed, feeling a smug satisfaction when Snape silently did exactly that, and she pushed towards him the jewellery box she had just been practicing on. "Now, cast the _novatio_ spell on this."

Snape touched the box, as if to confirm its position, before drawing back, aiming his wand, and softly uttering "_Vivo novatio._"

For a moment, nothing happened. Lily took her eyes off the box to see Snape scowling at it; for a moment, everything was still, and then the jewellery box had transformed into a small, silvery statuette of a box tortoise.

Lily didn't laugh, or even smile; she simply nodded. "All right," she said softly. "Now change it back."

Snape muttered the counterspell, and the tortoise turned back into the jewellery box with seemingly no trouble at all.

Lily frowned, and pushed a teacup towards him. "Try it on this," she said.

Snape did so. The teacup shuddered before sprouting tiny porcelain paws.

"Change it back," she ordered, and once again, the counterspell worked perfectly.

Lily made him try the spell on several other different objects before pronouncing him very bad at the subject. "Strange, though," she said, doing her best to ignore his murderous expression; "your intonation and wand movements are… well, perfect. And that's where _most_ go wrong. And I think," she said, feeling rather excited at the prospect; "I think I know what your problem is."

"You _think?_" said Snape. "Shouldn't you _know?_"

Lily shot him a disgusted look. "I never claimed to be a transfiguration Master," she said. "I have a theory, though. A hypothesis, more like – I've not found anything about it in the books we study, so it's kind of like wandering blindfolded in the dark – but it's my belief that a lot of transfiguration trouble has to do with the mindset of the spellcaster."

Snape snorted. "That's hardly an original concept," he said.

"Thank you," she snapped. "If you know so much about it, why are you even coming to me?"

Snape gave her a mutinous look, but fell silent.

"Anyway," said Lily, "like I said, I think it's your mindset that's the trouble. I imagine you're inclined to believe that transformations like this – turning doornails into dormice, for example – are rather ridiculous?"

"I do find it… difficult to see the point," Snape admitted stiffly.

"There's your problem," Lily said, feeling a rush of satisfaction that had nothing to do with Snape admitting a weakness and everything to do with a problem well solved. "You've cultivated yourself a nice mental block. Rudolph Glaubersaid that condescension to the Craft is the downfall of the wizard, and I think you've been taking the wrong sort of approach to transfiguration from the start…. What you need to do is attempt to… clear your head of… scornful thoughts." She cleared her throat, aware of how awkward that had sounded. "That is to say, forget that you're turning a doornail into a dormouse. Or a snuffbox into a box turtle. Don't think about _why_ you're doing it – because that's pointless; I mean, who on earth would _want_ to turn a newspaper into a newt? And that's the kind of thinking that defeats the spell. Do you see what I'm saying?"

"You want me to pretend that I have a perfectly legitimate reason for turning a twig into a twig insect," Snape said tonelessly.

"No, no," Lily shook her head. "Don't pretend at all. Just don't think about it. Don't _analyse_ it, just _do_ it."

Snape looked at her, expressionless. He opened his mouth to speak – to snap out a critical remark, no doubt – and Lily cut him off before he could form a word.

"Just try it," she said, pushing the jewellery box towards him again.

Snape looked down at the box, and after a moment she saw his brows furrow slightly as he concentrated.

She wasn't aware that she was holding her breath.

Finally she heard him murmur the spell. "_Vivo novatio._"

She looked and saw the box change: the silver dulled, smoothed, broke into sections; it sprouted legs, a head, a tail; its eyes opened and it blinked.

Lily gave a soft cry of delight. It wasn't perfect, by any means – the turtle still retained a definite metallic sheen, and the only signs of movement it showed were its blinking eyes and its slightly twitching tail, but it was a lot better than his first attempts.

"Oh, good! Ha! I was right!" This last remark was aimed more towards herself than Snape; she clenched a fist in triumph, and then, aware that Snape was staring at her with a faintly appalled expression, she composed herself. "Sorry," she said with a little sheepish laugh. "Why don't you change it back and try it on the teacup."

Snape did so, muttering something under his breath between spells. He cast at the teacup, and it sprouted gleaming hair and ceramic limbs and a long, whippy china tail and became a twitching, almost-comatose-but-definitely-alive rat.

"Better, better," Lily chimed, changing it back herself with a wave of her own wand and shoving an empty inkbottle towards him. He turned it into a glassy-looking scarab beetle. She thrust a pen case in front of him; he changed it into a salamander with leather-patterned skin; she gave him an empty coin purse and he transfigured it into a somewhat stiff mole-like creature Lily recognized as a Niffler. Lastly she handed him a pair of gold stork-shaped scissors, and he turned them into a fluttering brown bird. To her delight it immediately flew away to perch on the top of a high cabinet beside the door.

"Perfect," Lily proclaimed, and Summoned the bird and changed it back into a pair of scissors before it could fly away again. "You see what you were doing? You were transfiguring them before you had time to think about what you were doing. Try this here." She set a slightly bent spoon before him. When he cast the spell at it, it turned into a praying mantis that was a little too large and a little too still.

"There," said Lily. "You were thinking again. But you do understand what I'm saying?"

"Thoroughly," Snape said. He was frowning, eyes keen, but he didn't appear as surly as he had when he first entered the room.

"Let's try some of the other spells," Lily said. "_Spiro mutatorius_ next."

An hour later Lily had packed her various articles back into her satchel. Snape was looking decidedly winded, and with good reason; transfiguration was a difficult subject, and he'd been casting almost non-stop the entire time, and improving, no matter how slowly and slightly. Lily felt quite proud of herself. She was lucky Snape was a fast learner; if he hadn't caught on to her theory as quickly as he had, she doubted her patience would have lasted longer than the first quarter hour.

"Practice," she said as she snapped her bag shut. "Practice those spells during the week. And don't think about them. Practice _not thinking._" She slipped the strap of her bag over her shoulder and nodded to Snape. "I'll see you Tuesday evening."

"Tomorrow, actually," Snape said. "Arithmancy."

Lily slapped her forehead. "That's right. Arithmancy. Anyway, I'll see you."

"You needn't reassure me," Snape said, his tone more matter-of-fact than sneering. "I'm perfectly capable of deducing that."

Lily felt her face heat up momentarily and she wondered whether she should be irritated with Snape for being so fastidious or ashamed of herself for making such an obvious statement. "Whatever," she said awkwardly. "Night, Snape."

Snape gave a small smirk. "Good evening, Evans."

Evans exited the classroom in a sweep of dark robes and red hair, leaving Severus to his thoughts. He was drained; all that casting had worn him out entirely. He figured he shouldn't have let her push him so far; he should have stopped sooner, but he had been doing better than he had expected. Evans seemed to know what she was doing, and what was more, she was evidently patient and intelligent enough to explain it lucidly.

She was strange, though. Her enthusiasm was disquieting; her encouragements unnerved him. She seemed to gain some sort of personal triumph out of his success, however minimal it was. He wondered – not for the first time – whether she had some ulterior motive in tutoring him, whether she was doing it for some other reason than the fact that she owed him.

Snape shook his head. He realized that Evans was a riddle he didn't have enough clues to solve. It was pointless sitting here and mulling it over when there were more productive things he could be doing.

He left the disused classroom, feeling hungry for once and hoping they were still serving dinner in the Great Hall.


	6. chapter six

See chapter one for all disclaimers.

_Acanthocehpalous_ – having spikes on the head, pertaining to having spikes on the head  
_Oncotic_ – pertaining to swelling  
_Vertiginosus –_ vertigo charm, makes one giddy in the head  
_Aegritudo – _ill-health charm  
_Percutio – _to strike  
_Remiissus! – _to return or send back  
_Occlusus – _to stop a sound  
Judging by what information JKR supplies in QTTA and FBAWTFT, 1 Galleon 7.35 or 5.10 pounds. This is the rate of conversion I use in this fanfic.

Author's Notes: I decided I'd post two chapters to make up for my being so terribly, abominably late. Though I haven't been online properly since November, and I haven't gotten a chance to post anything here since then, I promise I haven't abandoned this; besides these latest two chapters, I have five more chapters written up, waiting to be edited. I'm planning on writing a load more soon, but it might take a while because I'm going to public school part-time now (wow!) and I don't have quite as much free time as I did when I was fully homeschooled. But I'll do my best.

Books I recommend: since I don't have full access to the internet at the moment, I've been reading a lot more than usual. I've become quite enamoured with Oscar Wilde, but I also advise you to check out Clive Barker's Abarat books. They are _fantastic,_ but I really wouldn't classify them as children's literature. They get darker and darker the farther you get into them.

I am currently having fun writing my Original Novel, which is growing steadily larger by the week. If you want some more details, I suggest you check out my livejournal (my username is _givemethechild_) and my website for some relevant art. (the site is linked on the journal if you're interested).

Nothing else for me to say here except that I am not sure when I'll next get to update this. It'll probably be a while, but I'll try not to make you wait months and months for chapter 7. In any case, happy reading, and tell your friends about it if you like it.

chapter six

Weeks passed in this way:

Tuesday evenings Lily worked at potions until her head swam and pounded from the fumes. Wednesday evenings she spent ill at ease in the company of James Potter. Thursday evenings she watched Snape work himself to exhaustion over a single spell and offered useful bits of advice she had gleaned from James the night before.

It was almost frightening how simple it was to juggle these lessons.

What was even more frightening was the fact that she seemed to be _connecting_ with Snape. Or, at least, she was beginning to get used to his unfriendly, often argumentative presence. And it wasn't actually so much a frightening prospect as an amusing one; for one thing, she hadn't expected to discover that Snape had a sense of humour. But he did, and it was so dry and sarcastic she wasn't surprised at all that she hadn't seen it sooner.

One thing she was certain of, however, was that he wasn't warming to her by any means. He was just as unfriendly as before, in actions and words; his rare jokes – they were so subtle she didn't feel comfortable calling them _jokes _– were always mocking of her, her house, and her friends. She could ignore most of it – really, what _could_ she do? Showing that she was offended would have only opened a door for more insults.

One evening, however, during a potions study, he began to subtly deride her friends – Sirius Black, in particular, who seemed to have committed some vile transgression against Snape over the weekend – and she calmly set down the wooden spoon with which she had been stirring the Acanthocephalous potion, and said to him, quite calmly: "I am forced to agree with you, Snape, that Sirius is quite often infuriating, but as he is not here at the moment for you to tell him so, and as I am in no mood to go over the particulars of his unpleasant behaviour, I'd appreciate it if you shut up about him and any other mutual acquaintances you might find fault in _while I'm trying to count strokes._"

Surprisingly, that seemed to have had some sort of effect, and he had kept his contemptuous observations directed mainly at her ever since.

She didn't kid herself. Some of his comments _hurt._ But she prided herself on the fact that she could ignore most of them, and that she could pretend quite convincingly that the other ones didn't affect her at all. This tactic seemed to both annoy and take the wind out of Snape; after a quarter hour of unreciprocated taunting, he tended to give up and let her get on with whatever she was supposed to be brewing.

And her potions skills seemed to be improving, just as gradually as his transfiguration skills were. After a month of lessons, she could see a difference in her potions, and Professor Eberwulf could, too. One Thursday morning he pronounced her Oncotic Elixir the best he had seen all week, and after class he caught her at the door and inquired whether she had taken his advice and gone to Patricia Carson for secondary lessons. Lily shook her head, told him no, and he'd let her go off to Care of Magical Creatures without further questioning.

He'd obviously guessed whom she had gone to, though, because the next day at double Potions he paired her with Snape himself.

Lily was surprised at how different it felt to actually work _alongside_ Snape, as opposed to working alone at his instruction. The potion they were brewing, a milder derivative of a particularly stringent cleaning solution, required quite a bit of attention in the preparation of ingredients, and Lily helped him with the slicing and mashing and powdering until they were ready to begin adding things to the cauldron. It was strange working on opposite sides of the table, passing utensils and jars of ingredients back and forth in an almost comfortable silence.

Across the room Lily could hear Sirius arguing loudly with Elbert Avery, and wondered why he even bothered. Things were so much easier if you kept your mouth shut – for her, anyway, and when you saved your wit for your work it resulted in a lot less mistakes. But boys – the Gryffindor boys, at any rate – tended to be like that; loud and brash and more concerned with one-upping their Slytherin partner than paying attention to their assignment.

By the end of the class, Peter and Breda Jones had melted their cauldron; Rodolphus Lestrange had dumped minced bat's heart into James's bag, and Carmine Bright and Cordelia had gotten something foreign into their potion that turned it into a noxious stew. The only other perfect potions belonged to Eliza and Acte Hart, who were both quiet and fair brewers, and Evan Rosier, who was working alone, as Remus was in the infirmary recovering from a nasty bout of influenza.

Once their potion was cool, Snape bottled it, careful not to slosh a drop on the tabletop, and Lily took it up to Professor Eberwulf.

"Very good," said Eberwulf, holding the bottle up to the light. "It has the translucency of milk, the consistency of weakened jelly and the colour of a good tea. Full marks for you and Mr Snape."

Lily walked back to their table, grinning. "Full marks," she told Snape, who was wiping calcium residue out of a pot that had until recently held powdered wurm claws.

"What did you expect?" said Snape. "You take the cauldron; I'll take the rest."

While they washed up the equipment, Lily said to him, "I didn't know Rosier was so good at potions."

"He's not," said Snape. "Eberwulf was helping him. If Lupin had been there to partner him he probably would have blown something up or boiled something over."

Lily shook her head. "Poor Remus," she said. "Flu _again._ He's always ill."

"Honestly, Evans, I couldn't care less whether Lupin dropped dead in the middle of the Great Hall on Christmas day. And stop splashing; these robes don't take well to damp."

Lily rolled her eyes. Typical Snape. "Touchy, touchy," she muttered, but finished washing her cauldron in silence.

After class, she joined the boys in the corridor on the way down to the Great Hall for lunch.

"Bloody idiot," Sirius was saying in disgusted tones. "Read the recipe wrong and got _ibex_ blood from the pantry. _Ibex._ Not _ibis._ What a berk."

"And his smelly friend Lestrange put bat's heart in my satchel," James said, glaring down into his bag. "I thought I had it shut. I _never_ leave it open during double Potions."

"Last time I did, Wilkes slipped me a Dungbomb," Peter said glumly.

"Yeah, poor Pete here's had the worst of it today," James said, clapping Peter on the shoulder. "Melted his cauldron! Well, that's all right, Peter; at least you got Jones…."

"Dissolved the shoes right off her feet, you did," Sirius said proudly. "There's hope for you yet!"

"Don't pay any attention to them, Peter," Lily said firmly, catching up with them. "I guarantee you there's no future in dissolving shoes."

"Hey, Evans," Potter said. "I guess if there's one thing to be said for working with Snape, it's that you get good marks, eh? Heard Eberwulf going on about it. Sounds like Snape was useful for once."

Lily raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying I couldn't have done it myself?"

"Oh, no, I just – well – "

Lily laughed at his flustered expression. "Hey, thanks for the vote of confidence, Potter," she said. "See you at lunch."

And she pushed past them, chuckling to herself as she hurried down towards the Great Hall.

The next day was a Hogsmeade Saturday. Accompanied by Eliza and Cordelia, they explored the little village, stopping at the bookstore, the sweets shop, and, on Cordelia's insistence, Desdemona's Gown Emporium. After a drink at the Three Broomsticks they split up, and Lily popped in to the apothecary to purchase a few extra potions supplies that Snape had mentioned in a recent lesson. She really disliked having to use his private supplies all the time; she felt especially guilty when the potion she was brewing collapsed – this had happened once, to her embarrassment – thereby wasting valuable portions of ingredients he'd supplied her with.

She spent a little more than four Galleons on supplies, which was probably more than she could afford for the semester, but they'd last if properly stored; and if it turned out she didn't have cause to use them all she could give them to Snape, who would no doubt find use for them. Then, she left the shop, caught up with Eliza and Cordelia, and they took one of the horseless carriages back up to the school.

Halloween was in two and a half weeks, and the first of November hailed the opening of Quidditch season and the formation of the house teams. Lily had learned from James that the Gryffindor captain, Lisa Perry, had graduated the year before, leaving a sixth-year named Graham in charge of the team. Graham, according to James, was brilliant when it came to Quidditch, and he had high hopes for this season.

Lily wasn't a Quidditch fanatic, unlike most of her contemporaries, but she did enjoy the sport. If she was a better flyer she might have considered joining the team, but not only was she merely competent when it came to manoeuvring a broomstick but joining a team was a sure way to get killed, especially if you belonged to Gryffindor or Slytherin. For some reason, those two houses always seemed to be the focus of the school; their enmity was infamous, and even the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs would stop sneering at each other when the red and green houses stepped into the limelight. Gryffindor-Slytherin matches were traditionally brutal, and not for the squeamish. After November, Quidditch players were Madame Pomfrey's most recurrent patients.

What really threatened the players, though, weren't necessarily field injuries but pre-game duels and hexes in the hallways. Lily herself had been forced to duck stray jinxes in the past, and she wasn't eager to be pushed into the direct line of fire. Generally, the Quidditch players either knew a lot of countercurses or they stayed out of the hallways when a game approached.

Lily wondered, not for the first time, what it'd be like to attend a normal, Muggle school, one where classmates didn't turn into badgers if they hadn't done their homework.

Not to say that she was dissatisfied with Hogwarts. The wizarding school was the best thing that had ever happened to her, despite the subsequent estrangement from her sister. Looking across the coach at Eliza and Cordelia, Lily wondered whether Petunia had ever had such good friends.

"What are you staring at?" Eliza asked, noticing her absentminded gaze.

Lily blinked and shook her head. "Just thinking," she said. "Quidditch starting up in a couple of weeks. Isn't that going to be fun."

"Oh, absolutely," Cordelia said from her left. "I'm actually thinking about trying out this year… since Perry and Hurley left, they'll be needing a Chaser and a new Beater."

"Oh, you play?" Lily asked interestedly.

"Yeah," Cordelia said. "I grew up riding on ancient hand-me-down brooms and lobbing crab-apples at my brothers. It was great."

"You should try out," said Lily. "Are you any good?"

"Better than some," Cordelia shrugged. "And think; if I get the Beater's position, I'll have a valid excuse to hurl ten-inch iron balls at Snape." She giggled.

"Now, that's not very nice," Lily said.

"Quidditch isn't a nice sport, Lil," Cordelia said. "Besides, Snape's been needing a good Bludging for years."

"Fat luck you'll manage to hit him," Eliza said with a roll of her eyes. "He's almost as quick on his broom as James is."

"Not quick enough," said Cordelia.

Snape had been the Seeker for Slytherin for the past two years, and he was good, almost as good as James, who was a natural at the sport.

"If someone was going to knock Snape off his broom, don't you think it would've happened by now?" said Eliza.

"Come on, now," Lily said loudly.

"Why are you wasting breath defending Snape, Lil?" Cordelia said. "He's just as much of a bastard to you as to the rest of us."

Eliza's lips had thinned at the profanity, but Lily shook her head. "Yeah, I know – I'm not defending him, I'm just – that kind of talk brings me down, you know?"

Cordelia stared. "Brings you down? In Merlin's name, why? My heart thrills at the thought of Snape being smashed by Bludgers."

"I must be abnormal or something," said Lily dryly, "but the thought of violence and bloodshed just doesn't do it for me."

Cordelia laughed and patted Lily's arm. "All right, I'll be quiet. But I reserve the right to knock Snape off his broom if I get the chance, right?"

"Yeah, whatever," said Lily; "just save it for the field, okay?"

"No problem."

Lily fell silent, wondering at her own words. Since when _did_ she defend Snape? If it had been Auster Wilkes Cordelia had been talking about, Lily would have agreed wholeheartedly. She despised Wilkes, and what was more, he scared her. Snape, though frighteningly temperamental at times, didn't worry her like Wilkes did. And perhaps that was why she felt defensive about him: yes, he was cruel, and yes, he was callous, but he was intelligent, and he lashed out in defence more often than he instigated attacks. She felt safe working with him.

She wondered whether Cordelia was really serious for trying out for the team. Cordelia tended to be fanciful; she had grand ideas but she rarely acted them out. She had been more passionate about other plans but hadn't put them into action; perhaps this Quidditch thing would be the same way. Lily thought she might be rather disappointed if it didn't work out, though; there hadn't been a girl on the Gryffindor team since Lily's first year, and it would make an interesting change.

They arrived at the school, and Lily followed Eliza out of the carriage, stretching to dispel the knotted sensation the jouncing of the carriage had caused. "Lovely day for a fly," Cordelia said, clambering out behind Lily.

"Wish I had my own broom," Lily murmured, adjusting the strap of her satchel over her shoulder.

"We should go down to the Quidditch pitch," Cordelia said. "Eliza and I have our own brooms – you could ask Pruidwick for a pass – and we could have a game!"

"The field's probably already taken," said Eliza doubtfully.

"Oh, it's a big field," Cordelia said, waving a careless hand. "If anyone's down there, they can share."

"Unless it's Slytherins," Lily said.

"If there are more than three we can play catch on the other side of the castle," Cordelia said. "What do you think?"

Lily shrugged. "If I can get a broom from Master Pruidwick, sure. Eliza?"

"I'll just get my broom," said Eliza. "And shall we see if Helen and Lara would like to come along, too?"

"If they'll come," Cordelia said. "But they probably won't. Cranfield's a prude and Klonn's afraid of heights."

Lily laughed. "I love the way you can assign people into such belittling categories without batting an eye," she said.

"It's a gift," said Cordelia. "Well, come on."

They hurried up to the castle. Lily stopped in her dormitory just long enough to put her new potions things safely on her bed and change into a warmer robe. She then ran down to the flying instructor's office to get a three-hour broom pass. When she got down to the field her friends were already there, waiting for her.

"What took you so long?" Cordelia demanded as Lily approached them.

"Pruidwick," Lily said, panting a little from the run. "He was being difficult about releasing a broom to me. As if I'm going to crash it into the Whomping Willow or something." She referred to the unusually violent tree that had been planted on the grounds the year she had come to Hogwarts.

"Nah, that'd be Potter or Black," said Eliza. "Who, by the way, will be sharing the field with us, along with Pettigrew."

"Not Remus?" Lily asked.

"I didn't see him out there," Cordelia said with a shrug.

"Maybe we could interest them in a game," Eliza said.

Lily winced. "Only if you want to lose," she said. "I'm no good at Quidditch. And this broom isn't the most spectacular of the lot, either." She gestured with her borrowed broomstick, which was twiggy and scraped and looked as if it was on its last leg of life. "Bet it doesn't top thirty."

"Oh, we'll take turns on it," said Cordelia. "You really need to get yourself a broom. But come on," she said suddenly, "we're wasting time just standing here talking. Let's go play."

They walked onto the field, and Lily looked up just in time to see Black dive for a scarlet ball that Peter had thrown him. He just barely caught it and twisted to launch it to Potter. James, who had been distracted by the girls' arrival, caught it in the side of the head.

Sirius roared with laughter, Peter chuckled, and James, blushing furiously, descended to earth after recovering the ball. "Idiot," he called up to Sirius, before turning his full attention to the girls. "Out for a fly?"

"Hm," said Cordelia sarcastically, "why else would we be standing on the Quidditch pitch, brooms in hand? We were wondering if you boys were interested in a game."

"Out of curiosity," Lily said, "where's Remus?"

"He's not feeling up to flying," said James, frowning, "but he's in the stands over there." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder; Lily looked over at the stands opposite and saw a figure swathed in robes huddling on one of the seats. She and Eliza waved, and Remus waved back.

"I imagine he's feeling better?" Lily asked.

"Fairly," James said wryly.

"I swear, that boy catches _everything,_" Eliza said, shaking her head.

Sirius and Peter had landed and walked over. "What's the news?" asked Sirius.

"We didn't see you in Hogsmeade," said Eliza. "Were you here the whole time?"

"Couldn't leave Remus all by himself," said Peter.

"Are we going to play or not?" Cordelia asked.

Lily nodded suddenly. "Yeah, I've got a time limit on this broom here."

"I _thought_ that was a school broom," Sirius said, squinting at the broomstick in Lily's hand. "No one in their right mind would wreck their own broomstick like that."

Lily blushed. "It's awful, I know," she said. "But it works. Sort of," she corrected herself.

"Ah, you can use mine," said Sirius. "Girl deserves to have a fly on a decent broom now and then."

Lily blinked in surprise. "Really? That's very sweet of you, Sirius," she said.

Sirius smirked; he stuck his hands in the pockets of his robes and shrugged. "Least I could do," he said. "'Sides, my broom's not all that spectacular, either."

James snorted. "Since when are you_ modest,_ Sirius?" he said. "He's got a refurbished Silver Arrow," he said, turning to the girls.

"It's an antique," Sirius muttered.

"It's gear," James said. "It's an original Jewkes. It's – "

" – Bought and paid for by the parents," Sirius cut in sharply. "Moving _on, _James."

"Oh, all right."

Sirius traded brooms with Lily – his was considerably more substantial than the school broom, rather more streamlined and in much better condition overall. "Wow," she murmured. "This is great, Sirius."

"Are any of you planning on moving any time this century?" Cordelia asked waspishly from several metres above their heads.

They mounted their brooms and a moment later they were all airborne. James tossed Cordelia the Quaffle first. She caught it neatly and hurled it to Peter, who fumbled, managed to recover it at the last second, and threw it to Lily.

They played a leisurely game of catch, and eventually, prompted by Sirius sidling up to Lily and telling her to test the acceleration of the Silver Arrow, they started racing each other. After Lily – to her very great surprise – had beaten both Cordelia and Peter, Cordelia halted in midair and yelled peevishly across the pitch, "That is _not_ a Silver Arrow!"

Sirius cackled from their end of the field. "Refurbished, remember?" he called back. He seemed in much better spirits than he did before.

"You could kill yourself on this thing," Lily said in tones of admiration. "What's the top speed?"

"Only slightly lower than that of the Nimbus 1001, which is what James has got," said Sirius beside her. "A competent flyer on this Arrow could beat an average flyer on James's Nimbus."

Lily looked at Sirius curiously. "Why aren't you on the team?" she asked.

Sirius shrugged. "There isn't a spot for me," he said. "Or, there hasn't been up until this year."

James flew up next to them. "You should try out, mate," he said, and to Lily, he added, "I've been trying to persuade him into it."

"Really?" Lily glanced across the pitch, where Cordelia and Eliza were playing keep-away with Peter. "I think Cordelia's tossing around the idea of trying out, too."

"Oh? Is she any good?" James asked.

Lily rolled her eyes. "Are you blind? Look for yourself." She gestured towards the other end of the pitch.

"She's pretty good," said James vaguely after a moment. "But I don't know if she's House Chaser quality."

"I think she prefers Beater," said Lily. "But you'll have to talk to her yourself if you want to know more. I don't know. She might just be after a lark."

"Aren't we all," Sirius said, grinning.

James laughed. "Speaking of which, how's your project coming along?"

Lily looked at him blankly. "What project?"

"Your charms project," said James. "The one with the Muggle thingy."

"What Muggle thi – oh. The cassette player. Badly, I'm afraid."

"Oh? What's wrong with it?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah, maybe we could help," said James, who was probably more inclined to break the cassette player rather than configure it for running off magic.

"I doubt it," said Lily. "For one thing, I realized that tampering magically with Muggle devices is sort of illegal. I wish I'd thought of it before I did all my research, because I was doing really well until I remembered."

Sirius chuckled. "Oh, the irony."

"Indeed," Lily frowned. "Anyway, I'm trying to figure out a way to get around that. Like perhaps dissembling the player and reassembling it… then, technically, it'd be wizard-made. Or something."

"The technical points are usually the weakest," Sirius said sagely.

"Couldn't you sell it to the professors as an extra credit project and get permission?" James asked. "Aren't there special allowances made for personal articles and research projects and the like?"

Lily shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "I thought about creating a reading apparatus of some sort – like record players, they have needles, and the cassette player has tape heads; I thought about making something magical that would be compatible with the cassette. Like enchant a roller or something. But it'd be a lot more difficult – I'd have to think up some sort of phantom power to move the tape at just the right speed, and what I'd do for speakers I have no idea – it wasn't this technical before." She shifted on her borrowed broomstick, balancing her knee on the shaft.

"It's all Gobbledegook to me," Sirius said.

"Yeah, me too," Lily said gloomily. "I'm going to have another chat with Professor Flitwick and see if he has any suggestions."

"I wouldn't," said James. "Flitwick was a Ravenclaw; I don't think he'll approve of you trying to weasel around the Muggle Artefacts laws."

"I'm not giving up," Lily said seriously. "I'll find a way to work it out."

The boys were silent. After a moment, Lily flew off to join Peter and the girls, and James and Sirius eventually followed.

The following Monday, Lily stopped at the Great Hall only long enough to snatch a couple pieces of toast for breakfast before rushing up to the Charms classroom. Flitwick was at his desk, leafing through a sheaf of parchment. He looked up as she entered and bid her good-morning.

"Good morning, Professor," Lily said, setting things at her usual spot before coming up to the desk. "Sir, do you remember the conversion charms I asked you about last month?"

Flitwick considered this a moment before nodding. "Poulinni's Conversion," he said. "Yes, I do, Miss Evans; did you find the books I recommended?"

"Oh, yes; they were very helpful, they were just what I'd been looking for – but I've run up across a problem. I've been working on this project, you see, and I've encountered this slight – technical difficulty…."

Flitwick's expression was suddenly comprehending. "Ah," he said. "You're trying to enchant a Muggle music device to compatibly run off magic, are you?"

Lily did a double take. "What? Uh, yes, I am – but how'd you…?"

Flitwick smiled. "Every year or so a Muggleborn student comes to me or your head of House, asking after translation and conversion spells. You're not the first one who's thought up that idea, nor the first who's belatedly remembered about the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts laws."

Lily sighed and felt the uncharacteristic urge to curse. "Is there anything I can do?"

Flitwick shook his head. "Those laws are regrettably fixed. Short of creating an entirely new reading device, I'm afraid you'll have to stick with the National Wizard's Radio during the school year."

"And they don't play Pink Floyd," Lily said. "How frustrating."

Flitwick patted her hand. "I'm sorry, my dear. I know some of you Muggleborn students are very fond of your music."

Lily laughed. "Some of us are, yes," she said. "Aren't wizarding children like that, too?"

"Oh, yes," Flitwick said. "But the wizarding music industry isn't nearly as vast as its Muggle counterpart. You'll find that more of us are predisposed to classical compositions than popular, modern tunes."

Lily knew exactly what he meant and she had to admit she had her doubts about a society who didn't wholly recognize rock and roll as a suitable form of entertainment. Cordelia, for example, was a wonderful person with a spectacular personality, but musically she refused to accept anything beyond Michael Hadyn. And while Lily agreed wholeheartedly that Hadyn had his place in society, nothing excused the repeated playing of "Surprise", blasted so the whole of Gryffindor House could hear and appreciate and develop migraines.

She nodded and thanked Flitwick, and silently resigned herself to her seat.

_Dear Mum,_

_The project I was working on has all but sunk. It looks like I won't be listening to any of my tapes until the hols at least. There are these laws, you see, that prohibit the experimentation of magic on Muggle artefacts – cassette players, for example. My Charms professor says that unless I invent a totally new, magical gadget, I'll be listening to the NWR – a wizard's station that plays mostly archaic wizard 'pop' and Beethoven concertos – for the next three years._

_Lucky me._

_Anyway, I just wrote to complain a little bit. Sending this with a school owl – don't try to make it wait up; I did that once and it nearly ate my fingers._

_Much love,_

_Lily_

She'd just gotten out of a double Herbology session with the Hufflepuffs, and now that she'd sent off her letter she was going to go wash up. Herbology was fun – most of the time, anyway – but it was terribly messy, especially since they'd moved into Greenhouse Four, which was basically one big mud hole. Today they'd been working with Flailing Creepers, which, though not much more than pale sprouts, were showing definite signs of life. Lily still had clumps of dirt in her hair.

"Good _God,_ Evans," came a familiar voice from her left. "You look like you just crawled out a hole."

Lily turned to regard Snape coolly. "Thank you, I know," she said. "Fitting appearance for a Mudblood, don't you think?" She resisted the urge to give a saucy little twirl, mostly because she didn't want to turn her back on Snape after offering a cheeky remark.

Snape blinked. "What happened, Evans, did your owl die?"

"Like you'd care," Lily scoffed. She had been feeling increasingly put out as the day passed, both because her experiment had failed – or, rather, been put a stop to – and because it hadn't been as original an idea as she had first believed it to be. "Don't bother me, Snape. I'm not in the mood for it."

Snape actually _laughed_ at that. "As if someone truly determined would be deterred by that! You're not in the _mood!_ In the mood for what, exactly? For being assailed by a Dark wizard with a drawn wand? For being hexed to pieces? Oh, Evans, you must really be in a state, to go saying things like _that_ to people like _me._"

Lily stared at him as if he'd gone mad. "You're in a good mood," she said in amazement.

Snape smirked. "Yes, well, it happens occasionally."

For some reason, Lily found that prospect scarier than his usual bad temper. "Always at other people's expense?"

"For the record, Evans," said Snape, "you're only inviting discrimination with that attitude, to say nothing of your appearance." His eyes swept over her, taking in her mud-covered robes and filthy hair. "I'd clean up if I were you," he said. "Filch wouldn't appreciate you tracking mud all over the floors."

Lily snorted. "Considerate advice from _you?_ What, is hell freezing over? For your information, Snape, I was on my way to the baths when you stopped me."

"Oh, and I suppose I really twisted your arm, did I?"

Lily growled in aggravation. "Shut up, Snape!"

Snape smirked, obviously extremely amused at her irritation. "But of course." He gave a small, mocking bow, straightened up, and marched past her without a glance.

Lily glared after him. _Could he possible be any more annoying?_

Probably, Lily admitted to herself. But it would be a tricky thing.

Severus continued up to the Owlery, still smirking to himself. Evans was incredibly simple to frustrate sometimes. Then again, sometimes she was only incredibly frustrating, acting as if she was totally deaf to taunts, or as if she enjoyed being mocked.

He turned his mind abruptly away from that subject. Evans was strange, even eccentric at times, and it was ridiculous trying to work out a riddle you only heard half of.

He suddenly realized that, even after a month of acquaintance with her, he knew very little more about Evans than he did when they first came into this arrangement. Of course, it had to be taken into account that he hadn't made any active movement towards trying to learn more about her personally – he really hadn't any inclination to do so, after all – but surely, spending two evenings a week with a person, not to mention the classes they shared, would provide some sort of enlightenment into their character!

Evidently this was not the case with Evans, though. Severus decided that either she wasn't much of anything psychologically, or else there was quite a lot of her lurking invisible beneath the surface. And he was inclined to believe the latter. Evans didn't strike him as the superficial type.

Which was quite odd, in itself. Most Gryffindors wore their hearts on their sleeves, and Evans, at first glance, didn't seem to be any different. But being with her brought into sharp relief her odd mood swings, her faint cynicism, and her gentle and vicious enthusiasm for the giving and receiving of knowledge.

Severus shook his head abruptly. It was futile, this contemplation. Better to mull over the events of his latest Transfiguration lesson.

This thought almost brought the smirk back to his face. On his fourth try he'd perfectly transfigured the wooden box into a large, solid cube, which earned him a rare startled look from McGonagall and a stiff commendation for his good progress. Evans was peculiar, but he had to admit that she was more than competent as a teacher.

He reached the top of the Owlery tower and found a school owl roosting where he could reach. He took the note – a curt letter requesting supplies from home – out of his robes and affixed it to the owl's leg. As soon as he had finished and given the owl its order it flew out of the tower in whispering silence.

Achaicus Snape had not given Severus the customary purse of silver this year; rather, he had entrusted it to McCrae, the housekeeper, to pass along instead. Severus wasn't entirely sure that McCrae hadn't skimmed a little off the top of the sum while it was in her possession; the bag had felt lighter than it should have, though Severus had to admit that he was no expert in the matter of weighing out gold. He was better measuring crushed fire-crab shells and beetle eyes.

In any case, it wasn't as if he needed a lot of gold to get him through the year. The things he needed – extra potion supplies, quills, that kind of thing – he had only to write home for and eventually he'd get it. And the things he wanted weren't great in number. There wasn't much in Hogsmeade that appealed to him; he didn't care much for sweets, butterbeer made him ill and his disdain for the new joke shop, Zonko's, knew no bounds. The only things he really spent his gold on were extra-curricular potion ingredients and texts and occasionally some Quidditch thing or other. As it was, he still had Galleons left over from last year's allowance, and he was sure they more than made up for whatever the light-fingered housekeeper might have taken.

It was shameful how some people relied so heavily on money.

His dorm-mates, for example. Auster Wilkes was another old-family boy, and his monthly allowance was enough to make the other boys' eyes cross. Wilkes was an extravagant spender, too; every Hogsmeade visit he'd bring back to the castle more bags than he could carry by himself. Anything that caught his eye he had to have; he had dozens of robes crammed in his wardrobe, pounds of Quidditch gear weighing down his trunk, and scores of shady spellbooks and novels piled beneath his bed. It was disgusting, actually.

Elbert Avery was of mixed stock; that is, his mother was a pureblood of the Black line and his father was a second-generation wizard, which meant that there was a blood taint in one of his great-grandparents. Avery was a dull boy, not exactly stupid, but not bright by any means. His parents weren't very wealthy, and what money Avery got he frittered away at the Three Broomsticks or Honeydukes. He seemed happy with that, though, and Severus gave him a grudging respect for not complaining that he never had any spending money.

Evan Rosier did that constantly. He was incessantly griping that his parents were penny-pinching misers who refused to give their firstborn son so much as a full round Knut, when in fact he'd just spent his last Galleon on peppermint straws or the latest edition of _Which Broomstick._ Severus found his complaints disgraceful, not to mention monotonous.

Rodolphus Lestrange was a different story, however. Coming from a pureblood family more ancient than even the Blacks, he was no stranger to money in all its forms. But he was no spendthrift. Quite the contrary; Lestrange spent money as if there was nothing in the world he could possibly want that he did not already possess, which was probably quite true. The only thing he seemed to really indulge in were a certain brand of French cigarettes, which he'd been smoking since their previous year. Auster Wilkes often ridiculed him for buying Muggle cigarettes, but to Severus's knowledge the only reply he'd ever gotten was a cold and silent stare.

To Severus's knowledge, that was the only reply anyone had ever gotten from Lestrange. The boy was as stone.

Severus rounded a corner in the hallway and walked straight through a patch of freezing air that turned out to be the Grey Lady.

"Excuse me," Severus said, teeth clenched to keep them from chattering.

"Quite alright," said the Grey Lady in her faint, thin voice. "You dropped something."

Severus followed the Grey Lady's pointing finger and saw his wand, laying in the middle of the floor. As he bent to retrieve it, wondering how it had slipped out of his sleeve, he heard an extremely unwelcome voice addressing him from a side corridor.

"Snivellus!"

Snape dove for his wand, dropping to the floor just in time to escape a hex that zinged over his head. Ignoring the dismayed sigh of the Grey Lady, he snatched his wand up and brandished it at Black. "_Vertiginosus!_" he cried, and immediately, Black started to wobble, gibbering woozy nonsense. Potter snarled and flung a jinx at Severus, which he blocked and retaliated: "_Aegritudo!_"

But Potter stopped the curse, and hurled back another. "_Percutio!"_ And Severus, who had been getting to his feet, was hurled back as a phantom fist connected quite solidly with his jaw. Before he could catch his breath, Potter cast again. "_Remiissus!_"

Severus slumped to the floor as if his bones had suddenly all turned to jelly.

Potter was moving to revive Black, who had collapsed on the ground and was rocking back and forth, clutching his head. Severus managed to move his fingers enough to direct his wand at Potter, and he whispered, "_Occlusus."_ Potter was suddenly mute.

Potter whirled on him, mouthing furiously and silently. Severus grinned weakly: Potter couldn't do a thing if he couldn't speak, not to relieve his friend or curse Severus. And he was feeling rather smug until Potter rushed at him.

Severus hadn't expected that.

Potter kicked his wand away before he could use it, and then went at him with his bare fists. There wasn't a thing Severus could do to defend himself; he was still suffering the awful relaxing effects of the _remiissus_ spell and he could hardly twitch his fingers, let alone block the furious punches of a brawny teenage boy. All he could do was lay there and wait for help.

And though by normal standards Filch wasn't long in coming, three minutes was certainly a lot when someone was ruthlessly beating you. Severus couldn't tell whether the curse had worn off yet; it wouldn't have mattered anyway, because he was in too much pain to move. When Filch finally dragged Potter off him, he was covered in bruises and splattered with blood and very nearly unconscious. Filch was screaming bloody murder, but Severus didn't get to hear much of it; he passed out before the first teacher came to investigate.


	7. chapter seven

See chapter one for all disclaimers.

Author's Note: Hello there, loyal readers! I have for you today another terrific installment from the Dark Side of the Moon – I hope you enjoy it. There really isn't much for me to say, except that chapter eight is also on its way – in any case, it's finished and sitting in the bowels of my Document Manager here on ffn and waiting for me to upload it. But I'd rather not distribute all my written chapters at once, which is why I'm waiting to publish it.

Enjoy, and tell your friends to stop by!

chapter seven

As it turned out, Potter had fractured two of his ribs in what Madame Pomfrey had termed 'a disgraceful brawl.' Severus wasn't sure that was a truthful phrase; a more accurate one would have been 'an unsuccessful lynching'.

Along with the fractured ribs, Severus had lost one tooth, broken another, and somehow had bitten through the centre of his tongue. He'd sustained numerous excruciating bruises on his torso, and his face was so swollen that it hurt to blink. On the back of his head was a knot the size of an Occamy's egg, which he had gotten from Potter repeatedly slamming him to the floor.

Potter, on the other hand, only suffered bruised and bleeding knuckles, which Pomfrey flatly refused to heal. Black was totally uninjured, and once the Vertigo Curse was removed, he swaggered around the hospital wing, glaring at Snape and grinning at Potter while the nurse screeched at them.

When Pomfrey had shooed both boys out, directing them to their House Head, she returned to Severus's bedside and began to magick away his injuries, one by one. She made a tidy job of it, and sixty-seven spells and a vial of Dreamless Sleep later, she permitted him to leave the infirmary.

By this time, it was Tuesday.

After hearing his story and confirming it with McGonagall, Ganymede Patina, Astronomy professor and the Head of Slytherin house, gave him a pass excusing him from his morning lessons. And as much as he hated to miss Defence Against the Dark Arts, he was still feeling lethargic from the Dreamless Sleep, so he slept away most of the morning, rising finally at twelve to go down to lunch.

He managed to keep himself conscious through Charms, and he was exceedingly glad that his next class, Astronomy, was hours away. He left Flitwick's classroom and went straight back to Slytherin, taking longer routes to avoid the main passageways. In the common room, he worked on his assignments until he started to drowse again, and then he packed his things back into his satchel, went down to his dormitory and crawled back into bed.

He woke up some time later, when the sky was going dark and the dormitory was beginning to chill, with a sudden recollection that today was _Tuesday,_ and that somewhere above in a disused dungeon room, there was a fourth-year Gryffindor girl waiting for him. Or there would be, quite soon. He glanced at the level of silver sand in the hourglass beside his bed and cursed under his breath. Well, there was no way he was going to go up there this evening; he was sore and bone-weary and he had no inclination of consorting with a close acquaintance of Potter and Black's at the moment.

Instead, he dashed a curt note out informing Evans that he would be unable to meet her. He folded the parchment into a vaguely birdlike shape, put a harsh jinx on it that would prevent someone other than Evans from reading it, and with a tap of his wand he sent it flying out of the dormitories, trusting it would find its way out of the subdungeons on its own.

Lily entered the dank chamber to find it empty. She was puzzled; usually, Snape was there first thing to set up the cauldron and the ingredients and utensils, but evidently not this time. She wondered where he might be; perhaps a professor had held him up, or perhaps he was just late. But no, Snape was extremely punctual, and she doubted he'd just forget about a Tuesday lesson.

Or, perhaps he'd gotten a detention after that fight yesterday she'd overheard James complaining about to Sirius. Apparently, there'd been some sort of duel that had resulted in James getting a hefty amount of detentions and both Gryffindor and Slytherin losing a sackful of points. She'd seen the counters in the Great Hall at breakfast that morning; Gryffindor was down by a hundred points, Slytherin by forty-five, and neither house was happy about it. Eliza and Cordelia had refused to acknowledge either James or Sirius, which was unusual, especially for Cordelia.

…Come to think of it, though, she hadn't seen Snape at breakfast _or_ lunch. Not that either was terribly unusual – he didn't seem to eat much – so it probably had no significance whatsoever….

She was just setting her satchel down on the table when she heard a papery scuffling. She turned around and saw, to her surprise, a crumpled-looking bit of parchment struggling to get in under the closed classroom door. Whether she would have gone to retrieve the parchment or burn it in case it was hexed or something, she did not know, as it freed itself before she could act, and it flew over to the table to perch atop her satchel.

She snatched it up, which might have been a stupid thing to do considering the fact that she didn't yet know whether it was harmless or not, but as her fingers still remained attached after touching it she figured it was probably safe. And it was addressed to her, or at least it had her initials on it – 'L. E.' was scrawled on a wing of parchment in a familiar hand.

She unfolded the parchment and read the enclosed note.

_Evans:_

_Due to circumstances, I will not be meeting you this evening._

_SS._

Lily snorted. No apology, no explanation – that was so undeniably Snape it was almost funny. He must have gotten a detention after all.

With a shrug and a sigh, she folded the note back up and tucked it in her satchel before exiting the classroom.

She found Sirius in the common room, sitting on the floor by the fire, leaning against the couch. He was reading a magazine – _Transfiguration Quarterly _she knew right away by the golden covers. She wandered over and, without ceremony, plopped down on the couch beside him.

"Hi, Sirius," she chirped.

Sirius glanced up at her, looking somewhat surprised that she'd approached him. "Hey, Lily. What's new?"

"Not much. You?"

"Just reading up some stuff on Ferguson's theory of grey change."

Lily shook her head. "How such a bright boy can bear to waste his time on pulling pranks and disrupting lessons is beyond me." She laughed, and said, "Speaking of which, do you know where James is?" She knew very well that he was at detention with Professor Sprout, but she wanted to ask Sirius a few questions and that was a perfectly good place to start, and after all, she wasn't really supposed to know that James was at detention.

Sirius turned a page in his magazine and told her casually that Potter was serving a detention in Greenhouse Four.

"Detention?" she asked, sounding puzzled. "Why's he in detention? – Oh wait, does this have to do with the, ah, significant decrease in house points I noticed this morning?"

Sirius snorted. "You could say that."

"Why aren't you in detention with him?" she asked. "Or were you lucky and not present at the scene of the crime?"

Sirius looked at her sharply. "Why do you want to know?" he asked.

Lily shrugged. "Just curious," she said innocently. "Actually, I probably don't want to know. Knowing James, he most likely got into a scuffle with Snape or something."

She watched Sirius carefully as she said this, and noticed with satisfaction a slight, sharp rise of his chest, which meant an irregular intake of breath. "Yeah, probably," said Sirius, sounding deceptively casual and unconcerned.

Lily was silent for a moment. "Well, I'd better get to work on that Divination assignment. Professor Vectis wants two feet on Cassandra. Honestly, the woman's almost as bad as Binns, rattling on about ancient historic seers and augurs. Ugh. I'll talk to you later, Sirius."

And she left the couch in favour of her dormitory, where Lara Cranfield was nagging Cordelia about the mess of Quidditch gear, wrinkled robes and potted plants on her side of the room. She stretched out on her bed and ignored the two bickering girls, powerfully curious as to what had happened the previous day that had warranted James an unseemly amount of rotation detentions and had detained Snape from their weekly potions study.

Obviously, Sirius wasn't going to say any more about the subject than he already had. She might be able to weasel something out of James, but she was doubtful. Remus, maybe; he was a good friend, perhaps he'd tell; but then again, Remus was very loyal to James and Sirius, and while he didn't condone their ruthless harassment of Snape, he probably wouldn't be inclined to tell her about what James had done to lose so many points and gain so many detentions. And she would never get anything out of Snape; that much was assured.

But what about Peter?

Peter was a talkative boy, and while he wasn't disloyal, he was rather careless. She could probably get the story from him, provided that he actually knew the story, and that was only a minor snag. She'd wait a few days – he should know it all by Friday at least – and then she could ask him about it.

She knew it was terribly meddlesome, what she was doing. It really wasn't any of her business, and if James refused to tell her what happened, she should just let it go. And what was more, it was devious. She couldn't believe how – well, how _Slytherin_ she acted sometimes. Even with all the Gryffindor influences in her life, she believed that if she went back to the Sorting Hat, it would tell her just what it told her that first night at Hogwarts. And she still wondered how things might have turned out if the Sorting Hat could have put her into Slytherin instead of being obligated by the state of her blood to put her in a different house.

She shook her head to clear her mind. Too many thoughts, too many thoughts… better to concentrate on something else, like Lara and Cordelia now earnestly arguing over the state of the walls on either side of the latter's bed. Lara was beginning to shriek, and Cordelia's face was beginning to get red, and Lily debated throwing her pillow at them to get their attention, but she decided that would probably have more of an inflammatory effect than a mollifying one. As she slipped off her bed, she decided she was lucky to have been born of Muggles: though they didn't always all get along, the Gryffindor girls as a whole were much more agreeable than the Slytherin girls.

Her alarm rang at twelve-fifteen that night. She got out of bed, poked Cordelia, who was still asleep, and pulled her school robes back on. She pulled a brush through her hair and tied it back before digging her astronomy text out from under her bed and stuffing it into her satchel.

On her side of the room, Cordelia was complaining to Merlin about early morning classes. Helen was muttering in dismay about the havoc her pillow had done to her tight auburn curls, and Eliza was yawning and trying to apply lip balm at the same time. Lara was primly gathering her parchments, quills, and books, and at length she began to accuse Cordelia of stealing the eyepiece for her telescope.

"Merlin, Cranfield, will you get a life? I didn't take your stupid eyepiece!" Cordelia cried at last in extreme aggravation. "You probably left it in the tower last Thursday! _God!_"

Lily rolled her eyes. "And if not," she said before Lara could protest, "you can probably borrow one from Professor Patina."

"We're going to be late," said Eliza from the doorway.

Lily swung her bag over her shoulder. "Coming," she called.

In the common room they met the boys, and they all left the tower together, which was required for students heading out to late Astronomy lessons. If a student were found wandering around alone after hours, nothing, not even the excuse of an Astronomy lesson would get them out of a detention.

As they climbed up the last flight of stairs leading to the tower top, they met the Slytherins, coming out of their eleven o'clock lesson. Lily could picture the hackles bristling and the fangs being bared as the two classes passed.

"You've recovered nicely I see, Snivellus," she heard Sirius mutter as they walked by Snape. Lily saw Snape hunch his shoulders and scowl.

"Keep talking, Black," he said through gritted teeth, "and I guarantee you _won't_ recover."

James chuckled, low, and glanced over his shoulder to address the Slytherin: "Threats, Snivelly?"

And then, to both Lily's great relief and disappointment, a voice from the tower entrance called, "That will be enough, Mister Potter; don't you think you've lost Gryffindor enough points already?"

Ganymede Patina, the professor of astronomy, was glaring death at James and Sirius.

"Well? What are you all waiting for?" Patina snapped. "We don't have all night." And she moved out of the doorway, indicating that the Gryffindors should follow.

Lily caught up with James in the classroom. She sidled up to him casually, polishing a telescope lens on her robe as she did so. "Hey, Potter," she said softly; "what was it with Snape in the corridor?"

James scoffed and turned his attention away from his brass telescope. "Oh, hey, Evans," he said. "Ah, it was nothing…."

Lily raised an eyebrow. "Really? Sure didn't sound like nothing." When Potter didn't answer, she prodded, "You know, I heard something earlier about a duel yesterday…."

"Ha, and wouldn't you just love to know about it!"

Lily smiled hopefully. "Very much so," she said. "Surely you aren't going to miss the opportunity to boast about another smashing Gryffindor victory!"

Potter gave a grim little chuckle. "Oh, right, Evans. And you're just anxious to hear about Snape getting his arse kicked in a wizard's duel."

Lily nodded. "Of course I am," she said, as if that was perfectly obvious and he was silly to think otherwise.

James's expression was pure scepticism. "Ri-i-ight."

"Really!"

James laughed now. "No, I don't think so."

"Mister Potter!" Professor Patina's voice rang out through the classroom. "Miss Evans! A little less talk back there!"

"Yes, Professor," the two chorused, and before Lily could say anything else, James scooted off to the other side of the room, telescope in hand.

Lily gave a huff of disappointment. Well, she hadn't expected it would work… all the same, Potter was acting distinctly suspicious, more so than usual. Most of the time, he never missed an opportunity to brag about besting a Slytherin in one way or another. Perhaps he was just keeping quiet because they were in the Head of Slytherin's class at the moment. She had her doubts about that, though; his attitude about it led her to believe that something had happened that either he was embarrassed about or he thought she definitely wouldn't have approved of, and he wasn't going to say another word on the subject.

Somewhat irked, she followed the rest of the class out onto the wall walk to set her telescope up beside the parapet.

The next day, James apologetically informed her that he would be unable to tutor her that evening, and said that it'd be best if they moved the lessons to a different time. Lily reminded him of her revision group, and said that they'd either have to do it later on Wednesday evenings, or on Friday afternoons.

James agreed to reschedule, and dashed off to his Muggle Studies class.

At Arithmancy, in between taking notes and fending off Wilkes, she wondered how she could deal with this change in schedule. The previous schedule had worked very well: potions with Snape on Tuesday evenings, after which she asked what he was having trouble with in Transfiguration; transfiguration with James on Wednesday nights, where she requested help with whatever it was Snape was having difficulties with; transfiguration with Snape on Thursday afternoons, during which she taught to him what she had gleaned from James the previous evening. It had worked quite well like that, even when James didn't expand on the theory as much as she liked; she managed to muddle along well enough with Snape, and he was improving, to her satisfaction. But now that her Wednesday lesson was being moved to Friday – or later, even – she wondered how efficient the new plan would be. How would she adapt to it without Snape thinking anything was off?

She decided to stop worrying about it. If she got herself into trouble with this, she'd deal with it – she probably deserved it, anyway; no Gryffindor should be allowed to get away with something so sneaky. Lily wondered how unethical it was of her to be able to juggle people like this and not feel too guilty about it. In truth, she felt guiltier about not feeling guilty than she figured she should.

She pushed away from that line of thought and concentrated on keeping her satchel out of Wilkes's jinxing reach.

Thursday evening, she only debated for a moment whether she should go up to the disused classroom on the third floor. If Snape had detentions like James did, it would be held after dinner – detentions usually were – and if he had other plans she was sure he would have notified her earlier. And she wasn't disappointed after the long walk to the classroom; Snape joined her only minutes after she had arrived.

He came in quietly, as usual, shoulders hunched and head bowed in his customary crablike posture. She greeted him carefully, and when he did not return the greeting, she pretended as if it was nothing and was silent as he seated himself at the table. He said nothing, only studied his knuckles, which were almost completely hidden by the cuffs of his black sleeves. His stringy black hair obscured his face, and the fact that Lily couldn't see nor catch his eyes was disconcerting for some reason.

But then he lifted his head and his gaze met hers. She was surprised at the mediocrity in his eyes; he looked weary at a psychological level. The silence was punctuated by a sharp intake of breath; Lily managed not to gasp but couldn't help that one slight betraying reaction. Almost immediately, Snape's expression returned to its habitual scowl.

"_What_ are you staring at?" he snapped.

Lily shook her head quickly. "Nothing, sorry – sorry. Are you – that is to say – you look rather tired," she finished lamely.

He regarded her coldly, sitting up straight now. "And?"

Lily shrugged uncomfortably. "And, nothing," she said. "I was just – do you think you're up to transfiguration this evening?"

"If I wasn't," Snape growled, "why would I even be here?"

Lily let her breath hiss out through her teeth. "It was a simple question, Snape," she said. "No need to bite my head off. I was asking out of concern, for your information."

Snape scoffed. "Right."

"And anyway," Lily said, as if she hadn't heard him, "I don't even owe you a lesson tonight, since you skipped out Tuesday."

Snape was suddenly still. "I expect you'll want to wait until next week to resume usual lessons, then," he said at length.

"Only if you're not up to it tonight," Lily said graciously, remembering only belatedly that this was the wrong approach to take with Snape. The Slytherin would never admit a weakness; it would have been a better idea to agree right then to postpone the lesson until next Thursday – or even continue the evening's lesson and have Snape owe her one for once.

As Snape's lips thinned, Lily, mentally cursing herself, hastily amended: "Let's forget about it until Tuesday, all right?"

Snape muttered something under his breath that Lily did not catch. "Tuesday, then," he said aloud, agreeing with a curt nod, and then he began to get up.

"Wait!" She stopped him. "Don't go yet. Stay and have some tea."

Snape looked at her as if she was insane. "I beg your pardon?"

Lily smiled mildly at him. "Some tea. I found out how to summon house elves," she explained. "And I thought you might like something to drink before you left?"

Snape's expression was arctic. He glowered at her for a moment before turning around and sweeping wordlessly from the room; Lily suppressed a chuckle as the door shut behind him. It had been worth asking, after all; she had intended to quiz him a little about what had happened on Monday, though she had been quite sure he wouldn't have answered any question she'd put to him – but his incredulous expression had been priceless. Smiling to herself, she packed her bag over her shoulder and left the room.

Remus, as it turned out, was no help either; he answered her enquiries with soft, silent smiles that infuriated her to no end. And Peter was hopeless; apparently, neither James or Sirius had told him anything pertaining to the truth; he was under the impression that James had flown a school broom into the Whomping Willow as a prank and the damage of the broom and the tree were what had gotten him all those detentions. Lily didn't bother to illuminate him; obviously, James and Sirius had their reasons for not telling him.

And then she realized how deplorably intrusive she was being. For God's sake – if the boys wouldn't tell Peter, what on earth gave her the idea that she should know? It wasn't her business; she couldn't benefit from knowing what happened, and no doubt the information would only serve to begrudge her against James and Sirius or Snape.

Ashamed with herself, she pushed the matter out of her mind, vowing not to pry again, and concentrated on other things.

Such as the Quidditch season.

Teams officially formed the morning after the traditional All Hallows Eve feast. Lily understood there was a general clamour for the Quidditch pitch, but the Ravenclaws managed to book it first, and bad moods were abundant for that first week. To Lily's surprise and delight, Cordelia did join the team, though she made it as Chaser rather than Beater, a position that went to a fifth-year named Fredrick Brissett. James had been furious that Sirius hadn't even bothered to try out, but he admitted eventually that both Cordelia and Brissett were quite good and the team wouldn't suffer from the lack of Black.

The first game took place on the third Saturday of November. The Gryffindors were pitted against the Ravenclaws, who had put together a surprisingly strong team, and the Gryffindors won only by forty points. It was a wonderful beginning to the season, and Lily was excited in spite of herself.

Lessons with Snape and James were abruptly knocked off kilter. Both boys had practices twice a week, sometimes more, if the team captains were feeling optimistic, and setting a solid date for lessons was almost impossible. Sundays were the only days that were consistently free, and everyone agreed that they should remain so. Lily was hard-pressed to come up with good times for study-dates, and it wasn't long before she began to consider dropping the whole arrangement with Snape and returning to a somewhat less hectic lifestyle.

The problem, though, was that she was improving quite a bit now under Snape's tutelage, and she was reluctant to stop before she reached her full potential. Snape's behaviour was bearable, and it seemed now his comments weren't so cruel and irrelevant as much as blunt truths aimed to alert her to faults in her work process.

A lesson she was beginning to imagine she could do without, however, was transfiguration with James. More and more she was realizing that he didn't have much to tell her about the subject that she didn't already know, and what there was didn't do anything to aid her in her lessons with Snape. And to tell the truth, she was getting more than fed up with James's joker attitude. Now that Quidditch had started up again, he was more full of himself than ever, and though she tried to ignore it, she was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate while he was acting so cool and smug. On some days Lily honestly would have picked an afternoon with Snape rather than suffer another hour in James Potter's company. At least then she wouldn't have to feign politeness.

Relief came in the form of the Christmas holidays.

The Gryffindor boys were caught between fury and glee that the first Gryffindor-Slytherin match was slated for the first Saturday after the holidays – fury for the postponement of the eagerly awaited game and glee that they'd get an extra two weeks of potential practice time to make up for the delay. James lived in a country manor, surrounded by uninhabited woods and fields that were perfect for Quidditch, and he planned to have all the Gryffindor players Floo to his house one day for an afternoon of heavy practice. Practice would, of course, be augmented with a dinner of feast-like proportions to ensure that no player failed to turn up, and Lily, considering the makeup of the team – that is, seven hearty, healthy teenage boys who probably hadn't turned down an offer of food in their lives – had no doubts that the ploy would work.

Meanwhile, Lily herself had received a summons from home directing her to board the train on the morning of the eighteenth of December with her trunk. Mr Evans would pick her up at Kings Cross and take her home for the holidays. Lily was happy; she had been getting rather homesick. She had hoped she might outgrow this, but apparently such was not the case; she was eager to see her parents and even her irascible sister Petunia.

So, it was with a light heart that she boarded the Hogwarts Express early Saturday morning, wand shoved up her sleeve and knee socks already drifting towards her ankles. She found a compartment to share with Cordelia and Lara and Helen and made herself comfortable for the long ride back to civilization.


	8. chapter eight

See chapter one for all disclaimers.

AN: Not a very seasonal chapter, but I hope you'll appreciate it nonetheless. Sorry I haven't posted much lately - it's kind of ironic; I've got a job at the library now, and though I spend so much time here now I still haven't got any time to get online! Hopefully, the next update won't be so long in arriving. I've got up tp 14 chapters now - averaging about 130 pages at the moment, so believe me when I say that this fic is NOT abandoned.

Enjoy!

chapter eight

Severus made his way down to the usual study alcove, bag over his shoulder and robes buttoned high beneath his chin. Maria was waiting as she said she would be, legs and arms crossed to fend off the cold. Severus sat down across from her and summoned a house elf; he made a curt order for tea and a moment later a magnificent warm spread appeared on the table between them; tea and biscuits and tarts with jam and clotted cream and honey and fruits and more. Maria made a noise of approval and the house elf disappeared with a crack, leaving the two to their tea.

"Happy holidays, eh, Snape?" said Maria, reaching immediately for the teapot. "Merlin, it's freezing in here. Why they don't warmcharm these bloody alcoves is beyond me – it's as if they're trying to chase away their students!" She poured herself a cup and added sugar and honey and cream, stirring it into a light tan liquid that steamed and sloshed invitingly. "Looking forward to some days off?"

"I'll appreciate the extra practice time," he said. "You know I don't have much use for days off."

"Too well, I do," said Maria. "You need to pick up some hobbies, Snape. Other than potions and Dark arts, I mean."

Snape smirked as he poured tea into his own cup. "Hobbies can wait," he said. "We're not here to be entertained, after all."

Maria groaned. "Please, spare me," she said, slumping in her chair. "I know what comes after that; I've heard it a thousand times if once."

"All right, all right. I'll be quiet."

Maria rolled her eyes at his tone. "On that account you will, unless you want me to hex your tongue short."

Severus regarded her over the rim of his teacup. "I'd like to see you try," he said softly. Maria laughed out loud at that.

"You take everything so offensively, Snape," she said. "I understand you live in a hell of a dormitory, but you should try to lighten up once in a while. Not everybody is out to jinx your back. Take it easy, okay? If I wanted to hex somebody I would have gone home."

Severus snorted and looked away, but he ceased talk and made an attempt to relax. It didn't really work, but at least he didn't jump when Maria spoke again, a few minutes later.

"Looking forward to that game, Snape?" she asked.

Snape looked up from his tea. "What kind of question is that?"

"It's called conversation, Snape, and you know I never thought I'd run across someone worse at it than I am. I want to know whether you're anticipating smashing those Gryffindor blokes' heads into the goalposts."

"That question would probably be better directed at Rookwood or Mulciber," said Severus, referring to the Slytherin Beaters. "I wouldn't be averse to witnessing it, though."

Maria laughed. "No, of course you wouldn't, proud Slytherin boy that you are," she said. "I have to admit, I'm dying to see Leithart get pounded. He keeps hexing my satchel in Ancient Runes so I can't get it open or pull it off the floor."

There was a moment of silence. "I could curse him for you," Severus offered.

Maria shook her head, chuckling slightly. "No, no; you don't need to get mixed up with them. 'Specially not Leithart, or anyone on the teams; you know they'll just get their Beaters to kill you during the game."

"Well, I wouldn't exactly shout out that it was me who'd Permanently Stuck lead weights on his broomstick," Severus said sarcastically.

"They'd kill you anyway," Maria said after a thoughtful silence. "They hate your guts."

"A striking observation of the perfectly obvious," said Severus.

"Some things bear repeating at certain moments," said Maria. "I refuse to let you get yourself maimed for my sake. You're the only Seeker-quality fellow in the entire house who's willing to play; what'll I do if they take you out of action on my account?"

Severus shook his head. "Find a safe place," he said, and Maria snorted.

"Precisely my point." There was a pause. "What are our chances of winning, do you think?"

"Fair," Severus replied immediately.

Maria smirked. "Do you really think that, or are you just saying that out of the sake of obligation?"

Severus shook his head. "No, I believe it. The Gryffindors have got a couple new players and it's always awkward adjusting to changes like that. Their technique isn't the greatest; you can see it in the Chasers' formation and their Beaters' tactics."

Maria nodded in agreement. "I noticed that," she said. "They don't seem to have much finesse, do they?"

"They're almost all offence," said Severus. "Hit hard, fast, and repeatedly. No doubt Brissett and McKeeley'll keep us all on our toes, but if Rookwood and Mulciber do their jobs I'll only really have to worry about mine."

"Yeah, well, don't worry too much," said Maria.

"It's not possible," said Severus. "Pass the butter."

They finished their tea and managed to polish off a plate of scones before parting company. Severus descended to the dungeons and found his way down to his dormitory to unpack the texts from his satchel and stow them away under his bed. He kept one out, _The Foe of the Finder,_ and set it on his bedside table while he put the rest away.

Outside it was snowing; he could hear the wind whistling around the castle even deep in the subdungeons. The fire crackling in the hearth was a comfort he wouldn't willingly give up, and after he'd stashed away his bag he picked up his book and went to sit by the fireside.

He didn't read it, though. The open book rested in his lap, marked by his thumb as he gazed into the fire and ruminated. Interestingly enough that Maria hadn't been summoned home for the holidays, it was even stranger that he hadn't received a notice. He didn't really mind; he had better things to do than sit inside a dank, lifeless house and wait for two weeks, but in the past he'd always been called home. It was all a show, of course – his parents couldn't have cared less whether he was there or not; the only difference his presence there made was the amount of meals made – but why was this year different from the previous ones?

He didn't want to think about that unsettling question too long. Of course, it could just be nothing – a death in the family; his mother perhaps just wanting the house to herself for the holidays – but then again, it might mean something significantly more serious. Such as a financial situation.

The idea, at first glance, seemed ludicrous. The Snapes had hundreds of thousands of Galleons to the name and were in fairly good standing with the Ministry despite their rather dubious family history. But Severus recalled his father's oddly distracted behaviour over the summer – even more neglectful than usual – and his mother's dark, simmering silence – days had passed during which she never ventured out from her bedchamber – and Severus remembered the conspicuous absence of the butler and the chauffeur at the end of the summer holiday.

It was this last piece of evidence that was most condemning. Mason and Dewey had been employees of the Snape family for as long as Severus could remember, and that they would leave within a week of each other under no apparent personal emergencies was suspicious. Also, the fact that it had been a house elf and not the housekeeper who had packed his trunk was quite irregular.

So Severus was uneasy, and though he tried to study his book his mind kept drifting towards the subject of family and family ruin. He was just about to close his book in defeat when the dormitory door opened and Auster Wilkes walked in.

"Oy, Snape," he said, striding over to his bed and dumping his satchel on the quilt. "Staying for the hols, eh?"

"Evidently," said Severus.

"Your mum decide she couldn't bear to look at your ugly face for two weeks, is that it?"

"And yours took pity on your younger cousins and spared them their annual molestation by leaving you at school."

Wilkes chuckled, unperturbed. "That's right, Snape; hit where it hurts. Actually, they're off in Yerevan on business."

"Oh? Still selling carpets, are they?"

Wilkes sneered. "Broomsticks, actually. Father's just gotten in a shipment of Nimbuses and he's gone to interview a buyer."

Severus didn't answer; rather, he turned back towards the fireplace. Behind him he could hear Wilkes puttering around, rustling what sounded like a paper bag. He heard the thumps of books being set on a bedside table. He didn't look up as Wilkes walked over and seated himself on the other side of the hearth.

"And your parents, Snape?" asked Wilkes softly. "Why for are they not inviting you home?"

There was a brief pause. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to pry, Wilkes?"

Wilkes gave a delicate snort. "Too right, Snape," he said. "It's not my place to do so, is it? But I will tell you one thing, dear boy: There is hope yet for the cast-offs."

Severus looked up sharply. "I beg your pardon?"

Wilkes leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, hands tightly clasped in a parody of prayer. "In the strictest confidence I tell you this," he said in a voice that was almost a whisper. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named doesn't care about your social standing so much as your abilities."

Severus straightened automatically, but Wilkes didn't appear to notice.

"Those fallen from grace he welcomes with open arms, Snape."

"I've heard it before, Wilkes," Severus said in a purposefully bored tone.

Wilkes smiled, beatific in the firelight. "I know you have," he said. "And I know you don't seem so keen on the idea. But you –" here he extended a reassuring hand – "that is, _we_ don't have to worry about it now. Just some food for thought, Snape, that's all."

With a final gentle smile Wilkes stood and departed, leaving Severus to a whirl of highly disturbing thoughts.

"Mum!"

The house was filled with sound. Someone cooking in the kitchen, radio playing in the sitting room, a couple of girls chattering loudly in the dining room, Lily and Robert Evans pushing their way through the front door, her trunk clunking against the doorframe and his shoes dancing as he tried not to trip over the dog that scrabbled across the wooden floor to greet them.

"Lily? Robert, is that you?"

"In here, hon," Mr Evans called back, and a moment later Mrs Evans had burst through the kitchen door and enveloped Lily in a bone-crushing hug.

"Darling, it's so good to see you! Did you have a comfortable trip? Are you hungry? My, your hair's gotten so long all of a sudden. Robert, close the door; you're letting the cold in! Winston, get _down – _"

Lily laughed and shook the snow from her hair. "It's so warm in here!" she said. "No, I'm fine, Mum – oh, it's so good to be back! How's Petunia? Is she home yet?"

"She's upstairs with one of her friends, I'll call her down – _Petunia! Your sister's home! – _what was that, dear?"

"I said you don't really have to," Lily said. "She's probably busy, I can talk to her later – "

But Petunia had already poked her head down the steps. "Oh, hello," she said in tones of great disinterest.

"Hi, Petunia!" Lily called up breathlessly. "And – hello to you to – "

Petunia's friend was staring down at her from the top of the steps as well. Her expression was one of clinical curiosity; Lily wondered what Petunia had been saying about her to earn such a cool welcome.

"This is Carrie," Petunia, jerking her head towards the girl beside her. "That's my sister, Carrie," she added unnecessarily.

Just then, Winston galloped up the steps to dance about the two older girls' feet; Petunia shrieked and ordered him to get down, and the girls disappeared once more into Petunia's room.

Lily pulled off her coat and hung it up as her mother chattered at her; she kicked her muddy boots off and followed Mrs Evans into the kitchen, where something was sizzling on the stove and the overhead fan was whirring noisily. The room smelled strongly of baking bread and onions; Lily inhaled deeply, utterly satisfied.

"It's so quiet when you girls are away at school," Mrs Evans was saying. Lily sat down at the table, resting her elbows on the worn wooden surface. "It's nice to have the house alive again."

"What are you cooking?" Lily asked sniffing the fragrant air.

"Dinner," said Mrs Evans succinctly. "It should be ready soon."

"Home cooking," Lily said, relishing the words. "Hogwarts food is great, but nothing beats a good homemade meal."

"Why, thank you, my dear," Mrs Evans said. "Speaking of which, how has school been?"

Lily let out a gusty sigh. "Hectic," she said with such emphasis Mrs Evans chuckled. "So much stuff going on this year – I'm sure I would have gone mad if it weren't for the holidays."

"Staying on top of your studies all right?" Mrs Evans asked.

Lily shrugged and nodded. "Oh, yes; no problem there. Well, actually, I've been having a little trouble with Defence Against the Dark Arts. I think Professor Rhine was a Slytherin; she's pretty harsh. But the boys say I'm doing fine, and they should know – Sirius should, anyway; he comes from a pretty – well, that kind of a background. Anyway, it's not school work I've really been having trouble with."

"Ah," her mother said significantly.

"Quidditch started up and that's always got _everybody_ riled up. The boys keep getting into fights; my Potions – uh, tutor, I guess – he especially gets on their nerves; every time they pass in the hallways there's insults thrown, if not actual curses…. You wouldn't believe the flux of house points."

Mrs Evans shook her head as she retrieved salad things from the refrigerator. "I'm sure I wouldn't," she said. "Eh, Quidditch – who's winning at the moment?"

"You mean, who's closest to the Cup?"

"Is that it? Yes."

Lily cocked her head, tracing the pattern of an ancient coffee ring on the tabletop with a finger. "I'm not sure," she said. "It's really too early to tell… but if I had to guess, I'd say Gryffindor. Let's see… we've played all the houses but Slytherin so far…." She began ticking off wins on her fingers. "Yeah, Gryffindor, I think. We've beaten both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, but not by much, and the points come into play, too, not just the wins and losses." She shook her head in disbelief. "Merlin. I can't believe I know that much about it. I guess everybody else's fanaticism has rubbed off on me."

Mr Evans chose that moment to enter the kitchen. "Fanaticism about what?" he asked as he walked over and opened the glassware cabinet.

"Quidditch," said Lily, chin rested on the heel of her hand.

"Fascinating sport," said Mr Evans, retrieving a chipped glass from the shelf. "I would love to see a game."

"I'm afraid you wouldn't be able to see one of the Hogwarts games," Lily said, watching her father fill the glass with water from the tap. "There are all these spells enchanting the castle and the grounds so that Muggles can't see it."

"Oh, really?" said Mr Evans, pausing with the glass halfway to his lips. "It's invisible?"

"No," said Lily, "there's an illusion placed on it. If you were to find your way there, all you'd see is a great, greying ruin with warning signs all over."

"Really!"

"Believe me, Dad, that's the least of the amazing stuff at Hogwarts," said Lily. "The staircases move, the suits of armour walk, the ghosts roam free and the paintings talk…."

"Not to mention the owls that deliver the mail," said Mrs Evans.

"And the children that ride broomsticks," said Mr Evans.

"You know, I really wish you _could_ see a game," said Lily. "Right after Christmas break we've got a Gryffindor-Slytherin match and it promises to be brutal." At her mother's expression, she said, "They usually are. Be thankful I don't play."

"I am," said Mrs Evans, and she began to peel the two hard-boiled eggs under running tap water.

"But our nurse is really good," Lily said. "She can mend broken bones in literally seconds. And our Potions professor supplies almost all the remedies for the infirmary and there's nobody better. You know that the wizarding world can cure blindness? They can replace lost eyes with magical ones that work. James – a boy in my year – his brother knows this fellow named Moody, and he's got a fake eye… James says it's really weird; it can see out of the back of his head and _through_ things."

"That's very interesting, dear," said Mrs Evans. "But do keep your voice down; Petunia and her friend are right upstairs."

Lily clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oops," she said. "Sorry. What about you, though? How've you and Dad been? Da said Auntie Eva had her baby?"

"A little boy," said Mrs Evans. "They named it Mark."

"Sensible name," said Lily. "Will we see her for Christmas?"

"No; she and Eugene have gone to Birmingham to visit some of Eugene's relatives."

"Manchester, dear," said Mr Evans, sipping his water.

"What was that, dear?" Mrs Evans said, looking over her shoulder at her husband.

"Manchester. They've gone to Manchester, not Birmingham."

Mrs Evans's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," said Mr Evans. "Remember, because Eugene's father owns that library down there."

"Oh! Yes. I remember now. Well, anyway, they've gone to Manchester and they won't be back until next year at the earliest."

"Where are we having Christmas this year?" Lily asked after a moment.

"At your Nana's," said Mrs Evans, stirring whatever it was in the frying pan.

"Okay, that's what I thought," said Lily. "Alright. That's good."

Mrs Evans moved to the doorway of the kitchen and stuck her head out into the hallway. "Supper, girls!" she called upstairs and stepped back into the room. "Lily, will you please set the table?"

"Five plates?" said Lily.

"And salad bowls," said Mrs Evans.

Supper was a refreshing change from the usual Hogwarts fare. There was a green salad with cucumbers, tomatoes, olives, hard-boiled eggs and Italian vinaigrette; there was grilled steak with sweet onion and green pepper relish; there was crusty Parmesan cheese and olive bread fresh out of the oven, still warm and chewy, and there was olive oil to dip it in. It was terrible extravagant for the Evanses and their tight budget, and Lily could only assume it was some sort of welcome-home gesture, but in any case, it was wonderful. Even Petunia seemed appeased by the delicious spread and she deigned to address Lily civilly.

As the table gradually turned to talk, Lily had to carefully guard her words: She was terrified that something would slip out of her mouth that shouldn't while Petunia's friend was sitting right across the table from her. When Petunia inquired wickedly after how Lily's months at school had been, Lily shot her an evil glare and said that they had been uneventful.

"What year are you again, Lily?" Carrie said casually, nibbling at a piece of lettuce.

"Fourth," said Lily, straightening up slightly, dreading the next question….

"And what kind of classes do you take?"

Lily managed not to wince visibly. "Oh, the usual," she said with an airy wave of her hand.

"But you have electives, don't you?"

"Uh, yeah…."

Carrie regarded her mildly. "Well?" she said after a pause, indicating that Lily should continue.

Lily gave a weak, nervous laugh. "They're nothing special," she said. "I've got… you know… history, and science, and, uh, maths and literature and, um, chemistry." She cringed and stumbled on: "And creatures," she said. "I take a class on the care and handling of animals."

Carrie's eyebrows rose. "Oh, so you like animals?" she said.

Lily shrugged. "Well, they're all right," she said. "I, uh, I'm not looking forward to a career with them, of course."

"What do you want to do?" said Carrie.

Why, oh, why was this girl quizzing her like this? Petunia _must_ have put her up to it. Lily shot another deadly look at her older sister before turning back to Carrie with a shrug. "I'm not sure," she said blandly. "I really don't have a solid idea."

Carrie exchanged a significant look with Petunia, and Lily glowered. She was just about to open her mouth to say something when Mrs Evans stood up rather hastily and inquired whether anybody would like some pudding.

Carrie left right after the dishes were cleared away. Petunia walked out with her to her car and returned a few minutes later, shutting the front door with unnecessary force.

"Don't slam the door," Mrs Evans called from the sitting room.

"I wasn't," Petunia snapped back, and flounced into the kitchen. "I can't believe how you nattered on at dinner," she told Lily directly.

Lily turned to face her sister, arms still elbow-deep in soapy water. "What?"

"Going on about your school and your friends and your – _yourself_ – "

"What are you talking about?" Lily said, bewildered. "She was asking me questions. Personally, I think I did a rather good job of dodging – "

"You shouldn't have said anything at all," Petunia interrupted.

Lily looked at her sister in astonishment, removing her hands from the dishwater and wiping the bubbles off on a nearby dishrag. "So you think I should have just sat there and played dumb, is that it?"

"Yes," said Petunia.

Lily stared. After a long silence, she rolled her eyes and turned her back to Petunia, immersing her hands in the dishwater once again. "I can't believe you," she muttered, not looking up from the flower-patterned dish she was scrubbing.

"What did you say?" Petunia said loudly.

Lily turned abruptly to face her again. "Look, Petunia, I'm not asking for a fight, okay?" She held her hands out to her sides, accidentally flinging droplets of water all over the kitchen floor. "If you're just going to try to – goad me into saying something I shouldn't, please, just go away and let me wash my dishes."

Petunia regarded her quietly for a moment before pivoting on her heel and walking out of the room.

Lily turned her attention back to the dishes, gazing out the window over the sink as she scrubbed and rinsed, puzzled and somewhat dismayed. Petunia was acting unusually resentful; generally she just ignored Lily and left her to her own devices. Tonight, though, she seemed actively hateful, and perhaps even a tiny bit jealous. Lily felt at once both angry with her and sorry for her.

Lily was very glad to be home, though, despite the presence of her irritable sister. The simple, familiar scent of geraniums and dog and birdseed was comforting in itself, to say nothing of being back with her parents, whom she had always been close to. Even the mundane act of washing the evening dishes was enough to afford her an easy sort of contentment unrivalled by any experience or camaraderie she might find at Hogwarts.

When she had finished drying and putting away the last pan, she went to join her parents in the sitting room. After a half hour or so of idle talk, mostly about various goings-on in the Muggle word over the last three months, she said her good-nights and found her way upstairs to her old bedroom.

It was tidier than she had left it; the bedding had been changed and the curtains had been washed and the mess of tapes on her dresser had been stacked and sorted. Her trunk was sitting at the end of her bed; she went to it, retrieved her pyjamas and changed into them.

She had turned off the light and was just crawling under her covers when the door creaked open. Lily glanced up and saw Petunia, silhouetted in the light from the hallway, looking in on her.

"Petunia?"

"Lily," Petunia said stiffly. "I wanted to apologize for what I said earlier."

Lily blinked, pausing as she pulled her quilt up over her knees. "Uh, what?"

"What I said…." Petunia's silhouette fidgeted. "It was wrong of me."

Lily blushed, and was glad that it was dark and her sister could not see. She shrugged. "That's all right," she said, trying to sound casual, but her voice came out too high-pitched.

Petunia stood in the doorway for a moment more, still as a statue, before shutting the door again. Lily could hear her footsteps disappear down the hallway.

She sat there in the dark, feeling the warmth rushing through her as she considered her sister's words. Petunia hadn't ever apologized like that before. She hadn't ever really had cause to. But the fact that she had had the courage to come and do it… Lily was touched.

She fell asleep, arms wrapped around her pillow and a small smile on her face.

They arrived at Nana Wisely's house amidst a flurry of snow and muddy shoes late on the evening of December twenty-fourth. A young cousin toting a prattling baby boy on her hip opened the door, screeched a welcome over the sound of the men yelling at the game on the television and the Christmas carols humming on the stereo and the women working in the kitchen and the children racing up and down the steps. Stomping snow off their boots on the front mat, they allowed the packages in their arms to be taken from them and put away until later, and they stepped into the front hall of the big house and removed their coats and hats and scarves and gloves.

Lily removed her cloak – yes, wizard wear, but she had belatedly discovered that she owned no Muggle wet-weather things that still fit – and gave it to her cousin to take away to her grandmother's bedroom to be piled on an enormous four-poster along with everyone else's coats.

The house smelled tantalizingly of cloves and oranges and roast goose and venison, of cedar and wood smoke and candle wax. A skinny pine tree that must have been sixteen feet tall stood in the main hall, decorated with silver and red baubles and strands of clear crystal beads. Beneath were stacks of parcels, to which their own packages had been added. The cat, a mean, smoke-coloured calico named Lady Grey, sat sedately beneath the boughs, surveying the commotion at the door with a supremely bored expression.

Lily followed Petunia into the narrow corridor, where her sister was immediately accosted by her aunt and her two daughters.

"Petunia! Oh, Petunia, you've gotten so _tall!_"

"Happy Christmas, Aunt Louise," Petunia said as the woman enveloped her in a hug. Lily hung back, watching her sister wish her two cousins a happy Christmas.

"Frida is in the front hall?" said Aunt Louise, looking over Petunia's shoulder, giving Lily a little wave and a smile as she did so.

"Yeah, she and Dad – "

"_Frida!_ And Robert! So good to see you! Happy Christmas!"

And Aunt Louise left Petunia and pushed past Lily, going into the front hall to choke Mrs Evans in a hug.

"Good to see you, Petunia," said one of her cousins, a blonde of fifteen named Delores. "Have you had a nice semester at Leon's?"

"Lovely," said Petunia. "Quite lovely. And you? How've you been?"

Her other cousin, a dark-haired girl named Leona only a few months younger than herself, slung an arm around Delores's shoulder and giggled. "Better than I expected. Delores made the school chorale, did you know? And she's going to sing in France next year, isn't that grand?"

Delores gave her sister a friendly shove. "And Leona's top in maths in her year," she said. "She got an honourable mention from the headmistress herself."

Leona shoved her sister back, rolling her eyes. "And I'm sure Petunia wants to hear all about my accomplishments as a weed-in-training," she said. "Lets go get some crisps. Uncle Arnie and Cousin Rob opened up a couple bags; let's snag a bag before they devour them all."

The three girls wandered into the sitting room, leaving Lily to smile in the dim hallway. That was quite all right; she wasn't really familiar with Leona and Delores, anyway.

In a moment her aunt and her parents came out of the front hall to coerce her into helping in the kitchen.

Dinner was served in an hour. The table was set, the dishes were spread, and the whole family gathered in the dining room around the two tables. The blessing was said and the roast goose was attacked; Lily sat down between Leona and Petunia and stuffed herself on venison and Brussels sprouts and potatoes. The Christmas pudding was brought out, as well as mince pies with rum butter and hard sauce, and lamb's wool was drunk by all except the young children.

And when the last of the dishes had been cleared, the family retired to the front hall, where the children fell upon the stacks of presents beneath the skinny Christmas tree. Photographs were taken, drinks were spilt, and more than one glass bauble were accidentally dashed off the lower boughs of the tree to the floor. By the time the last parcel had been unwrapped, the wooden floor had been littered with paper and ribbons and Lily was thoroughly content to help put away the mess.

After another hour or so of conversation and cleanup, the families began to depart; and the Evanses said their goodbyes and bundled out to their car. Petunia fell asleep almost immediately, her head drooping to her chest and her gloves falling out of her hand onto the floor of the auto. Lily, though, remained awake to watch the coloured lights flash by in the darkness, mind pleasantly blank and head pleasantly fuzzy from sleepiness and her last mug of lamb's wool. Playing softly on the car radio were Christmas polyphonies; her fingers unconsciously kept time on her knee.

An hour later they were home. Lily got out of the car, stretching; Petunia followed suit, yawning widely and tugging at her scarf. Mr Evans unlocked the front door and let them in; Lily went straight up to her room to collapse in a contented heap on her bed.

Christmas morning dawned grey and dark over Hogwarts. It was snowing heavily and freezing cold in the dungeons, and Severus shivered uncontrollably for the first few minutes after he woke, feeling as if a ghost had passed through him. Once he had gathered the will power to do so, he crawled out of bed, pulled a dressing gown on over his nightshirt and, ignoring the small pile of parcels at the foot of his bed, crept to the fledgling fire in stocking feet. Wilkes snored behind the dark green hangings around his bed, oblivious to the world.

With a little prodding from his wand, the fire soon roared. Severus sat on his knees before the hearth, warming his hands and feeling slightly better. Eventually, he stood up again and padded back to bed. Cocooned within layers of quilt and sheets he stretched out on his stomach, head at the foot of his bead, and rifled through the few parcels from atop the trunk there. Every single one had come from his parents, save for a pair of leather Quidditch gauntlets from Maria and a note.

_Wrist braces,_ it read. _For next Sunday._

He set the gauntlets on his trunk again and unwrapped the rest. Books, mostly, along with a new nightshirt, a new cloak with a fur-lined collar, a pair of new quills and some potions ingredients he would never have been able to get a hold of himself.

As he thumbed through one of the new texts - _The Dark Arts Illuminated_, by Gregarious Gorr – Wilkes gave a rousing snort and rolled over, sleepily mumbling something. Severus glanced over to see his dorm mate sit up, golden hair tousled from sleep and eyes puffy and squinted.

"Christmas already?" he yawned as he saw that Severus was already awake, and he stretched so his joints popped. "Oh, loot." He crawled down to the end of his bed where a truly enormous pile of gifts teetered precariously. "Finished opening yours, did you, Snape?" he said as he reached for a parcel wrapped in what looked like butcher's paper.

Severus didn't grace his comment with a reply; rather, he rolled onto his back, holding his book aloft to read.

"Forgot to give you your present, Snape," said Wilkes unexpectedly, and as Severus lowered his book, Wilkes rummaged around in the drawer of his bedside table and withdrew something fist-sized and white and gleaming. "Catch," he said, and tossed it across the room.

Forgetting himself, Severus dropped his book as the object whistled through his curtains into his hands. He only had time to register exactly what it was that Wilkes had tossed to him when a sharp pain in his left hand forced him to drop the object. It fell to the bed, snapping and twisting around on the sheets as Severus automatically put his bleeding thumb into his mouth.

"Thank you very much, Wilkes," he said sarcastically, examining the puncture just below the inside of his knuckle. "I'm sure those will come in quite handy." He glanced down at the set of razor-sharp false teeth that were tangled in the sheets by his knees, still searching for something to chomp into.

Wilkes was laughing heartily. "Like 'em, do you? Picked 'em up at Zonko's. I improved on 'em a bit, you see."

"Improved," Severus repeated, a sneer curling his upper lip. "Right." He shook his still-bleeding left hand and wrapped it in a fold of his sheets. While Wilkes chuckled and tore into another parcel, he pounced on the snapping set of teeth and with a wave of his wand subdued them. "I'm going down to the Great Hall," he announced as he stowed the teeth, as well as the rest of his gifts, away in his trunk and locked it.

"Don't wait up," said Wilkes, admiring a particularly fine green and silver spotted neckerchief he'd just unwrapped.

Severus selected a set of robes from the wardrobe and disappeared into the bathroom to shower and dress, a process that took him less than ten minutes. He then proceeded down to the festively-decorated Great Hall. It was nearly empty; most of the students had gone home for the holidays and he'd gotten up rather early. The only other occupants of the Hall were a cluster of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors down at the end of the Ravenclaw table and a couple of teachers; Professor Rhine, Professor Flitwick, and August Helvetii, Head of Hufflepuff and professor of Arithmancy. They sat at the head table, conversing quietly amongst themselves, all but ignoring the students.

Severus took a seat at the Slytherin table, brushing away a cracker in cynical disgust. A plate appeared before him loaded with dark, still-steaming spiced bread and raisin- and nut-studded porridge. Severus poured himself a mug of warm cider and began to eat.

He lingered over breakfast, this being the holidays and obligations thus being nonexistent. Once he finished, the plate and its leftover contents melted away, and Severus stood and departed the Great Hall. In the corridor outside, he met an ensemble of ghosts drifting along, singing Christmas carols. The Fat Friar gave him a sympathetic, condescending look, and Severus glowered as he passed.

The rest of his day he spent in the library. The weather outside was far too harsh for flying, especially for Severus, who was slight and especially likely to be blown away despite his better-than-average flying skills and the quality of his broomstick. Some of the braver students had ventured out onto the grounds to engage in snow wars, though, and Severus could hear them through the library windows. Leafing through his new texts, he spared only the slightest mental energies to scoff at them. Why anyone in his right mind would choose to go out in that freezing wet chaos was beyond his ken. Severus was one of those few Hogwarts students who had never experienced the good side of a snowball. That was not to say he was total stranger to snow artillery in general; Potter and Black took particular delight in the winter months in trailing him and pelting him with the things whenever he dared to venture out into the snow. Severus, however, preferred to fight his battles with wands rather than snow, and more than once had he retaliated to such chilly assaults with rather more forceful ones of his own.

The library door opened. Severus glanced up as a Slytherin first-year wandered in, tentatively tiptoeing past Madame Pince's desk. Severus turned back to his book; he had nothing to do with the lower years if he could help it.

Fumus nebulaque his text read. _The Curse of Foul Fog. When accompanying the incantation with a sharp downward twist of the wand, a thick, fetid smoke is produced, blinding and choking one's opponent. This curse is especially effective when combined with the _ambitus contaminatio_ curse._

Severus flipped to the front of the book to find the entry for _ambitus contaminatio._

Ambitus contaminatio, it read, _The Black Efflux Hex. When said in conjunction with a small full circuit of the wand, this curse yields a poisonous effluvium that, depending on the fibre of the spellcaster, produces a number of effects, a few among which are listed: dizziness, watery eyes, gravity sickness, uncontrollable sneezing, uncontrollable coughing, levitation, fever, vomiting, red rashes, white rashes, boils, bumps, pustules, ulcers, cysts, swelling of the joints, swelling of the eyes, and swelling of the brain. A Healer of no extraordinary talent can negate the long-term effects of this curse, except in cases which incurable madness or death is produced. These two effects are rare and produced only by the most vigorous of spellcasters._

_The Ministry of Magic deemed this curse illegal in 1626 after it was used to assassinate the Minister of that time, Reginald Dworkins-Hodge (Minister of Magic: 1614-1626). In 1629 Cephas Plantinga petitioned for it to be made legal again. The Ministry denied his petition. He petitioned again in 1632, 1638, and 1644 successively, and all three times he was turned down._

_In 1882, the curse was made legal exclusively for the use of Aurors and other Ministry officials._

Severus snorted. Since the beginning of civilized society the worst curses and hexes had been reserved for the sole use of the Ministry. He supposed that, in the right hands, these curses could be put to good use against wrongdoers, but it was truer that power corrupted and absolute power corrupted absolutely, and when the Ministry of Magic gave its high officials the Unforgivable curses on a silver platter it was obvious that the Ministry was heading down the wide and easy road of corruption.

He flipped back to _fumus neblaque_ and continued to read, ignoring the chill draft that crept across the library floor to curl around his socked ankles.

Some time later, he was surprised by a sharp rap to the top of his head. Without thinking, he drew his wand and twisted in his chair to face his assailant –

– Only to discover Maria standing there behind him, the startled look on her face directed at his pointed wand, her hands put up defensively.

"Whoa, Snape, calm down!"

Severus lowered his wand, touching his hand to his fluttering heart. "What in Merlin's name do you think you were doing?" he growled.

From across the room, Madame Pince reminded him of the no-spell rules in the library. Severus tucked his wand away as Maria came around to sit in the chair across from him.

"I've never met a fourth-year with battle nerves," said Maria, settling her gloved hands in her lap. "You need to lighten up, Snape."

"That ultimately leads to extermination," said Severus, relaxing a fraction. "What are you doing here?"

Maria shrugged. "Just dropped in to see whether you'd be around," she said. "Happy Crimbo."

"The same to you," said Severus. "The gauntlets came at a convenient time, I thank you."

"'Twas nothing special," Maria said. "They've no charms at all on them… but the leather will take especially well to spellwork, if you're interested in customizing them yourself."

Severus nodded. "I might look into that."

"What book is that?" Maria asked after a moment of silence.

Severus glanced down at his text and held it up so she could see the title.

"Gorr," said Maria. "Is that any good?"

"It's slightly out of date," said Severus, "but he proposes some interesting theories. I'd advise you to buy a newer edition, if you're interested."

"Is it just a spellbook, or what?"

"There's an index of spells," said Severus, "but there's also a rather informative section on the theory of Dark Arts."

"I suppose that was a Christmas present."

"It was."

"Good haul this year?"

Severus gave a wry smirk. "As good as any," he said.

"Get some good potions ingredients?"

His smirk broadened. "Yes," he said.

Maria lowered her voice. "Anything illegal?"

"In a few countries," said Severus, and wouldn't say anything more on the subject.

Maria grinned at him over folded hands. "You're a man of few words, Snape," she said. "That's what I like about you."

Severus didn't reply. He'd never thought of himself in that way before, and now that Maria had mentioned it, he supposed that, to an outsider, he would appear so. A man of few words.

"You never let on more than necessary," Maria continued, oblivious to his private musing. "You've got a to-the-point way of speaking, unless you're purposefully trying to evade the question, as you were just a moment ago. I like that."

Severus didn't say anything, but he felt his face warm slightly. He wasn't used to compliments.

"My grandmother sent me a compendium of curses and dodgy potions," Maria said, and Severus was grateful that the subject had been diverted from him. "She seems bent on nurturing my Slytherin nature. Good thing, because my mother certainly isn't." Severus examined Maria's face as she brushed a short, dark curl out of her eye and continued. "If she knew Grammum was sending me Dark Arts books she'd do her nut. You know what she sent me this year? Political paraphernalia railing against the evils of Simon Alweather. I didn't read much into it, but it went something along the lines of 'Alweather is weak; Alweather won't stop the crime; Alweather deserves to be bundled up in his own propaganda rags and abandoned in Knockturn Alley.' As if Crouch was any better. The man's a maniac. Did you read the latest headlines?"

Severus shook his head. "No, I don't get the _Prophet._"

Maria rifled through the bag at her feet and retrieved a bundle of newsprint and handed it to Severus. He unrolled it and was immediately assailed with a big flashing headline:

**ELDERWINE INSTIGATOR FOR MANCHESTER MASSACRE!**

And in slightly smaller print beneath it:

**BROUGHT TO JUSTICE BY BARTIMUS CROUCH**

Beneath the two headlines was a picture of a fair-haired, middle-aged man, gazing resolutely into the camera lens. Severus recognised him as Augustus Elderwine, a wealthy merchant whose shop sat at the junction of Diagon and Knockturn alleys. He was famed for his unusual stock, his outrageous prices and his casually evasive manner, and Severus had been inside his shop a few times. He'd seen the man himself only once, but it had been a memorable occasion.

"Merlin," he muttered, scanning the article, hardly aware that Maria was studying him intently all the while. There wasn't anything particularly unusual about the report – it detailed the grisly events of the third of March, 1974, and noted that Elderwine was the 'proprietor of a shop on Knockturn Alley' and was renowned for selling 'Dark artefacts' – blatant mistruths, both. Elderwine's shop specialised in shady odds and ends that fell more towards the Muggle end of the illegality spectrum than towards the Dark end. A note at the very end of the article caught Severus's eye:

"'Elderwine was delivered to St Mungo's and officially pronounced dead at ten o'clock last night,' Severus muttered aloud. "What's that supposed to mean? Did he suffer a heart attack upon discovery?"

Maria's tone was heavy with sarcasm. "What do you think, Snape? After all, it was _Crouch_ who caught him – and Crouch isn't exactly known for his merciful battle tactics. Use that keen wit of yours to deduce what happened."

Severus perused the article once again, frowning slightly. "And no one would care, would they," he said. "Not when the _Prophet_ is painting Elderwine in such a light."

"Biased media," Maria muttered. "They're all biased. Somebody does something worthwhile and they try to taint it in some way. Someone does something bad and they blow it way out of proportion." She dipped her forehead into her hand. "God, it makes me sick." Severus handed the newspaper back to her. "Bloke was probably just sitting down to Christmas dinner with his family when that maniac burst in on him. And don't give me that sceptical look, Snape; you know that has to be what happened."

"How do you know he had family?" said Severus.

Maria's dark eyes flashed and she shook the paper out again so that Elderwine's photograph blinked calmly up at him. "Come off it, Snape," she snapped. "Look at him. There is no way that this fellow could have _instigated the Manchester massacre._"

Severus huffed an impatient breath of air through his nostrils. "Now, that's just illogical," he said. "You're saying that he couldn't possibly have done something as unspeakable just because he looks grandfatherly and kind? May I remind you that even Grindewald was an infant once?"

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Maria said coldly.

Severus shrugged, hands gripping the arms of his chair. "Who would ever expect an infant to grow into what Grindewald became?" said Severus. "Imagine a child, Maria. A beautiful little thing with clear, innocent eyes, bouncing, fair curls, and dimples. You'd never suspect such a child to become the next Hitler or Grindewald or… or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Do you see what I'm saying?"

Maria shook her head. "That's not the same thing, Snape."

She was right; his analogy didn't fully follow logically. He tried again.

"Consider this, then," said Severus. "James Potter. Sirius Black. Charming boys, wouldn't you say? Widely considered handsome. But they're far from innocent. Would you say that just because half the school's population falls at their feet that it makes them pure as freshly driven snow? Would you say that they are incapable of misdeeds? That they couldn't possible transgress because they are – _attractive_ people"

Maria glared at him. "Look, Snape, I didn't ask for a lesson in logic. I knew Elderwine, all right? He couldn't possibly have done anything like the _Prophet_ says. And nothing would warrant an execution like Crouch delivered."

Severus had blanched at her words. "You… knew him?"

"He was a friend of my Grandmum's," she said coolly. "I saw him occasionally. He was a good man."

Severus didn't say anything.

Several minutes passed in silence. Finally, Maria rolled the newspaper back up and tucked it in her bag. She bid Severus a brief good-bye and left.

He supposed it was also illogical of him to even begin to think that the fact that Maria Welteislehre knew and trusted Elderwine automatically made him innocent. It was Severus's nature to be suspicious, and he still doubted that the _Prophet_ would have published such an article without there being _some_ fact to base it on.

He did agree, however, that Bartimus Crouch's methods were not just a little unorthodox. But he was a powerful man; rumour had it that he, like Simon Alweather and Cornelius Fudge, was angling for the position of Minister of Magic. And Severus didn't know how he felt about that. Crouch was the type of man to reserve all the power for the Ministry and cancel out the check-and-balance system whose place had become steadily more and more precarious over the past eighty years.

And Simon Alweather? Well, _weak_ wasn't exactly the adjective he would choose… _lenient_ had more of the ring of truth to it. Reasonable. Sometimes too reasonable.

Severus didn't know much about Fudge, except that Mr Snape thought the man's attitude laughable.

Severus sat there in the library, Gregarious Gorr's book forgotten in his lap, eyes tuned to the middle distances as he pondered. He disliked politics. They had a way of stirring up trouble, and they were so dishonest that just talking about them made him feel physically dirty. Possibly it was because he could see that both sides lied just as much to achieve their goals that he disliked it so much. Whatever the case was, it wasn't a good attitude a Slytherin should have had.

But he couldn't help it.

For some time he sat there, thinking. Only when he discovered his crossed foot going numb did he shoulder his bag of books and leave the library in favour of the dungeons.


	9. chapter nine

For disclaimers, see chapter 1. 

Author's Note: Hey, all! New chapter, and it's 19 pages long. Haven't had a lot of time to write lately, what with school and harbouring missing persons in our house Saturday night. Yes, it is what it sounds like. We didn't know they were missing until Dad decided to get hold of the one girl's parents to make sure they knew where she was, and discovered that the address she gave me didn't exist. (She said she was an artist, and we exchanged addies in order to send prints of our art back and forth. So much for that. :P)

Anyway - thanks to everyone who reviewed; here's to hoping that this next chapter brings more of the same. Quidditch, Wet!Snape, and Idiot!James all await. Have fun, and try not to destroy the furniture.

chapter nine 

Lily returned to Hogwarts accompanied by a snowstorm so strong that it threatened to waylay the Hogwarts Express on its tracks. She and the other holidaying students made it safely to the school, however, riding on the heels of 1974. Lily noticed several of the upper years looking distinctly hungover.

And now they had arrived at the station. Lily was bundled up in what seemed like metres of wool, but as soon as she stepped off the train the devious cold wormed its way through the layers of cloth to tease and nip at her skin like a spiteful lover. The snow blew past her scarf and gloves and hat, working its way into the gaps between fabric at her wrists and her ankles and her throat. Her breath caught against the weave of her scarf, condensed, and soon frosted over. Not minutes after disembarking from the train had her lips begun to chap.

Cordelia's arm was linked through hers for warmth, and Lily could hear the other girl cursing the storm under her breath. Lily caught a giggle in her throat. The cold was almost unbearable, but the sheer power of the storm quickened Lily's heart like an exclamation point and made her feel alive and excited again. It was a different kind of excitement than what she usually experienced over the holidays; it was a momentary feeling to which she really couldn't put a name.

The wind blew them into the main hall, doing violent things to the flames of the torches on the walls. Lily ripped her cap off, freeing a tumble of wavy red hair and sending wet snow to the ground in clumps. Her cheeks and nose were red from the cold, and her green eyes sparkled. "Cordelia, you look like a snowman," she said, tugging at her friend's arm.

Cordelia growled something unintelligible and unwrapped her scarf, which had been wound many times around her neck. "Merlin's _bones,_" Lily heard her grouse as her movements knocked snow down her collar.

"Filch is going to have a heart attack," Lily said merrily. "Look at all this mud! Oh, the Christmas decorations are still up… fancy that…."

"Hey, Evans!"

Lily turned to see James Potter And Company approaching. "Oh, hey, Potter," she said. "Black. Remus. Where's Peter?"

"Oh, around," said James with an offhand shrug. His knit cap was pulled down around his ears, holding his glasses in place; curls of black hair had escaped their woolly confines, however, and James tugged a stray lock out of his eye. "Have a good Christmas?"

"Lovely, thanks…. And thanks, boys, for the presents; I've got yours in one of my trunks, and I'll get them to you as soon as I unpack. I couldn't get hold of a single package delivery owl at the Office."

"Yeah, the holidays are dreadful," said Sirius, concentrating on rubbing the snow out of his damp black hair. "Lucky thing I have my own bird."

Sirius was interrupted as Cordelia arched up on tiptoe to wave at Eliza, who was leaning over the banister, looking down at the crowd in the main hall.

Lily turned back to beam at James, and she caught him staring at her. Noticing her return his gaze, he jumped slightly and blushed, turning away with a harsh cough.

"Did you have a good time at your parents', Remus?" Lily said, directing her attention to her other friend instead. Remus looked especially chilly, guarded from the chill by only a heavy cape with a hood whose tail was so long he had wrapped it, scarf-like, around his neck. He was wearing a new pair of gloves, though, which Lily was glad to see.

"A very merry Christmas," Remus answered, and his tone was too merry for the look in his eyes. Lily pretended not to notice, though she wondered what the glumness in his expression indicated. Remus wasn't usually morose; he could be pensive at times, but he never seemed downright gloomy. She wondered really how his holidays had been, and remembered her decision not to pry into the boys' matters.

The group pulled together and they made their way up to Gryffindor Tower.

Lily gave Cordelia, Eliza and the boys their Christmas gifts later in the common room. For James she'd gotten a Kennilworthy Whisp book for Sirius, a paperback Louis L'amour novel in the hopes he'd begin to enjoy reading a genre other than high sea adventure; for Remus, she'd found a collection of Muggle fairy tales and folklore with beautiful and grotesque illuminations, and for Peter, who had been showing promise in Defence Against the Dark Arts the past few months, she had bought a book of intermediate jinxes and counter-jinxes.

To Cordelia, who, despite her tomboy attitude, actually did show interest in such things, she gave a small bundle of Muggle makeup – exotic stuff, by wizardborn witch standards – and to Eliza she gave a jewel-toned angora scarf she had found at a consignment shop.

James thanked her earnestly and swore he _didn't_ already have a copy of _He Flew Like A Madman;_ Sirius immediately plopped down on the couch and began to thumb through the western; Remus gave her his soft, glowing smile that informed her that she couldn't have given him a more perfect gift, and Peter shook her hand and blushed and beamed when she told him she was sure he could easily master the spells in Ludwig Eerdmans's _Offence and Defence._ Cordelia's eyes widened at the sight of the handkerchief full of lipsticks, mascara, eye shadow and blush, and Eliza promptly wrapped the angora scarf around her neck and gave a sigh of contentment.

Lily still had a few gifts to give out, but their recipients didn't reside in Gryffindor Tower.

And she was too tired to hunt them down this evening. Albert Graham, the captain of the Gryffindor team, was rounding up the players to make an early night of it. James and Cordelia left the common room for their respective dormitories, and Lily remembered about the game that was to take place the following day. She cleared up the scattered wrapping paper with a wave of her wand and bid the other boys goodnight before following Cordelia up to the dorm.

The next morning she rose early, despite the fact that it was a Sunday. The sky above the castle was a gloomy grey, and it still snowed, though with less ferocity than the night before. But even from beneath her thick, toasty bedcovers Lily could tell that it was bitter cold out; the leaded windows were crusted with snow and when she put her feet down on the floor she could feel the breeze that had leaked in through the gap in the latch.

She took a scalding hot shower and took her time drying her hair with a complicated, wiggly little charm before donning some new Muggle clothing she had received for Christmas from her parents. And no matter how much she wanted to wear it, she decided against the bulky green sweater her mother had purchased specially for her; it just wouldn't do for a Gryffindor girl to wear green to Gryffindor-Slytherin match, no matter how well it accentuated her eyes.

So she pulled a cream-coloured jumper on over her turtleneck, applied a little mascara, inserted a pair of emerald earrings in her ears – well, she couldn't help it, and they were tiny – and dashed out of the lavatory.

She found Sirius in the common room, haunting the corner by the fireplace. "James still abed, then, I guess?" she said, coming over. Sirius looked up from the book he was reading – the one Lily had bought for him at the little London shop.

"They all are," said Sirius, by which she guessed he meant to indicate the team. "This book is really good."

"Glad you like it. My dad's mad for them; I got the idea from him. Eaten breakfast yet?"

"Nuh-uh."

"I'm going down there now; care to join me?"

He lifted his gaze from the page again, and she saw a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Not that I'm not flattered, but I thought it'd be best to stay up here until this match is over."

Lily laughed. "Oh, yeah. I suppose you don't want to risk a blemish to your pretty face, eh?"

She wondered what kind of hexes would be flying around today, as was standard procedure for the pre-game hype. She wondered if she should rethink her decision to descend down to the Great Hall, but decided that she wasn't as much a – well, a Gryffindor symbol as Sirius and James were, and therefore less of a target for random stalking Slytherins.

So she bid Sirius good-bye and made her way down to breakfast.

By the time of the match, the storm had gathered up momentum again and the snow came down like a million cold hissing darts. Lily glanced at the golden sand in the lower bulb of the hourglass on her bedside table, and then out the window at the sheets of merciless snowflakes.

With a sigh she shut the pages of her book and went to her wardrobe, from which she withdrew her all-weather cloak. She pulled on her ratty-looking leather boots, wrapped a gold scarf around her neck, and left the dormitory, picking up Eliza in the common room and migrating downstairs with the rest of the students. At the doors of the main hall, after checking to make sure her scarf was securely in place, she dug a pair of scraped leather gloves out of her cloak pockets and donned them before venturing out into the cold.

The Quidditch pitch was crawling with students, ranging from the scrawniest, most wet-behind-the-ears first-former to the most sophisticated seventh-year Hogwarts had to offer. The field itself was deserted and white with snow. Lily and Eliza climbed up into the Gryffindor side of the stands and made themselves as comfortable as possible.

It wasn't long until a voice over the magical megaphone turned the students' heads, as one, towards the end of the pitch. The names were announced and the Gryffindor team came speeding out – _Graham! Stott! Leithart! McKeeley! Brissett! Young! Potter! _– scarlet streaks in the pearl-white pounding storm. And then the rest of the names were called _(Carmichael! Moon! Wilkes! Rookwood! Mulciber! Nott! Snape!) _and seven emerald blurs erupted from the other side of the pitch, circling overhead like oversized vert hawks.

Master Pruidwick, robed in the customary black and white stripes, stepped onto the field to release the Bludgers from their rattling crate. They swooped upwards, followed swiftly and silently by the Golden Snitch, which glinted soon out of sight. Not a moment later, the flying instructor launched the Quaffle into the air, and the game began.

It was, as expected, brutal. Not ten minutes into the game a player – Louis Leithart, a Gryffindor Chaser – was broadsided by a particularly violent Bludger aimed his way by fifth-year Felix Mulciber. A brief time-out was called so Leithart could benefit from a healing spell. The game then resumed.

Cordelia performed well, despite the fact that the snow was by now coming down so hard Lily could hardly see what was going on without the aid of her enchanted binoculars. She and Graham pulled formations like they'd played together all their lives. Watching them was intoxicating; Lily found herself leaping out of her seat with the rest of the crowd on several occasions, cheering like a mad fanatic.

Above the rest of the players James drifted, and she knew his eyes were darting back and forth in search of his quarry. To the naked eye he was little more than a pinprick of discoloration on the pearly arc of the sky, but when Lily brought her enchanted binoculars to her eyes and fiddled with the focus knob she could see the muscle tic in his jaw and the muscles of his back tense and controlled beneath his flapping red cape. Up there, so much higher above them all, he looked born to fly. Lily felt suddenly embarrassed to be spying on him from where he couldn't see, and she directed her gaze away from him, a blush momentarily stirring warmth in her otherwise frozen cheeks.

She couldn't help keeping an eye on Snape, though. The boy, clothed entirely in black beneath his green and silver cape, zigzagged back and forth over the pitch not much farther below James. She could see him throwing his entire weight (which wasn't much to speak of) against the wind in order to manoeuvre his broom across the pitch. She could see his slight body shuddering in the wind, which had to be considerably strong so high up. Lily watched him dart back and forth, a strange feeling she could not identify roiling low in her stomach. He looked like someone else in his Quidditch robes, gold leather of his gauntlets bright against his black sleeves, face half obscured by the goggles on his face, hair whipping around his face as he crisscrossed over the field.

Lily's attention was drawn from him as Gryffindor scored yet another goal. The count was 110 to 80, in favour of Gryffindor. Lily wondered how much longer this game was going to go on; she could feel herself beginning to freeze to her seat.

As she watched, Frederick Brissett and Matthew McKeeley, the Gryffindor Beaters, smacked both Bludgers at Deimos Moon, who had just retrieved the Quaffle. Moon rolled in midair, dropping the crimson ball down to Wilkes, who caught it neatly and began to speed back to the other end of the pitch. The Bludgers thrummed through the air, and in a giant arc they turned and split, one heading for Charles Nott, the Slytherin Keeper, and the other for Felix Mulciber. Nott dodged, managing to acquire a painful-looking glancing blow on the elbow; Mulciber hefted his Beater's bat and smacked his Bludger in Cordelia's direction.

Next to Lily, Eliza stiffened and made a distressed sound, but Cordelia ducked the Bludger, missing collision by mere centimetres, and continued to chase Wilkes and Moon, who were passing the Quaffle back and forth as they moved down the pitch.

In a minute, Cordelia intercepted the Quaffle in what Lily noted was a rather risky but no doubt effective move and she, in turn, hurled it to Leithart, who caught it and sped back up to the Slytherin end.

There was a roar from the crowd. Lily looked up to see a jet of black and green tearing down the field, soon to be followed closely by a similar vermilion streak.

With an "Ooh!" of excitement, Lily focused her binoculars on the two Seekers, spurred into action by a glint of gold near the central circle of the field.

Snape and James, both stretching for the Snitch, hurtled forward, skimming the snow that covered the green of the pitch, desperate – through her binoculars, Lily could see the anger in James's expression and the fierce determinedness in Snape's – and then, in one agonising moment, it was all over: a burst of speed put Snape ahead just enough to snatch the Snitch right out from under James's nose.

Lily couldn't be sure of exactly what happened next, it was over so quickly. But it appeared that James swerved slightly in his flight path – Lily could only imagine that his distress caused him to falter – and he veered right into Snape, clipping the tail of the other boy's broom. Snape, cupping the Snitch in both hands, was guiding his broomstick only by his knees, and he lost hold and tumbled off. The pitch was a mere two feet beneath him, but his momentum caused him to roll; he fetched up at the base of the central Gryffindor goal post, a heap of green and black and silver amidst the grey-white of the snow.

Lily was caught between the desire to worry at James's mutinous expression and the urge to leap to her feet and cheer along with the rest of the Slytherins. As Eliza, a devout Gryffindor if there ever was one, was sitting right beside her, she opted for the neutral approach and clasped her hands in her lap. "Oh my," she said, leaning to her right so Eliza could hear above the noise of the crowd; "that was interesting, wasn't it?"

The Slytherin team had descended to earth and had joined Snape at the Gryffindor side of the pitch, where several of them were engaged in a sort of victory dance, trampling about in the snow. Snape himself got to his feet, brushing the snow off his clothes and clutching the Snitch tightly in his left hand. He pulled his goggles off over his head and shook his hair out of his eyes, and Lily was sure she had never before seen him looking so alive. His cheeks were flushed from the cold and his face was split in a wickedly triumphant grin, and that alone was enough to warrant total shock.

"James looks furious," said Eliza, pointing towards the dash of scarlet that was the Gryffindor Seeker, standing some distance away from the exultant Slytherins. She was right; James looked downright murderous, and rightly so, Lily supposed: she could only remember one other time in which the Slytherin team had beaten the Gryffindors so spectacularly, and that had been two years ago, when both James and Snape had been brand-new to their respective teams.

"He'll get over it," said Lily. "Eventually."

Students started filing out of the stands, the Slytherins pouring out onto the field to congratulate their players. The Gryffindor team wandered off the pitch, and Lily and Eliza climbed down from the stands and returned to the castle.

Half an hour later, the majority of the team had returned to the common room. Eliza and Lily welcomed Cordelia into their circle by the fire, complimenting her warmly on her impressive Chasing.

"I didn't know you were that good," said Eliza, picking at a snag on a fingernail. "I mean, I knew you were good, but I didn't know you were _that_ good."

"Would've been a lot better if we'd won," Cordelia grumbled. She'd been rather grumpy since she returned from the showers.

"You did a great job," Eliza reassured her. "James did his best, but Snape just got to the Snitch first. You know. You win some, you lose some."

"Where _is_ James?" Lily said, but just then the portrait hole opened and a soggy-looking boy stomped in, his red, slightly mud-stained cloak thrown over one shoulder.

"Spoke too soon," Eliza commented.

The three girls watched as James stalked through the common room and up the stairs to the boys' dormitories; moments later, Sirius, who had been sitting on the opposite side of the fire, could be seen following him up.

Lily rolled her eyes. "Boys," she said.

"Think I'll go down and see if they're serving dinner in the Great Hall yet," said Cordelia, getting up and stretching. She rubbed her left arm, where her wand was stored up her sleeve. "See you two later… unless you want to come with me?"

Lily had gotten to her feet, as well. "I'm going to stop by the library," she said. "I'll go that far with you. But wait a second while I go get my stuff from the dorm."

Cordelia gave a huffy sigh, no doubt exasperated by Lily's penchant for camping out in the library even on the weekends, but she waited. Lily wasted no time and ran up and grabbed her book bag. She returned to the common room and caught up with Cordelia, and the girls left the tower together.

They parted company at the corridor the library was located on. Lily wandered into the musty-smelling rooms that made up Madame Pince's domain, glancing around expectantly. But he wasn't there, as she'd hoped, only a few older Slytherins and a Ravenclaw or two in the Beasts section.

So she turned around to leave, earning a suspicious look from the librarian on her way out. She descended further into the depths of the castle, taking winding, steadily darker corridors downwards, until she found herself wandering through the bowels of the dungeons, where the Potions classroom and the disused labs were located.

But he wasn't down there, either. With a sigh, Lily turned and began the tiring ascent back up to Gryffindor.

And as she passed through the second floor, she met him coming out of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, clutching an armful of books. His hair was slightly damp, was scraped away from his face and pulled behind his ears – it was just long enough for that when it was wet, Lily noticed; when it was dry, it wouldn't tuck back like that, would slip forward to hide his eyes and his admittedly good cheekbones. She waved at him, called his name softly: "Snape!"

He looked up right away, hand jerking towards his right sleeve, but he recognized her and she saw him relax slightly.

"What do you –," he began, but she cut him off smartly, wishing to avoid any unpleasant exchanges:

"Have a good holiday, Snape?"

That tactic didn't work as well as she had hoped; his black eyes flashed angrily, and his hold tightened on his books. "Mind your own business, Evans," he snarled, striding forward, as if to brush past her.

Surprised, she didn't think about the consequences as she caught at his sleeve. "Wait, hold on, there!" she said, and jerked her hands back as he snatched his arm away. "I just wanted to – you did really well out there today, Snape. At the game."

His eyes flickered with brief confusion, then suspicion.

Hopefully, she pressed on, maintaining a cautious distance between them. "You were – really on form, and I – I just wanted to tell you congratulations."

He stared at her, nostrils flaring. After a moment he spoke curtly: "Evans, give it up."

She blinked. "Eh?"

"Let me guess. Your little girlfriends are right around the corner, laughing their heads off at this highly _unamusing_ little joke. Whatever you're trying to do – bait me, or whatever – give it up. You're doing an embarrassingly poor job of it, and I don't fool easily, anyway."

Lily had been expecting something like this. She shrugged, and looked away as she began to rummage through her bag. "Well, be that way if you like," she said. "I'm not going to convince you of anything you don't want to believe, and I admit you've got plenty of reason to be suspicious of me… though _I_ didn't actually do anything to you, now that I think about it…." Finding what she had been searching for, she looked up and brushed the hair out of her eyes. "In any case, here's to hoping your Christmas wasn't as miserable as you let on." She extended her hand, and Snape stared down at it.

He didn't say anything for a moment. And then: "What is _that?_"

"Take them and see."

He glared at the parcel in her hand. "How do I know that's not some _Zonko's_ product that'll – bite my fingers off or something?"

Lily gave him a sceptical look. "Does it look like a Zonko's product to you? Just takeit already, Snape. Cast _finite incatatem_ on it if you must."

To her relief, Snape finally gave in and took the packet from her. His eyebrows lifted slightly as his eyes caught the lettering on the back, which gratified Lily immensely – she'd surprised him, and not in a terribly bad way, judging from his current expression.

He did shift his books to his other arm and cast a quick revealing charm on the package, but nothing happened, and when he spoke his voice was carefully blank.

"That's decent of you, Evans," he said, looking up from the packet of Jobberknoll feathers.

"You're welcome," Lily said, trying her best not to smirk. "And happy New Year. I guess today was a pretty good start, eh?"

Eyes twinkling, she turned and left before he could say anything in reply, feeling the warmth of a good deed done and the triumphant tingle of a battle well won spreading through her down to her toes.

Severus stared at the paper packet in his hands, through the little cellophane window at the blue brown-speckled feathers inside. What could she mean by it, he wondered; what did she want from him? Sweet, redheaded Gryffindor girls did not give him Christmas presents; did not congratulate him on a game well played – even if he did deserve it – and definitely did not twinkle at him while offering strangely sincere-sounding encouragements.

It was highly unsettling, all of it, and more than slightly suspicious.

He heard a brush of cloth in the corridor behind him, and he turned to see Vera Rhine, the Defence professor, leaning against the jamb of her classroom door. She wore a strange expression, one that gave him the impression that she'd witnessed the entire exchange with Evans, but what she thought of it was incomprehensible from the look on her face. One pale eyebrow was arched on her forehead, but she said nothing, and after a moment she withdrew into her classroom again, her long navy-blue robes scraping the stone floor, stiff with starch.

Severus gathered his wits and hastened from that corridor, not looking back.

In his dormitory again, he put the packet of feathers among his other potions ingredients, quashing the urge to set it aside, a memento of sorts – _why_ in the name of Merlin would he harbour such an urge, even if only momentarily? Exceedingly irritated with himself, he slammed the lid of his trunk shut, locked it, and clambered up on top of his bed.

He wondered if the outcome of this game would at all aid his reputation amongst the Slytherins. He doubted it. If there were any change in the way his housemates treated him, it would be short-lived. After all – and he hated to admit this, he really, really did – there was no way he could keep making scores like that against James Potter. Today had been a lucky occasion. And usually he would have said he didn't believe in such things – luck, that is – but there wasn't any other way to explain the victory except by the excuse of fortitude and altitude. He'd been closer to the Snitch to begin with, Potter being occupied flying far above usual playing height. Severus had been nearer the ground, and it was the combined factors of the head start he'd gotten and sheer will power that he'd caught up with that Snitch before Potter.

And now he'd have to really watch his back. He'd seen Potter's expression. There wasn't any way Potter was going to let him get away with this one, not when he had louts like Black backing him up.

_I guess today was a pretty good start, eh?_

Ha.

Severus snorted aloud at the thought.

It really couldn't have been worse.

Lessons with Snape and James resumed the next week, tentatively scheduled for Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays again. Snape was in an unusually bad mood Tuesday evening, which made her nervous, and by a stroke of pure bad luck she shook too much scale emulsion into the potion she was brewing, and caused it to explode.

Snape bodily shoved her out of the classroom after that.

He hadn't forgotten about it by Thursday, but he was in a much better mood by then, by Snape's standards. James, however….

"_James!_"

Lily gave a shriek as the book he'd been demonstrating a particular spell on leapt up and started flapping noisily and somewhat frighteningly around Lily's ears. She flailed at it, and managed to subdue it with a Freezing Charm. Gasping slightly, she laid it down on the table, and slumped in her seat.

"Okay, James, what's up?"

James looked up at her. His expression was unusually hostile, and somewhat guilty. "What?"

"You've been fudging up spells all evening. You must have something on your mind."

"You bet I bloody do," she heard him mutter, but he spoke in a louder tone, "Why don't we end the lesson for this evening? We can pick up where we left off next Wednesday."

Lily gave him a perplexed look. "Well, okay, but would you mind telling me what's the matter?"

James's lip lifted in a highly uncharacteristic sneer. "I'll tell you what's the matter," he said. "It's Snape, that's what's the matter."

Lily was silent for a moment, searching for the right thing to say. She decided on a careful "Ah."

James stood up abruptly, shoving his hands in his pockets, withdrawing them again, rumpling his hair in an aggravated manner. "Bloody git. Strutting about like some – some _star,_ as if one win makes him king of the world – _Merlin,_ he makes me sick." He gave a shudder.

Lily stared up at her friend as he paced. The boy had issues; there was no doubt about that. "Won't you sit down?" she said at last, growing tired of watching him circle his chair. "You're making me nervous. Are you really still fretting about that match?"

He snorted, but didn't answer.

"Look, James, that wasn't your fault. Wasn't anybody's fault." She cringed at her own words. She couldn't get much closer to cliché than that. "Hey. Snape just had a good game; that was all. Everybody has their days, you know?"

James glared. "You're missing the point, Lily."

Lily raised her eyebrows. "And what would that be, exactly?"

James gave a huffy sigh. "The fact that he won at all, obviously."

Lily leaned back, surprised. "What?"

The boy gave a laugh that anything but amused. "He shouldn't have won at all. I should have beat him. Snape's passable, I'll admit that much – but not – he's not – "

" – Terrific, is that what you're saying?" said Lily. "You're better than him, eh?"

"Well, yeah! I'm a _natural_." He said the word as if it was a magic spell. "Snape shouldn't have had a chance. I'm a better flyer, a better player, a better Seeker – " James ran his hand through his hair again, making it lick upwards untidily. "_I_ should have won."

Lily leaned forward across the table towards James and touched his hand to make sure she had his attention. "James," she said, "listen to me. At the risk of sounding textbook, I ask you whether there's anything you could have done, given the situation, to have altered the outcome of that match. No, that was a rhetorical question," she added hastily as James opened his mouth to answer. "I'm trying to make a point here, James. Listen. You've never lost a game in the two years you've been playing on that team. Not once, am I right?"

James responded in the affirmative, looking dubious.

Lily gave a judicious little nod. "So you're telling me that you basically expected to continue on in that manner, until leaving school, never having lost once, always making the perfect score, as if you're somehow superhuman and above the rest of us imperfect people? Is that it?"

James opened his mouth again, but Lily shook her head. "Everybody messes up eventually, James, even at what we're best at. You just had a longer grace period than is granted to the rest of us. Just because you'd never lost before didn't mean you wouldn't – or still won't, if it comes to it. You're human, James, and bound to make mistakes. It's an enlightened human that learns not to take these kinds of mistakes too hard. Losing Sunday didn't make you a failure – "

James cut in here, sounding exasperated and a little defensive. "I don't think I'm a failure!"

"You know what I mean, James. Do you intend on playing badly in the future?"

"Of course not!"

"Then why all the fuss? Do your best, and try to be happy with it." She sat up straighter suddenly, shrugged in a businesslike manner. "That's all the advice I can give you."

She stood up, began packing away her things. As she piled her books back into her satchel, she heard James speak.

"He shouldn't have won," he muttered.

Lily left the classroom without responding.

_Good grief,_ she thought as she walked down the corridor outside, _could he be any more self-obsessed?_ She was amazed at his point-blank refusal to accept that Snape's victory wasn't an indication that he was _inferior._ He acted as though the fact that Snape won that particular game undermined all his other triumphs. He seemed to think that he should just give up here and now just because he lost for once in his life.

Lily snorted. Talk about unsound logic. No, this wasn't a matter of _logic,_ she corrected herself – she was beginning to think that darling James was just a tad insecure. Perhaps a ridiculous idea at first glance – James Potter, Quidditch god, hero of the Gryffindors, insecure? Pah! – but Lily wasn't any stranger to psychology in general, and James on the conversational side of things showed his insecurity like the dangerous undertow in a benign-looking river.

She continued to mull over the idea as she made her way to Gryffindor.

James made himself scarce the next few weeks. For that matter, so did Sirius and Peter; it got to the point where the only times she saw the boys was during classes and the occasional glimpses in the hallways after school hours. Since that last evening Lily hadn't had any more transfiguration lessons with James, and she was amazed to discover that her tutoring of Snape didn't suffer at all, except for her initial lack of confidence which Snape noticed and nipped in the bud with several scathing remarks that, despite their unnecessary sting, were no doubt effective.

In between school and working potions with Snape, Lily had once again taken up her work with the cassette-player problem. She'd had an idea; a rather brilliant one, she flattered herself, one which entailed a jumble of clumsy components such as brass and silver buttons and wooden dowels and modelling clay. It sounded more like some sort of Muggle craft project than a device for reading and amplifying data on cassette tapes, true, but Lily didn't consider herself much of an inventor and what she had in mind was promising, for a first try. She had high hopes – a sure recipe for disappointment, she knew, but though her head operated on logical standards, her heart didn't always follow the same pattern. It was one of her major failings; a fact she was more than aware of long before Snape ever pointed it out.

In any case, she wrote her mother requesting a few odds and ends she thought might come in handy. A week later, she was rewarded with a box of items that Cordelia, wizardborn witch that she was, laughed uproariously over.

"You're actually going to make something useful out of these things?" Cordelia said, indicating the narrow dowels, the stubby erasers, and the curling strands of wire.

Lily shrugged. "Hopefully."

"I don't believe it," said Cordelia. "I'm sorry, but I simply cannot imagine what in Merlin's name you could do with this junk."

Lily had merely smiled and gone off to the dormitory to sort out the items her mother had sent.

She held off on starting assembly of her device, mostly just out of procrastination, and partly because her studies were becoming a burden. The end of year tests were approaching at the usual rate, but the professors seemed bent on preparing them ahead of time for their fifth year. Lily was bogged down with schoolwork, and towards the end of March she began to feel the slow burning panic that accompanied the knowledge that she was falling behind.

At last, she decided to skip a trip to Hogsmeade in order to devote a day entirely to catching up on her studies. Cordelia protested, but Lily ignored her until she finally clattered out of the dormitory. Her books and writing things crammed into her bag, Lily made her way down to the library, dodging Peeves, who was entertaining himself by bombing random passers-by with dusty chalkboard erasers, and Filch, who was on the prowl for suspicious-looking students.

She set her things up at a secluded single table in the Herbology section, and then resigned herself to a solitary day of drudgery.

By the time the students started trickling back to the school, Lily just finished off her last essay, a four-footer on the subject of goblin wars in the twelfth century. Blowing on the ink in the hopes that it would speed the drying process, she finally began packing her things back in her bag, stretching her aching back and throbbing wrist. Satisfied that her essay was dry, she rolled the parchment up and tied it with a piece of string, labelling it carefully and tucking it into her bag alongside half a dozen other scrolls of similar length. She waved at a Ravenclaw she recognized from her charms group, nodded at Madame Pince – she didn't notice; she was scribbling something in what looked like a file book of some sort – and left the library.

Cordelia and Eliza weren't back yet when she got to Gryffindor, so after putting away her things – with a sense of great satisfaction and relief – she got her cloak from the wardrobe and went out for a walk around the castle grounds.

The layers of snow that had iced the grounds for the last few months had begun to melt, leaving scabs of dirty white in pocks and dips in the earth. The trees were bare and lonely without their leaves and without the lines of ice caking their branches down. The grounds were dreary and cold. Mud sucked at Lily's wellies, squelching when she lifted her feet. The sky was overcast, and as she looked up she saw an owl flap towards the castle, a black speck against the grey blanket of clouds.

She got out of the mud in favour of walking a gravel path that led down past the gamekeeper's hut into the valley, which preluded the mountain range that protected Hogwarts from the back. She had no intention of following that path all the way down, as it eventually led into a finger of the Forbidden Forest, but she stopped at a crest of hill and looked down, down, down into the wooded valley, and the grey-white path that dipped and wound and eventually disappeared into that dark stretch of wood.

"No' a very nice day fer a walk."

Lily stiffened in surprise and turned to see the massive gamekeeper thumping towards his hut, a sack hoisted over his shoulder. "It's cool out," she said in reply, shrugging her shoulders beneath her cloak.

"Aye," said Hagrid, nodding. "Bu' it'll be gettin' warmer soon. Yeh best enjoy the cool while yeh can."

"I intend to," Lily said. "What's that you're carrying?"

Hagrid looked at the sack, which was stained darkly with what looked like blood. "Steaks," he said. "Got a sick thestral in pumpkin patch. Needs feedin' up. They like their meat raw."

"Ah," said Lily, who had no idea what a thestral was. "Right."

"Yeh can't see it, can you?" said Hagrid.

Lily was puzzled by this question. "Beg pardon?"

"No' ev'rybody can see thestrals," the gamekeeper explained. "On'y people who seen death can see 'em."

"Oh."

"Yeah, some think it's unlucky to see 'em," Hagrid continued. "Bringers o' death, and so on. Bu' they're really very useful beasts… 'mazin sense of direction, they 'ave; ain' any better way ter get where yeh wan' ter go."

"Really."

Hagrid swung the sack off his shoulder and opened it up. Inside Lily could see globs of wet, red meat, which the gamekeeper dug his hands into and began tossing in the direction of the vegetable patch. Lily's eyes widened as she watched the chunks of steak rise off the ground and disappear down some invisible craw.

"Whoa!"

Hagrid didn't seem to hear her. He continued to feed the invisible force that was devouring meat at an unbelievable rate.

"They sure eat a lot," Lily said after a moment. "How big are they, Hagrid?"

Hagrid glanced over his massive shoulder to regard her with his beetle-black eyes. "No bigger 'n yer common horse, I don' think. Li'l bonier, o' course, bu' tha's ter be expected."

"What do they eat? Besides steak, I mean."

Hagrid straightened up, wiping bloody hands on his trousers. "Oh, they'll eat jus' abou' anythin' wi' blood in. Huntin' on their own, though, they usually go fer smaller animals, like birds an' badgers. Sometimes small deer."

"They can catch birds?" Lily asked, interested.

"Oh, yeah," Hagrid said. "They're real good flyers. O' course, I got the school thestrals trained not to go after owls, but in the wild they'll go after anythin' wi' wings."

"Oh, so they fly!"

"O' course they fly! They go' wings, don' they?"

"Well, I couldn't exactly see to tell," Lily said.

"Oh, right."

"Why does the school have them, Hagrid?" Lily asked.

"They pull the school carriages," Hagrid told her. "Didn' anybody e'er tell yeh?"

"No," Lily said. "My friends and I were under the impression that the carriages were enchanted or something."

Hagrid chuckled. "Nah, not enchanted. We got a whole herd o' thestrals, livin' in the Forest. Go' abou' forty or fifty now."

"Wow!"

"Say, yeh wan' to try feedin' one?"

Lily felt her stomach squirm. "What, now?"

"Yeah."

"But I can't see him."

"Don' matter," Hagrid shrugged. "Here. Just take out some steak and toss it over there." He held out the sack, and Lily peered in at the mess of raw meat inside. She intended to object, but decided it couldn't possibly hurt anything to try – and Hagrid was obviously dead pleased at the idea of a student taking interest in such work, she found it difficult to protest.

So she pulled off one of her gloves and reached into the bag for a handful of meat.

It was cold and squishy, and when she took it, the blood ran down her wrist and into her sleeve. She ignored that, and gingerly, she tossed it into the vegetable patch, where the invisible thestral immediately snatched it up and wolfed it down.

"There!" Hagrid cried, sounding quite pleased. "Tha' wasn' bad at all. Reckon you'd like ter pat 'im, eh?"

"Oh, that's quite all right," Lily said, digging through her pockets with her clean hand for a handkerchief.

"Oh, it's no trouble a' all… jus' let me finish feedin' 'im."

As he tossed the rest of the raw steaks to the thestral, Lily wiped the blood off her hand and wrist. She watched the meat disappear with a rapidity she witnessed only in post-Quidditch match victory feasts, and remarked, "If that's what a sick thestral looks like at mealtime, I'm afraid to think of how much a healthy one eats."

"This one's not eaten in three days, by my guess," said Hagrid. "I found 'im in the Forest this mornin', torn wing an' broken leg. Reckon 'e go' blown into a tree durin' that storm las' week. An' along wi' tha', 'e's sufferin' from pneumonia from th' cold and wet."

"How dreadful! Do you think he'll make it?"

Hagrid nodded, looking fairly certain of himself. "Yeah, Gabba here's a strong-willed sort. Don' think there's much could take him down, 'cept maybe a chimera."

"How long will it be 'til he gets better, do you think?"

"Oh, week, mebbe two." He shrugged. "Depends on how soon I can get Ma'am Pomfrey down here to fix those broken bones."

Lily raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you do it?" she asked.

Hagrid shook his head, turned away slightly. "No' really allowed," he muttered. "Couldn' do it even if they hadn' broken me wand…. Ahem."

Lily blushed. "Well, I'm sure it's a pretty difficult spell," she said, pretending she hadn't heard his last remark. "But why are you taking care of – um – "

"Gabba," Hagrid supplied helpfully.

"Gabba. Right. Why isn't Professor Kettleburn doing it?"

Hagrid snorted. "Oh, him. Well, he can't see 'em, for one thing. And for another, not to speak badly about a professor or anythin', but he prob'ly couldn' take two steps toward Gabba here without getting his other hand ripped off."

"Thestrals are dangerous?" Lily said doubtfully.

"Well, not these ones," Hagrid assured her. "These ones are 'specially well trained."

Lily didn't answer.

She watched the rest of the steaks disappear into the invisible black hole that was Gabba's throat, and then Hagrid suggested she step forward and give the thestral a pat. Lily squatted in the muddy vegetable patch, inching forward until the smell of bloody meat and animal musk met her nostrils. She stretched out her ungloved hand, and after a few moments of patting thin air, her fingertips came to rest on a leathery surface, which, she surmised, was the thestral's neck.

She ran her fingers across slightly scaly flesh, feeling coarse, wiry hairs and pockmarks here and there. "What colour is it?" she asked Hagrid softly, following the play of muscles and skin up to the thestral's head, which was slightly more hairy and bony.

"Black," said Hagrid. "An' 'e's got a bit o' skin rot on 'is right side, so it's a bit greyer o'er there."

Lily jerked her fingers back as the thestral turned his head, but when she discovered that he only wanted to sniff against her palm, she extended her fingers once again.

Behind Gabba's ears were thin, leathery flaps of skin, in some places thin enough to have torn. "Is that normal, Hagrid?" Lily asked, tentatively fingering a hole bigger around than her little finger. "Those holes, I mean."

"Yeah," Hagrid said. "Dunno what those flaps are, though. On'y the males 'ave 'em."

Lily ran her fingers down the matted bit of scruff between the invisible creature's ears, down the bridge of the nose to a rather beaky muzzle. It was damp, and her fingers came away bloody. She wiped them clean with her now-filthy handkerchief.

"He's shivering," she noted.

"Yeah, well, thestrals don' have much meat on 'em," said Hagrid dismissively. "Nor hair. Bu' usually they aren' affected by th' cold… Gabba's feelin' poorly, though, which migh' accoun' fer that."

Gabba snuffled against her shoulder as she rubbed the creature's ridged neck. "He's a real sweetie, isn't he," she said.

"Can be, though you'd be th' firs' t' admit it," Hagrid chuckled. "Yeh wouldn' wan' ter get on a thestral's bad side, even if it is well-trained."

Lily didn't reply, but gave the thestral a final pat and got to her feet. She turned to face the gamekeeper. "I don't think I've ever introduced myself," she said. "I'm Lily. Lily Evans."

"Pleased ter meet yeh," he said, and shook her hand. His huge one totally enveloped hers, and he shook hard enough that Lily feared her shoulder had been wrenched from its socket. "I'm – "

" – Rubeus Hagrid, I know," Lily smiled, rubbing her shoulder and trying not to wince.

"Keeper of Keys and Grounds here at Hogwarts," Hagrid grinned.

"What exactly does that job entail?" Lily asked. "Other than nursing injured thestrals back to health, that is."

"Oh, anythin'," Hagrid said with a wave of his hand. "Tendin' vegetable patches for Professor Sprout; keepin' bugbears and the like out of the school henhouse; makin' sure that critters in the Forest are doin' all righ', and stayin' off the open grounds. I done a fair bit o' work on the pathways – they all wash ou' in bad weather, yeh know. An' I take care of the main gates. They get temper'mental in the winter."

"Do you like your job?" Lily inquired.

"Oh, yeah," Hagrid said, nodding enthusiastically. "Dumbledore offered me th' job an' I couldn' wait ter start. Great man, Dumbledore, an' don' you ever doubt it."

"I couldn't possibly," Lily said softly. "When I got my first letter from Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore himself came to my house to explain things to my parents. I'm Muggleborn. My parents thought it was a prank of some sort, but when he showed him what he could do…."

Hagrid nodded wisely. "No' many can refuse Albus Dumbledore."

There was a brief silence between them, disrupted by the sound of Gabba coughing quietly to himself. A breeze teased the bare trees, making them sway and moan. The pines at the edge of the Forest whistled to each other.

At length, Lily pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and spoke. "Well, thanks for telling me about thestrals," she said, taking a step back from the gameskeeper who was scratching his charge's transparent neck. "And I hope Gabba gets better soon."

"No problem," said Hagrid. "An' if you find th' time, I'd be glad to have yeh over for afternoon tea."

"I'll keep that in mind," Lily smiled, and turned to go. "It was nice meeting you properly."

She left Hagrid and returned to the warmth of Gryffindor Tower.

Eliza and Cordelia had returned, and were looking for her.

"Where've you been?" Eliza asked, more curious than accusing as Lily padded out of the lavatory, having just finished washing the blood off her hands.

"Yeah, we've been looking for you since we got back," said Cordelia. "We brought you some sweets from Honeydukes."

Lily removed her cloak and tossed it over the back of a chair. Its hem was muddy; it would have to be washed before she could wear it again. "You didn't have to," she said. "And I was with the gamekeeper. Hagrid."

"Ah," said Cordelia, sounding as if the notion didn't interest her a bit. "Here, catch," she said, and Lily held out her hands as her friend tossed her a paper sack with the Honeydukes logo emblazoned on the front in green and pink.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Lily opened up the sack and peered inside at about a pound of brightly wrapped Honeydukes sweets. "Oh, these look good. Anyway, Hagrid's pretty neat. He told me all about thestrals." And then she proceeded to tell them what she'd learned.

"You know," Cordelia said thoughtfully, gnawing on a piece of fruit-flavoured taffy, "I think I've heard of thestrals. Big black beasts with glowing white eyes and rotten-looking skin. They're supposed to be bad omens."

"That's what Hagrid said," said Lily. "Only he said that's a common misconception and they're actually pretty useful… says they have a good sense of direction."

"So does a compass," Cordelia smirked.

"Yeah, but you can't hop on the back of a compass and fly to London, now, can you," said Lily.

"This is true," Eliza said, pointing at her with the rubber end of her pencil.

"Anyway," Lily sighed, popping a hard nub of sugar into her mouth, "at least I finished my school work. I spent hours in that library… ugh." Lily got up and walked over to the wardrobe and began to unbutton her shirt, the right cuff of which was stained with blood. "I think I did pretty well on my essay for Professor Flitwick, though. I found a ton of stuff on the evolution of those charms he was talking about in the last couple of questions. Did you know they originated in Africa?"

"You are such a geek, Evans," Cordelia said lazily from the end of her bed.

"I know," Lily grinned, tossing her stained blouse over the end of her bed. "I take pride in the fact." She found one of the comfortable jumpers her mother had given her for Christmas and pulled it on over her head. "I feel inferiority as a result of my unfortunate Muggle parentage, and I am compelled to deal with it by overachieving," she said. At the silence that followed her words, she added, "That was a joke, by the way."

"Your humour is overwhelmingly unfunny," said Cordelia.

"I like my sarcasm dry, thank you," said Lily.

At that moment, the door opened and Lara came in, bearing several full shopping bags in her arms.

"Weren't you supposed to be back, like, an hour ago?" said Cordelia, glancing up at the girl. Lara merely sniffed and dumped her bags on her bed.

"For your information, _Stott,_ I got back a full quarter of an hour before you did. I was with Professor Sprout, helping her string up dried Penumbra Pods."

"Interesting," said Lily. "Say, what's in the bags?" Lara wasn't known for her extravagant spending, and for her to return from Hogsmeade with a wagonload of stuff was unusual.

"It's my twin sisters' birthday in a week," said Lara loftily. "Mum gave me their birthday wish lists and had me do her shopping."

"You'll need a mess of owls to get that home," Cordelia said, nodding at the four big bags.

"Thank you for that enlightening bit of information, Curmudgeon."

"Will you two cool it?" said Eliza, looking up from her book in irritation.

"Don't tell me what to do," Lara squawked, but Cordelia merely waved a bored hand and fell silent.

Lily fished a book out from under her bed and flopped down on top of the covers to relax.

That Wednesday she brought her box of 'junk' to her charms session. If there was any student in the castle who could help her with her project, she was sure they could be found in the charms study group. The group was about a dozen or so in number, with talented members ranging from fourth-years like Lily to seventh-years like Gryffindor Head Boy Joseph Young.

When she first brought it up, blank stares met her proposition. She belatedly remembered that most of these students were wizardborn and had probably never even heard of cassette tapes, except perhaps in passing in a Muggle Studies class.

Narcissa Black was the first to speak up. Narcissa was a Ravenclaw, and, as the surname suggested, she was indeed related to Sirius, though he would prefer not to divulge such information. Lily could sympathise; if she had been related to Narcissa Black, she would have tried to keep it secret, too. The girl was a Ravenclaw, and quite bright, but she had the disposition typically reserved by the worst of Slytherins. "Evans," she said in a syrupy tone, "would you be ever so kind and enlighten the rest of us as to exactly why you are bringing up such a subject at this meeting? If you'll remember, this is not an arts and crafts class, but a charms revision group. We're here to study practical charms and theories, _not_ to illegally experiment with arcane Muggle artefacts."

Lily felt her face heat up. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out – she couldn't think of a thing to say in response to that, and the moment for a clever response was rapidly moving father and farther out of grasp.

But she was rescued, and by a Slytherin, no less: "Don't bite, Black," said a girl Lily only knew as Maria. "Evans is Muggleborn, but that's no reason to belittle an interesting proposition." She turned to regard Lily, a cool expression on her face. "My father was a Muggle, Evans," she said; "I know what you're talking about. And I believe Hume over there does, too." She nodded towards a tawny-haired Gryffindor girl sitting on the other side of the table.

"So do I," said William Wallace, a sixth-year Hufflepuff. "And I think it's a brilliant idea."

Lily, heartened by Maria and Wallace's statements, found her tongue again and addressed Narcissa. "And it's not illegal," she said. "I did some research. Buttons and wire and the like aren't inherently Muggle – meaning we wizards and witches also employ the use of such items, as opposed to toasters or electrical floor lamps, for example." She put certain emphasis on the pronoun _we._ "Therefore, it is perfectly legal to experiment on them." She allowed a slight smirk to touch her lips. "I did my research, you see."

"In any case," said Maria in a bored tone, "if anyone cares to know more about this device Evans is dreaming up, please say so, and keep in mind that our goal here is to learn, and not to exclude certain notions and ideas purely out of, ah, predisposition."

There was a show of hands, and Lily suddenly realised that her group was voting on whether or not to examine more closely a bundle of theories _she_ had produced. Anxiety stirred for a moment in the pit of her stomach, replaced soon by a swell of pride when Maria announced that the majority of hands belonged to her.

"Right," said Maria decisively. "Evans, the floor is yours."

Lily started, cleared her throat, and adjusted the position of the cardboard box on the table. "Uh. Right. So… Hume and Wallace; you both know about cassettes. Is there anyone else…?"

She trailed off as several other people – more than she'd expected – nodded. "Okay, Young, Pratt, Moor, Townshend, and, er…."

"Bahnsen. Teresa Bahnsen."

"Bahnsen. Okay. Do any of you know how the cassette player works? No. All right, let me explain." And she launched into what she hoped was a concise, enlightening explanation on the concept of input and output transducers.

When she finished, several minutes later, she said in an apologetic tone, "I hope I've expressed myself clearly, though I'm not sure how much of that you wizardborn students understood. Do any of you have questions?"

Narcissa Black twitched a finger. "Yes, I have one, Evans," she said lazily. "What gives you the nerve to come in here and take over this revision session with silly, unimportant personal projects?"

"Relevant questions," Maria clarified in a loud voice.

"Oh, I believe my inquiry was perfectly relevant, Welteislehre," Narcissa said in a velvety tone. "I'd like to get the key issues out of the way before the rest of this group is led into a vain course of action that will benefit neither parties, Evans included."

"So forward thinking is no longer beneficial?" said Maria, before Lily could even begin to think of a response for Narcissa Black's hard, cold pale eyes.

"Colour me surprised," Lily heard Catherina Townshend mutter to her neighbour.

"I didn't say that," Narcissa said softly.

"You certainly implied it," Maria said.

"I said that I believed this project a pointless venture. There are better ways to assist our official studies here, and I believe this would be far more trouble than its worth, that it will not profit us to set aside time for it."

Lily took offence at that. "Hey," she said, rising to her feet, glaring at the pale-haired young woman and clenching her fist on the tabletop. "Excuse me, but this project is more than beneficial to us, both as students of Hogwarts and citizens of the wizarding world. Not only will it challenge us as charmworkers, but it will challenge our inventiveness and improve our ability to improvise. And even if it's not especially beneficial to the wizarding world at large, it will no doubt help _us_ on our paths to competency as witches and wizards."

"Well said, Evans," said Joseph Young appreciatively.

Maria's blue eyes glittered. "If you don't care to contribute to this project, Black, I suggest you just say so and go back to your own studies." She looked around the table. "And that goes for the rest of you sceptics. Don't make the assumption that we're going to force this on anybody. Those interested, stay put, and if you're not, well, we won't hold it against you if you say so. Certainly many of you have your own agendas, and prefer to stick to them." She looked pointedly at Narcissa. "However, Black, I refuse to accept your bigoted attitude with a smile. Five points from Ravenclaw for being generally unpleasant and narrow-minded."

Several people registered surprise, including Lily. She hadn't forgotten that Maria was the Head Girl, but she hadn't expected a Slytherin, even one with a Muggle parent, to take the side of a Muggleborn Gryffindor. Obviously, neither did Narcissa, though she didn't seem as surprised as she should have.

Her grey eyes glinting like knives, she slowly got to her feet, packing her satchel over her shoulder. Throwing one final filthy look at Maria, she turned and silently left the library.

"Well," Maria said smartly, "now that we've got _that_ out of the way… anyone care to skip out?"

No one did.

"Right, then. Go ahead, Evans."

Lily's teeth were chattering as she stood up and began to speak again.


	10. chapter ten

See chapter one for all disclaimers.

Author's note: Hello out there to all my wonderful readers. Chapter ten is here - this is the first chapter I've gotten to post from my own home for a while. This computer, I discovered, has no Microsoft Word - no spellchecker! the horror! - but I'm hoping to get it installed soon. It'll make my life so much easier.

So. The excerpt at the beginning of this chapter is of my own devising; it doesn't come from any outside text. The usual disclaimers apply - I'm betting you can guess what's mine and what's not. Enjoy this chapter - and if you feel like it, stop by my livejournal (the link can be found on my author info page; my username is Givemethechild, and if you can tell me where I got my handle from, you get a cookie and a kiss).

**chapter ten**

_There is distinction between jinxes, hexes and curses._

Jinxes:_ Often the least harsh of the three, they are usually simple spoken-word spells of no severe or permanent nature. They have a wide array of uses, from children's practical jokes to battle magic. The leg-locker curse, for example, is particularly underestimated._

Hexes:_ Though the term is usually put to describe what is most accurately known as a jinx, hexes are versatile defensive charms or ill-wish spells that range from the spoken-word to maleficia inscribed on bits of parchment, metal, stone, bone, wood, gems, and the like. Hexes can also be symbols: the term originated from the hexagonal figures Dutch-German wizards painted on their houses and barns to ward off vampires, werewolves and pixies. (It should be noted that the Muggles of that place and era picked up the custom of hex signs, but obviously without proper wizarding attention they were completely useless.)_

Curses:_ Most spells in this last category are looked upon as Dark Magic, though there are few that remain unclassified as such. These spells are generally more advanced and do much greater damage than any jinx. Curses are also manifested in a variety of different ways, the most common of which being spoken-word spells and the Evil Eye. However, elements inscribed with written curses also prove effective over the long-term. Trinkets such as voodoo dolls and even some potions are listed in the curse category. Many curses yield long-term, nonnegotiable effects, and some cannot be lifted except by the wizard who cast it._

Lily sighed and tossed the book aside.

It had been a week since the episode in the library, since Maria Welteislehre had stood up and championed her. Lily had been both amazed and embarrassed at the Head Girl's special treatment, not to mention the rapt attention of the rest of her study group. She was gratified that they had thought her idea original and promising, and her high hopes had not yet been dashed; on the contrary, several very good suggestions were made by various members of the group, such as the substitution of copper tabs or needles to read the tape instead of the brass rings Lily had thought of.

Lily was more than pleased with the support she found amongst her fellow charms enthusiasts, but there was one thing wrong. Narcissa Black hadn't yet forgiven her for winning the cooperation of the majority of the group. Normally, that wouldn't have bothered Lily – after all, she could hardly be a best friend to everybody, and she had no such inclinations with people such as Narcissa, but far from just being at odds with the girl, it seemed that Narcissa had taken Lily's achievement as a sign that direct action needed to be taken.

This meant, basically, that for the past half week Lily had been painstakingly avoiding the main hallways for fear that the next random passers-by round on her and soundly jinx her.

Of course, they never did it that blatantly. Generally, they aimed their wand from their sleeve – or, at least, that was what Lily surmised; she hadn't actually seen any of her assailants in the act. However, she had witnessed a number of unfamiliar students, both Ravenclaws and Slytherins, turning away with smirks on their faces as she fell to the floor, victim of a well-placed Jelly Legs jinx, or doubled up in pain at a Cramps Curse.

She'd even discovered a suspiciously dodgy-looking cornhusk dolly in her satchel after one Arithmancy class.

She found it hard to believe how much influence Narcissa Black seemed to have over the younger Ravenclaw and Slytherin boys. But then she realised that she probably shouldn't have been so surprised. Relations between Ravenclaws and Slytherins had been quite good for the past two centuries, the facts being that the Slytherins found the Ravenclaws tolerably intelligent and witty enough to deign to consort with, and that the Ravenclaws deemed the Slytherins generally more enlightened than the hard-headed Gryffindors and the sometimes careless Hufflepuffs and felt it wouldn't slight their reputations to put up with them.

Of course, nothing came free, and Lily wondered exactly how much Narcissa was paying these young men (and sometimes women) to attack her whenever she had her head turned the wrong way.

All she really knew, though, was that when she caught the occasional glimpse of the flaxen-haired girl in the corridor or at the door of a classroom, she looked as pleased as the cat that finally had the mouse.

She didn't mention any of this to her school friends; she refused to be humiliated by admitting that she was having a hard time taking care of herself. So she simply steered clear of large, crowded hallways, and at all costs she avoided being caught alone out on one of her walks, which were by now becoming a regular part of her day.

As were visits to Hagrid.

Lily got out of her bed, throwing the book down on the mussed covers before going to get her cloak out of the wardrobe. Wand in hand, she left Gryffindor, acknowledging with a nod Sirius and Remus, who were sitting at a table in the common room, studiously bent over some scruffy-looking pieces of parchment, before slipping out the portrait hall and into the main part of the castle.

She made it out to the grounds without incident, and she found Hagrid in his hut, washing out a teapot. He greeted her warmly, insisted that she make herself at home, and apologetically informed her that she was just a moment too late for tea.

"That's all right," Lily assured him, and politely waved away his offer of some homemade fudge. "How are you?"

"Ah've been jus' dandy," said Hagrid. "Been helpin' Professor Kettleburn a bi'… learnin' some stuff I didn' know…."

"That's great, Hagrid," Lily said. "What kind of stuff?"

"Oh, differen' things," Hagrid said, waving a dismissive hand. "A bi' here an' there. Wha' abou' you, though? Doin' all righ' wi' yer studies?"

Lily nodded. "Oh, sure. We've been studying some brilliant stuff in Charms." She hesitated a moment before starting in on an explanation of what she'd been up to with her revision group, and then admitted the troubles she was now having with Narcissa Black.

"And I can't really tell anyone about it, either," Lily finished. "I mean, even if she is being dreadful, I could hardly rat her out. That's the lowest of low responses. And like I said, I've been ignoring it, but it does get kind of difficult to do that when your hair's on fire and your fingertips are glued together."

Hagrid chuckled a bit. "I understan'," he said. "I understan' perfectly. O' course you won' rat 'er out. Bu' yeh can' let 'er go on botherin' yeh like tha'."

"I know," Lily sighed. "But I can't think of anything else I can do, aside from ignore it and try to keep my head down. You get this kind of stuff, going to a school this big. It'd be silly to think otherwise. It really could be worse, you know."

"Sure," said Hagrid, "bu' when it start's interferin' wi' yer studies, tha's when yeh gotta take action. Yeh haven' tol' anyone yet?"

"No. It's my own battle; I'm not going to drag my friends into it. For one thing, Sirius would take any excuse to do his cousin some harm."

Hagrid laughed outright at that. "Righ', righ'. Well, what I'm sayin' is this: if nothin' else, get yerself ter th' library an' do some studyin' on jinxes an' the like. Practice 'em on yer own. Then use 'em when yeh need 'em."

Lily looked doubtful. "That's a good idea, Hagrid, but there's just one thing wrong. These – attacks, or whatever – they're sudden. Sometimes I don't even see who did it. And when I do, they're already halfway down the hall, or there's someone in the way."

Hagrid shrugged his massive shoulders. "All's else I can say is t' go ter Miss Black 'erself and 'ave a word wi' her. An' if tha' doesn' work, give 'er a taste of 'er own medicine."

"You mean – tell the boys, and have them follow her around and jinx her?" Lily's tone was incredulous.

"No! O' course not. If jinxin's what she needs, jinx 'er yerself. But I wouldn' advise it. Yeh'd be better off ignorin' 'er or defendin' yerself when needs be."

Lily bit her lower lip. "I suppose you're right, Hagrid," she said. "I guess I'll just wait it out. I mean, she can't keep this up forever, can she?"

Hagrid chuckled and shook his huge head. "Nah. She'll ge' tired o' 'er little game, an' then yeh'll be done."

Lily allowed a smile to creep onto her face. "Yeah. That's what I'll do. Thanks, Hagrid." Once again declining the gamekeeper's offer of fudge, she left the hut to return to the school.

But as she crossed the grounds, out of sight of Hagrid's cabin now, she spied not one but two cloaked figures, both identifiable as Slytherins by the green and grey piping around the hems of their hoods.

No sooner had Lily laid eyes on them did she draw her wand. She could tell these two intended trouble just by their walk, which was restless and quick, and Lily felt the back of her neck prickle with sweat. Oh, god, wasn't this perfect? Her fingers tightened round her wand, and she desperately wished that the two figures swiftly approaching meant to pass her by without incident.

But her hopes were dashed almost immediately, as one of them lifted a wand, aimed it, and shot a blistering white curse at her, all within the span of an instant.

Lily managed to dodge the curse, but just barely: she felt a dagger of heat rip through the bell of her sleeve, missing flesh by mere centimetres. She stumbled and fell to the ground, and struggled to get her wand-arm out from under her, but before she could manage it, the other Slytherin blasted her with a spell that hit like a skillet to the head. Lily rolled with the force of the spell, feeling the pain blossom and unfold in her frontal lobes like some vile flower. Her forehead stung acutely, and when her hands went to her temples she thought she felt a smear of quickly cooling blood.

She let out a whimper as the two Slytherins drew near. But they didn't pause to attack again; it seemed that they had finished their business with her, and they merely passed on beside her, the hems of their robes brushing her body as they overstepped her.

And for a long moment she lay there, feeling the ebb and flow of blood within her pounding skull. She hadn't felt a curse like that ever before in her life. Along with the ache in her head, she felt a curious filthiness inside, as if she was terribly ashamed of herself, mind, body and soul. The sensation was soon accompanied by a curious, strong depression, and she let out a sob as she rolled over onto her stomach and painstakingly got to her feet. Her stomach lurched, and for a moment she thought she was going to be sick, but she managed to contain herself.

She continued up to the castle, drawing her cloak around her tightly as the cool wind nipped about her. Something dripped into her eye, and when she dabbed at her eyelid her fingers came away red with blood. She withdrew a handkerchief from her pocket and blotted her forehead, and she discovered a line of cuts that were bleeding profusely.

Slightly panicked, she was grateful when the castle doors opened for her, and she could pass through into the warmth of the front hall. The heat, such a contrast to the chill outside, seemed to alleviate the shame she had so suddenly and inexplicably felt, and she proceeded up through the corridors of the school, feeling slightly better inside.

On the third floor she passed a gaggle of little Slytherins, who took one look at her and erupted into muffled giggles. Lily immediately stiffened, wondering what they found so amusing – she touched her bleeding forehead self-consciously, dabbing it again with her already stained handkerchief.

Further down the hall she encountered an older Hufflepuff, who stopped in the middle of the corridor to blatantly stare at her as she passed. She ignored him, and continued hastily for the nearest bathroom.

And who should she have met, not six metres from the entrance to the lavatory, but Severus Snape.

Forehead carefully covered with her bloody handkerchief, she glared at him, as if daring him to make a comment. But her fierce expression had no effect on him but to arouse his curiosity, he stepped forward to intercept her. She dodged him, and the hand he stretched out with which to catch her, and she slipped into the girls' lavatory before he could say anything. Safe from him, she went straight to the nearest mirror and removed the handkerchief that was obstructing her reflection.

She gasped.

On her forehead, a series of razor-sharp cuts formed a string of letters, appearing backwards in the mirror. But she could decipher them without much difficulty: there, in the centre of her forehead, just above her eyebrows and spelled out in clear capital letters for all to see, was the word 'MUDBLOOD'.

It still wept blood, and Lily touched it gingerly with her handkerchief: now that she could see the injury she realized how much it really hurt. She went to one of the stalls to get a wad of toilet paper, and she cleaned up the cuts as best she could; she rinsed out her ruined hankie and, having wrung it dry, put it again to her head. She then left the bathroom.

And outside, Snape was waiting for her. This time, she had no chance to avoid him; he caught her by the elbow, quicker than a striking snake, and addressed her.

"Evans, you're bleeding."

"Well spotted, Snape," Lily said, but the shock of seeing the epithet inscribed on her forehead had shaken her; she could no more conjure up a scathing tone of voice than her own Patronus. "Let me go."

It was too late, though; Snape had caught a glimpse of the wounds on her head. "Merlin!"

"Let _go,_ Snape."

Surprisingly enough he complied, and she started off down the corridor. He followed.

"Evans."

Lily didn't reply.

"Evans, _stop._"

"Leave me alone, Snape. I'm going to the hospital wing, and if you're still with me when I get there, I'll tell Madame Pomfrey that you did it."

"Who was it?" said Snape, seemingly deaf to her threat.

"Snape, didn't you just hear what I –?"

But he cut her off. He grabbed her by the shoulders and, with surprising force, pushed her against the wall. A line of fear surged through her stomach: she saw his expression in the torchlight, and his eyes were like fire in a mask of ice.

"Don't snap at me, Evans," he said in a low tone of voice, deadly calm. "I know that curse. It's filthy, even by my standards." His tone was self-deprecating, and she knew it wasn't just for her benefit at the moment. She shuddered in his hands.

"I _know_ that," she said. "I can feel it. It _feels_ filthy. Please, Snape, let me go." She struggled against his hands, mortified at being restrained and exposed by a boy she could only graciously refer to as an _acquaintance_.

He let go of her arms, but did not step back, and kept her pinned against the wall with his presence and his eyes. "Do you know who did it?" he said again.

"I didn't see," she said miserably. "They had hoods."

"Did you recognize the voice who cast the spell?"

"No," said Lily.

"Would you be able to recognize it if you heard it again?"

Lily suddenly put her hands on his shoulders and shoved him away. "Leave me alone, Snape."

"Don't you push me, Evans. I'm trying to – "

"What, help me?" Lily interrupted. "For your information, Snape, I don't need your help. I'm going to the infirmary, and then I'm going to forget about this."

Snape's expression was scary. "You're going to let whoever did this to you get away with it?"

"Don't you think I get enough of that attitude with Potter?" Lily said harshly, her anger overcoming her fear for a moment. "Let me alone. I can take care of myself."

Snape scoffed. "Sure you can," he said. "That's why you're walking around with a filthy word cut into your head."

Without another word Lily moved around him and sped down the corridor. He did not follow her this time.

She arrived at the infirmary in a few minutes. The mediwitch didn't ask questions, merely gave her a bit of chocolate to cure the self-loathing the curse had brought upon her, and then cleaned her cuts with a stinging potion, bandaged her head, and gave her a small bottle of elixir which she instructed her to apply to the injury once a day for the next week.

"That injury is magical," said Madame Pomfrey disapprovingly. "I can't heal it any faster. All I can say is keep it either bandaged or suffer the stares without. And take that potion; it'll scar without."

Lily thanked the nurse miserably and departed from the hospital wing.

"Merlin, Lily, what happened to you?"

That was Cordelia, of course.

"Um…." Lily stalled for time as she straightened the flap of the satchel she was putting away. "I ran into a spot of trouble with some, uh, Slytherins on the grounds earlier."

"Ye gods, what happened?"

Lily gave an uncomfortable smile. "Uh, they thought it'd be clever to express their anti-Muggle sentiments on my forehead."

"Oh, Lily," Eliza said softly. "Does it hurt much?"

"Not really," said Lily truthfully. "Madame Pomfrey did a good job bandaging it up. And it'll be better in about a week, I think."

"Merlin's beard! What kind of spell did they use on you?" Cordelia exclaimed.

"A nasty one," said Lily.

There was a momentary silence. "Well," said Cordelia at last, "let's see."

"Cordelia!" Eliza cried. "Don't be disgusting."

Lily managed a chuckle. "That's all right, 'Liza," she said. "But there's really not much to see, Cordelia."

"It's bleeding through the bandages," Cordelia pointed out. "It's got to be _something._"

"It is?" Lily said, distracted, and went to the mirror at the wardrobe to examine the bandage. Sure enough, spots of blood were already appearing on the snowy gauze. "Bloody hell, it is."

"You told Professor McGonagall, didn't you?" said Eliza.

"No," said Lily. At the other two girls' scandalized expressions, she explained, "Well, she'll see soon enough on Monday, won't she?"

"That's not the point, though, is it?" said Cordelia irritably. "Aren't you going to make sure those Slytherins get detention or something?"

Lily heaved a sigh. "It's not that big a deal, really," she said. "I mean, what am I going to do? I don't know who cursed me. I didn't see their faces. And it was more a scare thing than actually an actual intent to hurt me. And I have the feeling that it won't happen again."

Because she was certain this was what Narcissa Black's indirect attacks had been leading up to.

"Really, I'm fine," she repeated. "Don't worry about it. In a week I'll be done with it and I won't have to think about it again."

Cordelia got up from her bed and began to pace the room in an agitated manner. "But Lily, don't you see? It's not a matter of how badly they hurt you, but the fact that they did intend to scare you. It's the idea of the thing that's so… repulsive." She stopped before the fireplace, turning to look at Lily with a disgruntled expression. "You can't let them push you around like that just because you're Muggleborn."

"What do you expect me to do?" said Lily. "Retaliate? That's exactly what they want. I'm going to ignore them. I'm going to hold my head up despite this stupid bandage, and I'm going to make sure they know that they can't get to me by petty curses and insults. Believe me, Cordelia, I'm far from letting them 'push me around.'"

Eliza smiled from her chair by the fire. "Good for you," she said. "Deal with it nobly. That's the best thing you could do."

Cordelia sighed. "Well, as long as you know what you're doing," she conceded at last. "But, Merlin, Evans, don't you know how much this makes me want to torch the entire Slytherin house?"

"They're not all bad," said Lily, thinking of Maria Welteislehre and Snape.

"Bad enough," said Cordelia indifferently. "You're brave, Evans; I couldn't stand to ignore something like that."

Lily didn't know what to say to that, as flattering as it was, so she remained silent and returned to her bed.

Later that afternoon, when the boys inquired how she had injured her head, she explained to them that she had stepped onto a staircase just as it was beginning to move and had taken a tumble. That diverted any more questions they might have posed, and though it did open the way for some persistent jokes at her expense, she felt the alternative would have been far more uncomfortable. She couldn't have born giving James and Sirius an excuse to open attack on the Slytherins.

But her evasion ended up being a waste of time, for by the very next afternoon – a Thursday – a considerable percentage of the student population had noticed Lily's unique headgear, and rumours concerning the extent of her injury had begun to circulate. Some of them were startlingly accurate, and Lily could only surmise that those few students she had passed on her way to the lavatory the day before had blabbed about what they'd seen.

She had no doubt Narcissa Black had divulged a few of her own details, as well. Lily suspected even more that Sirius's devious cousin was behind the attack when, upon arriving at her charms meeting Wednesday evening, the girl ignored her save for a smirk upon seeing her bandages and a distinctly amused expression at hearing Lily's feeble attempts to evade Maria Welteislehre's and other club members' enquiries.

At any rate, by the time lessons had been let out Thursday afternoon, James Potter's confrontation was not only unavoidable but also completely expected.

"And not only did I hear some Ravenclaws talking about it, I heard some Slytherin third-years going on about some sort of Dark curse this morning," he was saying in the tones of one deeply aggravated. "After all that, not a single mention of an accident on some stairs."

Lily regarded the boy blankly. "People like flashy stories," she said. "Of course they'd be talking about Dark curses and duels and the like. Who'd be interested in someone falling down some stairs? The truth is far less glamorous than the fictions some people think up."

Potter scowled. "I'm not _stupid,_ Evans," he said. "I'll bet that if you really fell down some steps you'd still be in the infirmary, and probably unconscious."

Lily shrugged. "What can I say, Potter?" she said, aware that they were standing in the middle of an open corridor, and wary of starting up a huge argument for fear of bystanders observing. "If you don't believe me, fine, but don't come asking me to tell you something different. Do you think I'd spill anything to you if I was lying? I mean, come on, James. How thick do you think I am?"

Potter's eyes widened behind his glasses. "I'm not calling you _thick,_ Evans," he said. "I'm saying your story doesn't _fit._"

"Oh, so you're calling me a liar," said Lily lightly, feeling guilty at the fact that not only had she lied about her 'accident', but she was also enjoying the way James's face was getting redder and redder in his frustration.

"I'm not calling you anything!" he said, running nervous hands through his hair. "And why are you making all these accusations? I'm just asking because I'm –"

"Me?" Lily laughed. "Making accusations against you? James, really. This whole conversation started because _you_ think I'm lying about why I'm wearing these dumb bandages. No, I don't care if you're curious. I told you what happened, and you coming around, begging for juicy, nonexistent details _is not appreciated._ Did it ever occur to you that if I _had_ lied, I might have had a reason for doing so? That I might not have wanted to divulge any particulars? Or did you not know that it's simply rude of you to question a friend's integrity for the sake of your own curiosity?"

James stared at her. "Merlin, Evans, what's your _problem?_"

Lily merely looked at him. Was that really supposed to be his response? _Merlin, Evans, what's your _problem? He looked about as frustrated as she felt. Honestly – how _juvenile_ could he get? Why was it always like this? Why couldn't the boys even _pretend_ to be mature about anything? Here James was, prying as if he had every right to know what she didn't want to divulge, while he and the boys shared a boatload of secrets of whose weight she couldn't even begin to contemplate.

She began to turn away, and he caught her by the arm.

"_Look_ at me, Evans; we haven't finished this conversation!"

Lily struck his hand away with a vehemence she hadn't expected to display. She strode away down the corridor, ignoring his astonished expression and the bald interest of the casual observers. No doubt there'd be talk about that scene later, Lily knew, but she couldn't care less at the moment. James's childish pig-headedness bothered her more than she could describe; and at the moment she was only intent on getting to her dormitory before she burst into tears of frustration.

Snape, on the other hand, was a different story altogether.

That evening they had a transfiguration lesson together, and he didn't remark once on her injury. He was a little more distant than usual, a little more guarded – careful of her, it seemed, but that could have been attributed to a number of things: the upcoming Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match, for one, or the fact that the last time they'd spoken they had very nearly come to blows, and he was feeling just as sheepish about that encounter as she was.

All in all, the hour and a half was relatively painless and productive, despite the fact that Lily hadn't taken a lesson from James in weeks, and Lily felt much more at ease with him when they parted for dinner.

And Friday he surprised her very much by seeking her out personally in order to deliver something to her.

She sat by the lake, a book laying forgotten in her lap as she watched the giant squid sunning itself, a pale shadow right beneath the surface of the cold water. She was alone beneath her favourite tree, hidden from the castle's sight by the boulders that rose up behind her, though not untouched by the cool breeze, which drifted through her little hiding spot, ruffling the branches of the tree above her and tugging at her undone hair.

He found her there, and announced his presence in a low voice. "Evans."

She started, but relaxed when she saw who it was; she allowed a faint smile to touch her mouth as she beckoned him near. "Hi."

"Are you engaged?"

Lily glanced down at the book in her lap and shook her head. "No, just sitting here thinking. What's up?"

She watched him approach, saw the cautious tension in the lines of his limbs as he came to stand beside her, one hand on the brief stone wall behind her. He was silent for a time, and she sat there watching him. He did not look at her, but instead studied the worried waters of the lake. His face was expressionless, she could see no telltale twist in his features to betray his thoughts, and she wondered how easily he might read her own expression if he were to scrutinize it as carefully as he did the grey expanse of the lake.

Finally, he spoke. "I wanted to apologize for my house."

Lily blinked. _House?_ – Oh, yes. She shook her head. "It's quite – ," she began, meaning to wave away the _apology_ he was offering – if that was what it truly was; apologies from Snape were rarer than rubies – but he interrupted her.

" – Inexcusable," he said, his tone so brittle she was sure it might break if she spoke too soon. "What they did was inexcusable. I'm ashamed to say I am in any way associated with them."

For a time they were silent. The breeze's whispered conversation with the rattling tree branches was suddenly audible, though not comprehensible, and Lily's mind drifted to and fro like some vague zephyr.

And then, with some awkwardness, he sat down beside her, smoothing his robes beneath him and arranging his long legs so they didn't even accidentally brush hers. Maintaining the ten-centimetre gap between them, he folded his arms over his bent knees, reclining in silence with her. Though not close enough to touch him, Lily could feel the tension in his limbs, knew that he was all but shivering like a terrified thing. She refrained from touching his arm; though she would have understood the gesture as a reassuring one, she was quite certain that he would not, and she could all too easily picture him bolting like a startled deer.

"I can't say I'm proud of what my housemates have done in the past, either," she said at last, voice so soft as to almost blend with the hushed voice of the breeze. "But I can't say I'm totally ashamed of them. They're human, they make mistakes, and sometimes they're too stubborn to admit it. But – but we have to excuse it, because we all do it."

His silence flustered her. What was he thinking? Why was he not interrupting her? She wanted to stop, but that would be giving up, so she pressed on. " – We always see everyone else's faults, and never our own, and when they're pointed out to us, we react hostilely."

He turned to look at her now. "This is what you think?"

"I – it's how it is," she said, declining amendment in favour of speaking her truth. "Don't you agree?"

He studied her carefully, and then his head dropped in a curt nod. "Yes. It's an unfortunate truth, but it is."

She smiled at him. "Is that why you came? To apologize?"

He looked sharply at her. "For them," he said.

"They're forgiven," she said with a pointed look at him. "I forgave them the moment they did it."

Snape scoffed, but a moment later looked embarrassed for doing so. But he said: "Did you forgive them because you wanted to, or because you didn't want to trouble yourself with finding out who did it?"

Lily looked at him in surprise. "I… what?"

"I mean, if you knew who it was, would you change your mind about forgiveness?"

Lily stared. "You know who –?"

Snape scoffed in earnest this time. "Of course I don't," he said. "But if _you_ did – would you change your mind?"

Lily couldn't say. She – _she,_ who prided herself on her relentless pursuit of truth – she had not thought of that, and could not answer him. And instead of feeling confused and embarrassed as she expected she should have, she felt a surge of appreciation for this boy whom her friends derided for being self-obsessed and petty. And then she felt a discomfiting twinge as she realized that she had been lecturing _him_ on looking inward, when he was obviously far more expert on the subject than she.

She had to smile. "You got me there," she said. "I'll have to think about that."

Snape's black eyes were inscrutable. "Yes," he said; "you will."

She had to confess, she was eager to see him fly again, too. Since that ground-breaking January match, she hadn't seen him in the air once, except for a fleeting glimpse through a window of the Slytherin team practicing in the distance. Lily hadn't ever made a habit of visiting matches in which Gryffindor played no part, and for her to have shown up at a Slytherin/Hufflepuff game would have been irregular and awkward to explain. But she certainly showed up at the match Saturday, and that afternoon, the entire school was stunned to witness Slytherin soundly thrash Gryffindor a second time.

Lily watched Snape's second coup with extreme satisfaction, feeling guilty at the same time that she could so betray her house, even if it was only to herself that she did so. This guilt was weak and short-lived, though, despite that last shred of loyalty within her that screamed against its defeat, and she eventually overcame it, telling herself that it was simply by twist of ill fate that she had ended up in Gryffindor in the first place.

She met him afterward, he still damp from his shower and glowing from his victory, she all but exclaiming over him in her eagerness to let him know she favoured him. He seemed bewildered at her gently insistent praise, but he wasn't hostile as he had been after his first win, and Lily was overjoyed with this small success.

"When is your next game?" she asked him, when she had finished congratulating him. He glanced down the corridor, as if checking for eavesdroppers – of course he wouldn't want to be seen talking with her; even if she _was_ marginally intelligent, she was still a Gryffindor, and Lily didn't hold it against him – and then, satisfied with the corridor's state of desertedness, he told her.

"We'll be playing Ravenclaw next Saturday," he said.

"So soon?"

"If we want to stay in the running for the Cup, we won't object," said Snape dryly.

Lily twitched a smile. "I'll be sure to attend."

He looked half-alarmed, and she could see faint lines of suspicion at the corners of his eyes, but he didn't object to her promise.

They were caught in a sudden awkward silence, she leaning uncomfortably against the stony wall of the lower castle, he standing stiffly near, hands betraying him as they clenched each other before him. Lily strove for something to say, and unexpectedly remembered their last conversation and her own midnight reflections on it. She had to speak then, and she did so before he took advantage of the quiet to take his leave.

"Yesterday you asked me whether I would still have forgiven the two who did this to me – " tapping her still-bandaged forehead, "– if I knew their identities."

Snape cocked an inquisitive eyebrow, entreating her to continue almost as if he were interested in what she had to say.

"I thought about it all last night," she went on, "and I came to a conclusion."

Still that raised eyebrow; she paused for effect, singularly selfish.

"I realized that I still would have forgiven them."

He looked uncomfortable a moment, and he opened his mouth to speak, but then he reconsidered. A sort of flush seemed to spread momentarily over his cheeks, and suddenly he gave a curt nod of his head, which might have been mistaken for a bow, and departed without a word more. Lily watched him go in astonishment, wondering whether she should go after him and demand an explanation, but she decided against it. After all, even he couldn't have found offence in her words, and his reasons for fleeing – for that was what he had done, of course; there was no other word for it – were probably of a delicate nature he would have been reluctant to divulge and hostile to the one who asked it of him.

So instead she returned to her own dormitory, and studiously did not think about their strange exchange.

She really was too naïve, he thought as he all but fled back to his dormitory. Too kind-hearted and far too generous. Was she truly that good, or had she said that simply to make an impression? Somehow, he doubted his latter suspicion. Though earlier he might have believed it of her – maybe even _wanted_ to believe it – he couldn't convince himself that she was as duplicitous as that. He didn't know her, didn't know her at all, really, but he felt that deception of that nature would be impossibly for her to emulate.

She was singularly unique; even he could see it.

But her words had unnerved him. They had unnerved so much as to take the edge off his victory; now, instead of feeling smug and triumphant, he simply felt wrung, like the damp towel slung over his shoulder. He found his way to the Slytherin end of the castle, and, ignoring the few congratulatory noises from his housemates, he took himself away to his dorm.

It was cold there, but warmer than the company of his peers, and there he could be left in peace to think. But his mind, cloudy in the absence of the adrenaline that had rushed his system an half hour before, couldn't wrap around the subject to analyse it. Evans was a subject difficult enough when he was feeling his best, but he couldn't leave it alone; the memory of her attitude toward him in the hall wouldn't leave _him_ alone. She had praised him – _Merlin,_ how she had praised him! He was unsettled by the memory of it, of how her face had literally glowed with enthusiasm, how her clear green eyes had sparkled with it, how her entire body had expressed her favour….

…how her hand, in one unguarded moment, had flickered out, as if to actually touch him.

That memory in particular bothered him. He could still see the flush on her high cheeks, the awkward twist at the corner of her mouth as the errant extremity hastily withdrew and hid like a guilty thing. And then she had asked him about the next match.

Severus, returning to real time, groaned and rolled over to bury his face in his pillow. Merlin's spit, this was more complicated than transfiguration.

He suddenly lifted himself up on his arms to glare at his carved wooden headboard. And why was it, he wondered? Why was it that he could spend hours with Maria, drinking tea and 'chatting' (as Maria termed it), but two minutes with Evans turned him into a marble statue, incapable of expressing thoughts in an inoffensive tone, though inexplicably he wished it were otherwise?

He knew the answer to that before he even asked the question, though. It was as plain as the unfortunate nose on his face.

Evans was a Gryffindor.

And Muggle-born.

Simple as that, really. He couldn't get past the fact – no matter how much his logical mind protested against the prejudice, he obviously couldn't leap that hump.

Again, he buried his face in his pillow.


	11. chapter eleven

See chapter one for all disclaimers.

Author's note:

First off, I'd like to apoligize for the break problem that manifested in the last chapter. This PC refuses to let me edit anything once I've got it uploaded, so I probably won't get to rectify the problem until Tuesday. Please bear with me here.

Back again, and with a new chapter. This one is short, I'm sorry – but it's wrapping up Part One, which I am retitling "Speak to Me". (Theme! w00t!) I'm not sure how many parts will make up the complete work, but I'm betting that Dark Side of the Moon will end up at about three hundred pages or so – maybe that's just wishful thinking, but I do know that DSotM will be novel-length, and will end somewhere near the end of 1981. I don't know how long it will take me to finish this, but as I've said before, I do intend on finishing it. It's just a matter of writing it all down; the story's pretty much complete in my head.

Now, as for those of you who are wondering, "Where the heck is Lucius? Shouldn't he be around to tempt dear Sev down the dark side of the Force?" Well, rest assured that I haven't forgotten about Lucius. If you'll bear with me for an extensive author's note, I'll proceed… or just skip on down to the beginning of the chapter, if you don't really care about CRUCIAL CANONICAL DETAILS.

Lucius Malfoy is six years older than Snape, Lily, and the rest of the class if 1977. This fact is supported by canon. In OotP (which takes place in 1995), on page 304, it is stated that Lucius Malfoy is 41 years old (which would mean he was born in 1954). Assuming that he entered school at the usual age (11) and didn't skip or repeat a year, Lucius Malfoy would have graduated in '72, in Lily and Snape's second year. (On the other hand, we have not yet been given any clues as to what year Narcissa was born, so I have taken certain liberties in my fic.)

Rowling has said that Snape was born on January 9, 1960, which makes him only 35 in 1995. (Did they cast Alan Rickman wrong, or what?) He is six years younger than Malfoy, as were Lily and James and the rest of the class of '77. (Born in 1960, he would have entered Hogwarts in 1971, and graduated in 1977.)

Yes, I am a sorry case, and terribly obsessed with details. I've also worked out how old Voldemort and Hagrid are… and I'll put the results here for posterity's sake.

In CoS, we overhear Malfoy Jr. saying that the chamber was opened once before, fifty years ago. CoS takes place in 1992, which would mean that the Chamber was opened once in 1942. We know that Tom Riddle was 16 when this happened. Subtract 16 from 1942 and you get 1926. Therefore, Voldemort was born in 1926, making him 49 as of 1975 (Lily and Snape's 5th year). He was 55 when he was defeated on October 31, 1981, and 65 when he first shows up again in Book the First.

How did I get Hagrid's age? Well, we know that he was in his 3rd year when Voldemort was in his 6th. Not taking into account the (highly possible) event of him being held back a year, we can assume that he was born in 1929, entered Hogwarts in 1939, and expelled in 1942, when he was but a lad of 13. In 1975, he would have been 46, and he would have been 62 when Harry first showed up at Hogwarts.

Funny that I'm so good at figuring ages of fiction characters using only tidbits of information, and then I'm so terribly bad at algebra.

Nevertheless, ph33r my m4d sk1lzz.

Enjoy!

**chapter eleven**

Another weekend, this one obscured with snow and haunted by a bitter cold that numbed extremities in such an alarming way that Madame Pomfrey threatened to cancel the match. But Quidditch was never cancelled for any kind of weather, no matter how severe, and so the game proceeded as planned.

The stands were as close to desertion as house loyalty would allow, and the few Slytherins and Ravenclaws who did show up were so swathed as to be nearly indistinguishable from each other. The customary house pennants didn't wave, for even the fanatics valued their fingers, and many voices were weakened with rheum or muffled by scarves.

In preparation for the match, Lily had carefully hidden her hair. She wore green beneath her heavy cloak, and her emerald earrings sparkled at her lobes. Her gloved hands, carefully hidden in the cuffs of her sleeves, clenched and unclenched nervously as she made her way to the field, hoping that no one would recognize her. Her fears were unnecessary, though, and she arrived unaccosted at the pitch.

But when she got there, she found herself in a dilemma; namely, where to sit. Were she to sit with the Slytherins, she was sure to be spied upon, found out, and either hexed to pieces or ridiculed for the rest of her educational career. And were she to sit on the Ravenclaw side, she would be extremely conspicuous, for she would cheer when they would sigh in disappointment, and vice versa.

What was she to do? Where was she to go? Feeling extremely put out, she began to scan the stands for a place in which she could install herself, but no solutions were forthcoming. She was just preparing to go back the way she came when a hand on her elbow stopped her.

She gasped and whirled around; a passer-by, identifiable as a Ravenclaw by the bit of blue scarf draped round his neck, gave her an odd look but continued on.

Lily, meanwhile, was surprised to find her accoster an undersized boy, no more than twelve years old, with jet-black curls peeping out of a knit cap, and startlingly pale blue eyes that looked terribly familiar.

And when the boy spoke, Lily knew him: this had to be Regulus Black, Sirius's little brother.

"You must be Evans," said the boy, voice musical and wavering soft; "you're the Mudblood."

It didn't seem like such an insult coming from this angelic little creature, and Lily's expression clouded more out of habit than out of indignation. "You must be Regulus," she said. "You're the good child."

Little Regulus erupted into childish peals of laughter, which he hastily quieted, conscious of the attention of the sparse crowd around them. Lily had to smile at his exuberance; his pale cheeks glowed with amusement. "Is that what Sirius calls me?"

"Among other, less flattering things, yes."

"No matter," said Regulus, and, with a shrewd sparkle in his eye, "What are you doing here?"

Lily felt her wind-chapped cheeks turn redder. "I've come to see the game."

That sparkle sharpened into something even more significant. "_Who've_ you come to see?"

Lily raised an eyebrow. A sharp little boy! (She had conveniently forgotten that Sirius's brother, whom she had always heard described as "little," was really only a couple years younger than herself; however, she had fallen unwitting victim to the prejudice of years, and considered two to be quite a large gap.) "What gives you the impression that I've come to see anybody?"

Regulus smirked now, wholly Slytherin in his manner. "For one thing," he said, "I can see your shirt collar. It's green. You've not just come for the love of Quidditch."

Lily looked down automatically and gave a soft, noiseless laugh. "You're clever for your age."

"I've heard you are, too," said Regulus. "My brother raves about you, you know. But, if you're so very smart, why aren't you dressed in blue instead of green? Unless, that is, you're supporting one of mine." His white teeth glinted in a smile at those last three words.

Lily regarded the clever boy with an evaluating gaze. "Why are you so concerned?" she said at last, and was chagrined to see his face split into a triumphant grin.

"You are! I knew it. So who is it? Nott? Mulciber? Or someone older – Rookwood, maybe? Or – oh, I know! I know! Wilkes. Auster Wilkes. He's the one, isn't he?"

Lily shook her head furiously, waving her hand at him to still his eager rush of words. "Of course not!" She heaved a shudder. "Your imagination is overactive, kid."

Regulus's full, wicked-angel smile suddenly flattened into a scowl. "Who're you calling kid, Mudblood?"

Lily glared at him. "Look here, you," she said firmly, refusing to let her temper get the better of her; "I wasn't the one who – "

But his smile had come back, and he beamed at her agreeably, touched his mittened hand to her arm. "Please don't be angry with me," he interrupted in a gentle tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. But – but will you sit with me? I won't talk about Wilkes again, I promise."

And he smiled so sweetly that Lily, despite her doubts, couldn't resist.

Before they went into the stadium, however, she bent down to say nervously in his ear, "Are you sure about this? I don't want to be – "

"Noticed? Oh, don't worry. I doubt my housemates'll know it if we win, they're all so busy trying to keep their noses from freezing off. Come on. I have a good place to sit."

And he did. No one noticed them creeping high up in the stands to perch on the narrow bench, their backs to the frosted wooden wall. Regulus chatted to her as they waited, his pale eyes never flickering from hers as he continued his almost one-sided conversation. His chatter was unimportant, consisting of his observations of his teachers, how far ahead he was in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and how much he hated Professor Eberwulf.

"I like him," said Lily at the last proclamation.

Regulus shrugged. "To each his own. But he doesn't like me. Probably 'cause my brother's so bad in his class."

"Oh, I'm sure Professor Eberwulf wouldn't discriminate just because your brother's performance was – ah – substandard!"

Regulus snorted, and she sensed he was going to add something to that, but at that moment a voice echoed through the stadium, stilling some of the chatter as it announced the teams – as if someone in the crowd didn't know – and then the names of the Ravenclaw players as they sped out onto the field.

The Slytherins came after, and Lily watched with guilty pleasure as Snape circled the pitch, coming to a halt somewhere above the centre circle.

She didn't notice that the boy beside her watched her more intently than he did the game.

She spent most of the game watching the Slytherin Seeker curl over the field, peering through Regulus's enchanted binoculars because she had forgotten her own. The screams of the other spectators didn't affect her; she wasn't interested in the race for the Quaffle, nor the dangerous pursuit of the Bludgers. It was only Snape and his hunt for the Snitch that interested her; nothing else, not even the curly-headed boy sitting next to her, could divert her attention.

And it wasn't long before the climax of the game brought Lily to her feet with the rest of the crowd. She clenched her hands so tightly that her fingernails left welts in her palms – but she didn't cheer; she kept her lower lip locked firmly between her teeth, and only when the Snitch at last flapped helplessly in Snape's leather-gloved hand did she allow a hiss of satisfaction to escape her. Only then did she allow herself to relax, and she sat herself down on the bench and breathed an inaudible sigh. Her hands were shaking.

"Good game, huh?" said Regulus, scrutinizing her carefully with glinting blue eyes. She didn't notice his sharp attention, but rubbed at her fast-beating heart and nodded.

"Yes, very."

"A few more games like this and we'll have the Cup, no trouble."

"I'm sure."

"Well." Reuglus stood up, stretching and yawning like a contented cat. "Let's go back to the castle. It's cold, and I want some tea."

Lily began to nod, but then his words registered on her mind, and she glanced sharply at him. "You go," she said, wondering whether he had meant to invite her to share a cuppa. "Thanks for letting me borrow your binoculars."

"Omnioculars," Regulus corrected her. "No prob. And hey – if you'd like to come to the next match, and want an escort – " his eyes twinkled mischievously, and Lily was strongly reminded that he was Sirius Black's younger brother – "I'd be glad to help."

Lily smiled. "You're such a gentleman. I'll send you an owl if I decide to take you up on that offer."

Regulus beamed and scampered off, skipping down the steps two at a time. Lily grinned despite herself. She could see why Sirius hated him; Regulus was so much more adorable than his older brother! Lily thought the boy was absolutely charming. He had a wicked streak, yes, but most children that age did, and especially those coming from families as old and as wealthy as his. In any case, it was nowhere near as pronounced as his older brother's, which frequently manifested itself in the forms of dangerous pranks.

She buried her gloved hands deeper into her pockets and escaped the stadium without being recognized.

She found Snape in the library later that evening, searching through a pile of books on advanced potions and antiquated Muggle chemistry.

"Hullo," she said, voice pitched low to avoid the razor-sharp hearing of the librarian. Snape looked up, startled, and moved aside some of his things so she could sit down. She did, and having smoothed her skirt over her knees, she said, "I came to the match today."

His eyebrows arched sharply. "You did?"

"You played very well," Lily replied.

Snape slowly shut his book. "Thank you," he said carefully.

And then, from behind them: "There's something I never thought I'd hear you say, Snape."

Lily whirled, but it was only Maria, slouching slightly, her empty satchel hanging loosely from her shoulder. She smiled crookedly at the two fourth-years, and moved to stand beside the table.

"Good job at the game today, Snape," said Maria. "I wasn't there – had some Head Girl duties to tend to – but I heard about it from Rookwood."

Snape gave a stiff little nod, suddenly seeming rather uncomfortable at all the attention.

"So," said Maria, "Evans, I see you've got your bandage off."

"Just this morning," said Lily.

"How are you feeling?"

"Quite well, thanks."

"So you'll be there Wednesday night?"

"Yeah, most likely."

"Be glad you weren't there this week. Without our fearless leader there to guide us into the Land of Muggle Devices, there wasn't much for us to do. Black got her knickers in a knot over some small thing and most of the hour was spent keeping her and Greta's claws sheathed. It was the most godawful thing ever."

Lily gave a sympathetic smirk. "Hopefully they'll have calmed down by Wednesday."

"God, I hope so." Then, somewhat sarcastically: "So, what are you two doing in here together? I hope you're not corrupting her with your devious Slytherin ways, Snape." Despite her joking attitude, Lily blushed, and across from her, Snape scowled.

"I just came in to congratulate him on his game," Lily said, somewhat defensively. "And I'm afraid I interrupted him from his studies." She stood up. "Sorry, Snape."

His expression was one of extreme irritation as she bid him goodbye, and she departed before he could respond, leaving him in the company of the highly self-sufficient Maria Welteislehre.

"You didn't have to chase her off," Severus snapped, pulling his books toward him again. Maria laughed, to his chagrin, and plopped down in the seat next to him.

"I didn't chase her off," she said. "If anything, it was your murderous expression that did the trick. I assume that look is directed at me?"

Severus glared at her. "Do you have anything worthwhile to say, or am I sacrificing valuable study time listening to the breeze rattle the rushes?"

Maria raised an eyebrow. "Touchy, touchy," she said. "What's your problem, Snape? Do you like her or something?"

Severus' face twisted savagely, as if her words disgusted his very soul. "Don't be ridiculous, Welteislehre," he growled.

"Ridiculous?" Maria chuckled. "Don't be so sensitive, Snape. I swear, you're one of the most easily-offended Slytherins I know. And that's saying something." She heaved a windy sigh and stood up again. "I'd best be off. Congrats again on your game."

And she went, empty bag swinging from her shoulder.

After Divination and a shower Tuesday afternoon, Lily headed down to the disused dungeon room for her potions lesson with Snape. She was particularly preoccupied at the moment, seething inwardly about the metre-long essay on the Delphi Oracle Professor Vectis had assigned, so, when she entered the dungeon room, she didn't even notice the wand that directed the hex at her.

"_Stupefy."_

Lily didn't even have time to gasp; she went totally limp and slumped to the floor, eyes wide and staring. Her heart thundered crazily in her chest

_whohowwhy_

but she couldn't even lift her little finger, so effective was the hex. And as her attacker moved into view above her, her terror soured with confusion – _Snape?_ But – but she'd thought –

"No wonder they managed to curse you," he said coldly, standing over her with an expression of distaste on his wan face. "You have the worst reflexes I've ever seen. I gave you a whole half-second to defend yourself, and _still_ you didn't notice."

He uttered the countercurse, and she immediately sprang to her feet and seized him by the front of the robes. "_Don't you ever do that again!_" she shrieked, shaking him for emphasis.

"Let go of me," he said coldly. "I'm doing you a favour, Evans."

"What, so a heart attack's a favour now? Snape, if you don't explain yourself in two seconds –!"

"I'm trying to," he snapped, and swatted her hands away. She snarled at him, stepping back and retrieving her satchel, which she had dropped when he'd Stupefied her. She hoped her ink bottle hadn't broken.

"Blast it, Snape," she muttered as she shouldered her bag, wincing as the strap pressed on a newly-acquired bruise. "That really hurt."

"Pain is the most effective conditioner, I've discovered," he said in an unconcerned tone. "We won't be studying potions today."

Lily looked up from her bag incredulously. "What?"

"Your skills in that area are sufficiently improved to move on to something new."

"The _hell – _"

"Kindly do not curse at me, Evans," Snape said. "It only serves to draw attention to your stunted vocabulary."

Lily took umbrage at that statement. Her vocabulary was anything but stunted. "Now look here, you – " she began, but he ran right over her.

"Do you have your wand with you?"

"Of course I do!"

"Take it out."

Lily obliged only too happily, ready to hex Snape into oblivion – though logically that was impossible, seeing as how much more advance he was in the field of the Dark Arts – but before she could utter even the Jelly-Legs jinx, he was speaking again.

"While the subject of potions-brewing is hardly one to be overlooked, an even more vital subject is the Dark Arts and the defence against them. The curriculum practised here at Hogwarts is, of course, laughable – in our seven years here, we cover not even one-hundredth of the plethora of curses that abound in the world outside of school – so, there are some forward-thinking students here that take matters into their own hands and seek extracurricular teaching."

Lily narrowed her eyes at him. "Like the kind you're offering?"

"Yes. Only my teaching won't be half so… rigorous… as what you might receive from others willing to tutor you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," said Snape, "that I wouldn't, for example, shove you into a dark room with a boggart and expect you to defeat it without first preparing. Nor would I practice an Unforgivable on you to 'give you a taste' of what you'll be fighting against."

Lily laughed humourlessly, though inside she was fluttering at the thought of Snape performing an Unforgivable on anyone. Could he actually do it, or was it just talk? "I don't think so, Snape," she said. "I'll stick with my potions lessons, thanks very much."

"Don't thank me," he said sharply. "I refuse to tutor you in potions any longer. Or, at least, not until you've learned this lesson."

"What, learned how to perform illegal Dark curses?" she said sarcastically.

"You must learn to defend yourself," Snape gritted. "The school can teach you the words that will counter curses, but they can't teach you to use curses to _prevent_ getting hexed in return."

"Um, did you ever think that there might be a reason for that, Snape?"

"There are too many wild cards, so to speak, to teach such skills in a classroom setting," he said. "At least, this is the school board's thinking. What they don't understand is that those proverbial 'wild cards' will find alternative routes to learning this forbidden knowledge if they are ambitious enough, and that those students who really could benefit from such teaching are put at an even larger disadvantage."

Lily shook her head. "I don't need that teaching, though," she said. "I highly doubt I'm going to get lynched the next time I go walking through Diagon Alley."

Snape sneered. "Didn't that episode last week teach you anything?" he said, tapping his own forehead. "It doesn't matter where you are that puts you at risk. It's _who_ you are. You're Muggleborn, Evans. No wizard in this day and age will tolerate a Muggleborn. Don't look at me like that, you know it's the truth. These dark times are getting darker. And you, out of all our peers, could most benefit from higher knowledge of the Dark Arts."

Lily was silent. Inside she raged: the _audacity_ of him! But beneath that fury was a settling curiosity. What exactly _could_ Snape teach her? And how much was she willing to forfeit to learn it? Because, of course, she knew the knowledge would come with a price.

She asked him outright. "What do you want, Snape?"

Snape's eyes flickered. "I ask for nothing more than what you're giving me now," he said.

Lily snorted. "Oh, please. Humour me with honesty, Snape, just for once. You're not the two-faced snake my friends make you out to be, but you're not exactly _selfless_, either. Give me a reason."

Was she dreaming, or did she notice a tinge of rose in Snape's pallid cheeks? – But no, it was gone as soon as the thought registered in her mind, and Snape distracted her by speaking. "I value intelligence, Evans," he said blandly. "I don't need your gold or your thanks. I do need practice, however. You can help me, and I can help you in these regards – such a mutual exchange suits me. And you'd be a fool to turn down my offer, Evans; you're never going to receive another like it, let me assure you." And his expression turned inward and dark, and Lily felt that for a moment he forgot that she was standing there, watching the expressions flicker over his moon-pale face.

But his beetle-black eyes refocused, and came to lock with Lily's green ones, demanding an answer of some sort – of any sort, if it would but divert his burning gaze away from hers! Because something in Lily's breast twisted at that look, and it frightened her.

So she said: "All right."

He seemed to droop for a moment, as if her surrender eased his tension all at once, and then he straightened, nodded curtly, and took a step back, tucking his wand up his sleeve.

"But I have a condition," said Lily.

"State it," said Snape after a suspicious moment.

"You must never again surprise me with a curse," she said. "No matter what."

There was a silence, and Lily was just beginning to wonder exactly why Snape had trouble promising not to do as she requested, but then he relented. "Never again," he said, and his voice was soft and low – the voice of one surrendering himself to the gallows.

Later, Lily would think she imagined that tone, but now it unsettled her, and she took her leave hastily.

Quidditch matches came and went. Lily attended both James and Snape's matches, the former out of some reluctant sense of duty, and the latter out of plain temptation to do something universally considered to be _verboten._ To her dismay (and her distress that she was, in fact, dismayed), Snape's winning streak came to an abrupt end with a particular May match in which James annihilated the Slytherin team, 200-10, and soon after, Slytherin was out of the running for the Cup. Snape was out of sorts for a week over this, and Lily tactfully cancelled their meetings together until the metaphorical storm blew over.

To speak of which, Lily and Snape continued their clandestine meetings. He still came to the disused classroom on the third floor on Thursday evenings, but as the months progressed, his skills advanced to the height of Lily's own knowledge of the subject, and she wondered why he still came when she couldn't teach him any more.

His knowledge of the Dark Arts, however, were not so easily gained. To her surprise, the first night she met with him over those lessons, he did not immediately start showing her jinxes and hexes, as she had expected, but had handed her a book and instructed her to read it through.

It wasn't a curse book. It wasn't even a wizarding book. It was _The Prince._

She'd never heard any of Machiavelli's philosophies before. The book intrigued her, and she finished it quickly, hungry for more, and equally guilt-stricken, because the philosophies Niccolo di Bernardo Machiavelli presented in his book were radically against everything the Gryffindors stood for and upheld. But she didn't back down when he provided her with more, and though she knew what he was doing – namely, 'corrupting her with his devious Slytherin ways', as Maria Welteislehre has so eloquently put it – she devoured his library with the dedication of one starved. And as she did, she pulled farther and farther away from her Gryffindor friends.

They noticed. She didn't.

Gryffindor won the Cup. Everyone saw it coming, and Lily, while obligated to congratulate James, was truly disappointed on Snape's behalf. The end-of-year feast didn't hold the usual excitement for her – no, she spent the evening picking at her food, and fighting the drowsiness it brought on. When the winner of the House Cup was announced, Lily wasn't surprised to learn that Gryffindor had won that, too – and she was less than impressed with her House's ability to win it for the fourth year in a row.

She spent her last night of her fourth year in sleepless disquiet. Despite the mild soporific she was sure the evening feast contained, she could not sleep peacefully, and tossed and turned all night, rising too early the next morning to dig through the trunk the house elves had already packed.

Her departure from the school was unusually gloomy that year.


	12. chapter twelve

See chapter one for all disclaimers. Catilina is mine, so don't even think about it. 

Author's Note: Sorry this chapter's so short. Hopefully they'll get longer in the future. I'm really happy at the moment, because I've passed the 150-page mark, and I'm still going strong. :cheers: If it keeps going like this, though, the Finished Work will be considerably longer than 300 pages.

So – I'd like to thank everyone for their wonderful reviews, and I'd also like to state that feedback is wonderful. (I'm not begging! I swear!) Also, does anyone know of any good Lily/Snape lists that are still, you know, alive? I'm on at least one, but it's dead as a doornail. A little help would be hot. Or, possibly, I could start a Livejournal community of my own – anybody interested in joining, if I do decide to do that?

If you'd like news of updates, you can check out my journal, which is at givemethechild livejournal dot com. (Or go to my author's bio page for a much more convenient link!)

I hope to see a comment or two from you in the near future!

For now, though, please feel free to enjoy the latest chapter. Thus commences Part Two of Dark Side of the Moon, "Breathe."

**_part two: breathe_  
****chapter twelve**

It was late. Far too late for a young wizard to be standing alone on the platform – but what could he do? Where was his escort home? Had his parents forgotten they had a son at all? Or had they taken a liking to his absence and were just content to abandon him here?

His escort was an hour and an half late. He'd been sitting on this bench for so long, he was beginning to think he was growing into it. He tried to reassure himself that this was nothing – it was some car trouble, probably, nothing to be worried about – but something about that thought rang false in his mind. For Merlin's sake, they were _wizards._ They didn't _have_ car trouble. And traffic didn't exactly hinder them, either. Damn it, why couldn't they use the Floo like normal wizards?

…But wait. There. In the crowd. A familiar figure. But… but that couldn't be right – Achaicus Snape, at King's Cross? Never. Severus wouldn't have believed it, had his father not directly come up to him, snapped an order by way of greeting, and marched off again, leaving his son to catch up, his luggage in tow.

Out on the street, in Muggle London, Severus was distinctly unsettled. Achaicus went directly to a strange old car – Severus had little to no knowledge of Muggle machinery, but this thing looked older than Merlin himself, not to mention small – and opened up the boot. Severus wasted no time in loading up his things, and crawled into the front seat beside his father. The back seat was heaped with a hundred old books and scrolls he well recognized from his father's study.

Strange as it might sound, this was when the chord of fear first struck in Severus' heart.

He didn't speak a word throughout the car ride, though there were things he was dying to say, questions he was dying to ask – he knew his father would neither appreciate nor answer any of his queries, so he kept his mouth shut. Even when his father drove in a direction contrary to the path they'd always taken to and from the station and the Snape house, he didn't make a sound.

However, when they pulled up in front of a dilapidated old apartment building and Mr Snape switched the car off, Severus had to speak.

"Father – " he began, but Achaicus cut him off. The man didn't speak, didn't glare at him, didn't even turn and slap him. He merely ignored him. He opened the door and slid out of the car as if his son hadn't even spoken. Severus' heart beat angrily, and he scrambled out of the car, slamming the car door hard.

"What is this?" he said, his temper flaring momentarily.

Achaicus turned and fixed Severus with an expressionless look. "We're home."

Severus' horrified eyes flickered from his father's face to the old building and back again. "What?"

Achaicus wasn't looking at him. He was heading toward the building, taking out a key, unlocking the front doors.

Severus hurried after, heart and mind ablaze with confusion.

It wasn't filthy.

It was cluttered, cramped, sweltering, and otherwise uncomfortable, but it was clean. The windows, warped as they were, were scrupulously scrubbed; the walls were smooth and white, the carpets were relatively spot-free and dustless, and the furniture, while awkward-looking in the small apartment, was in good shape.

Severus still hated it.

To make a long story short, his father had gone bankrupt due to an unscrupulous accountant and bad planning. It had begun just before Severus had left for his fourth year of school – he well remembered Mason and Dewey's absences in that week – and had finally wrapped up soon before the end of the school year. Achaicus had moved here, because it was cheap and there were very few wizards in the area to scorn the once-powerful old-money businessman. Penelope, apparently fed up with the disorder and shame, had left him, disappeared without a trace. Achaicus cursed her when he spoke of it.

Severus couldn't speak to his father. His father, who had lost everything – his money, his house, his prestige, even his wife – Severus couldn't sit in the apartment, knowing that his father, the man who hadn't spoken a fatherly word to him in a year, hadn't even bothered to inform his only son of the radical change that had taken place during the school year, was sitting just beyond a thin wall of plaster, but more distant from his son than he had ever been in his life.

Severus couldn't take it. He had to get out.

He didn't care how conspicuous he looked in his wizarding robes; he only knew he had to walk off the emotions that roiled just beneath his skin.

'_You'll have to get a job if you want to go to school next year,'_ Achaicus had informed him without ceremony, sympathy, or shame. Unspoken: _'I can't pay.'_

A job. Support yourself. Severus couldn't believe it. He gone in mere hours from being a well-to-do, old-money pureblood with Galleons to spare to being little more than a common, blue-collar working boy. _Get a job._ Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined something like this happening. A job? What in Merlin's blasted name could he do?

The Leaky Cauldron, as it was, was only scant blocks from their front door. Fine by Severus; he'd to Diagon Alley to find himself a job. He had to do it. He had to go to school next year. He'd slit his wrists before he willingly gave up his education.

He was decided.

* * *

_June 12th, 1975_

_Happy early birthday to me. Though it's not for another two weeks yet, Aunt Leona sent the birthday money early. I got this journal from Flourish and Blotts this morning. It was quite cheap, too – just a Galleon and an half, a very good deal for such a nice binding. And it's refillable, too – even better._

_Anyway, the hols have been boring so far. I mean, London's nice sometimes, but in the summer it's unbearably hot. I've been keeping up with my school friends – enclosed are the letters I've gotten so far – but it's been unsatisfactory correspondence so far. I don't know how it's happened, but I feel  
__distanced from them, somehow. As if I were  
__I don't know. I don't know what happened. I mean – I _think_ I know, but I  
__I'm just not sure._

_I think it's got everything to do with Snape, though._

_The books he lent me! They're scary. But they're addictive. I can't get enough of them – it's as if I've finally discovered Life On Mars. Or rather, it's more like I've always known that there's life on Mars, but now I've discovered that it's nothing like what I always thought it'd be like. Or rather, it's exactly what I thought it'd be, but it's all different somehow._

_I don't know. I didn't think that the Dark Arts required so much philosophy. It probably doesn't. But Snape did say that his way of teaching me would be different from everybody else's. Is this what he meant?_

"…there is a gap between how one lives and how one ought to live that anyone who abandons what is done for what ought to be done learns his ruin rather than his preservation…. Hence it is necessary for a prince who wishes to maintain his position to learn how not to be good…."

_That was one of the things he taught me. And_

_I enjoyed our lessons together. I wish he I wish he was more approachable._

_I hope what James said in his letter wasn't true. I hope Sirius was just reporting misinformed gossip. But I'm still really worried. I hope Snape's okay._

_Maybe I should write to him?_

– _No, he probably wouldn't appreciate it. I'd best just be quiet and wait until next semester._

_Hi Lil!_

_How is your holiday going? Mine's great – my cousins came down from Scotland and they're staying the summer with us. They're a hoot – all boys, you know, and they're _nutty_ about Quidditch – good for me, hey hey – and they brought their brooms down and everything. Wish you could be here, though you'd probably hate it and spend all your time inside reading._

_My music tutor's here again, which is a drag. I've got a lesson EVERY SINGLE BLOODY DAY now, which means, of course, less time for Quidditch. But it's okay. The cousins keep finding ways to get me out of lessons. See, they're good for something! Ha ha!_

_Hey, since you're in London, can you check out that new specialty shop in Diagon Alley? It's called WizzHard Gear, sells Quidditch stuff. I got a catalogue in the mail – they had some nice gripcharmed gloves for sale, but owls are so expensive – I wonder if you could pick me up a pair (size 8) and send them to me, and I could pay you in my next letter? That would be so great if you could do that for me._

_By the way, I really liked that book you lent me – we'll have to get together sometime soon and I can return it to you._

_Take care,_

_Cordelia_

_Hey Lily –_

_Having a good holiday? Poor you, stuck in the city, no Quidditch pitch to be seen for miles – bet you're green with envy. We've been on the field every day, and it's been great weather – is it as nice there in the city as it is here?_

_Honestly, I don't see how you can hold up in Muggle London. I've been there, and there's nothing to do, except shop and look at things. I hope you're not studying too hard. You should take a break. It's summer. You shouldn't overwork yourself._

_Guess what Sirius told me? Well, he overheard his parents talking about a certain someone we both know and detest – that's right, Snape. Anyway, it turns out that his dad's gone bankrupt – ironic, eh? And now they're living in Muggle London, too, in a _flat._ In a Muggle flat. And Snape's dad's unemployed. Sirius also mentioned something about Snape getting a job cuz his dad can't pay the school tuition anymore. It seems like he's working at an apothecary in Knockturn Alley. (Dodgy place, Lily; I'd stay out of there if I were you.) Sirius and I thought about going over there and trying to get him fired. Think of it – if the slimeball can't pay the tuition, we won't have to put up with him next year!_

_I'm joking, don't worry, Lily._

_Anyway, have a good one. You'll have to visit sometime. We could go flying, we've got a great field out here._

_Best,_

_James_

_PS. Don't let your sister get you down!_

_Dear Lily,_

_I hope your holiday is going nicely. Mine's been enjoyable, so far – I've got a job working for my uncle at his novelty shop in Devonshire. I can Floo there every day, and it's very nice – the work's enjoyable, and my uncle's a fair boss. The customers are nice, too – mostly we get Muggles, but sometimes we get the occasional wizard, and it's so fun, because they have no idea what anything is. (I shouldn't laugh, because up until a couple of weeks ago, I was pretty ignorant, too.)_

_I wonder if Professor Frame will accept my working here as extra credit. Probably not. Helen says he doesn't believe in extra credit. In any case, I _feel_ more educated._

_Read anything good lately? I'm currently working through a pile of science fiction (is that right?) that I found in my uncle's shop. It's good! I think I'm developing a passion for it. It's so different from everything else I've ever read. I think wizards really miss out on a lot when they boycott Muggle stuff. Purebloods don't know what they're missing. It's a shame, really – I think the wizarding community could really benefit from Muggle influence. I mean, the purebloods and the rest look down on them for being – what, nonmagical? Different? It's silly, if you ask me. I mean, even James and the rest – who are pretty all right, otherwise – even they kind of look down on Muggles. All those remarks James made about your sister – I mean, he thinks he's got an excuse because you've said she's so mean sometimes, but really, he just makes fun of her because she's his stereotype of a Muggle – mean, stupid, and self-centred. Not that she is. I don't know. But that's what James thinks. You know what I mean._

_Anyway, keep your spirits up. Let's meet in Diagon Alley sometime next week, okay? (You're so lucky, you get to live so close!) How's Thursday sound? Meet in the Leaky Cauldron around noon? I'll be there anyway (Mum wanted me to pick up some stuff from the astrology shop,_ yuck_) so it'd be nice if we could just meet and have an ice cream or something._

_Love,_

_Eliza_

"Hey Mum?"

Lily shut her journal and tossed it on the bed. It bounced on the mattress. Lily rattled out of her bedroom and after her mother, who had just passed down the hallway to her sewing room. Her feet were bare, and the wooden floor felt smooth and cool beneath her toes.

"Mum?" she said again, coming into the sewing room, and this time Mrs Evans glanced up from the pile of cloth in her hands.

"Yes?"

"Can I go to Diagon Alley tomorrow?"

Mrs Evans took off her reading glasses. "What for?"

"Eliza's going to be in town," she said. "I thought it'd be nice to meet her there. Well, actually, she asked me. D'you think I could?"

Mrs Evans looked indecisive, so Lily spoke in her sweetest tones. "I don't even need a ride," she added. "I can take my bike. It's not too far. I wouldn't be gone all day, either – just a couple hours."

Mrs Evans seemed to be considering this. "Well," she said at last, "I don't see the harm in it. As long as you remember to take your bike lock. What do you two plan on doing there?"

"Oh, have some ice cream, do some shopping… the whole girlie thing." Lily grinned. "Have some fun. I have that birthday money from Aunt Leona, and my savings – "

"I hope you wouldn't try to spend it all at once," said Mrs Evans. "Sure, you can go."

Lily let out a happy shriek and danced about. "Yes!"

"Now get," said Mrs Evans sternly. "You're distracting me from my sewing."

The next day, armed with an empty satchel and a purse full of gold, she pulled her bike out of the carport and pedalled the mile and a half it was to the Leaky Cauldron. Eliza was there waiting for her; Lily greeted her with a hug and, having locked her bike up outside in Muggle London, they proceeded into the more magical side of the city.

It was a weekday afternoon and Diagon Alley wasn't crowded. The two girls were free to wander about, and they did happily, first stopping at the ice cream shop and then continuing on to the plethora of bookshops that peppered the district.

The would have been content with this for hours, but Eliza, unfortunately, had to make a trip to the astrology shop – Sulla Saturninus' Stars and Spheres – and was thus obliged to leave Lily to her own devices for a little while. Lily didn't mind – she had an scheme of her own, one that required a kind of secrecy, and complied willingly when Eliza elected to depart.

As soon as the other girl was out of sight, Lily shouldered her satchel – now full with various tomes of interest she'd found at a variety of shops – and headed straight for Knockturn Alley.

She'd seen the decaying sign before, the skeletal hand indicating a narrow alleyway that bridged the two streets. Lily found it without trouble, and picked her way through the dank, filthy alley with an insistent curiosity beating in her breast. The very air seemed to grow colder as she entered the dark district, and her screaming mind recalled everything she'd heard about the place – that it was frequented by vampires, werewolves, and worse; that the shopkeepers would hex you as soon as look at you; that Muggleborns, of all people, were most at risk there….

She ignored her brain's warnings, and hugged close to the walls as she walked down the filthy walk.

The gutter was clogged with garbage; she saw more than one dead rat lying stiff in the damp, twisted and decaying, jagged little bones poking through mottled skin and snarled hair. The smell was atrocious; it hung heavy in the air, thick and damp and sour-sweet; it permeated her clothes, and later that evening she would still smell it and squirm.

The neuroticism of the place was apparent in the architecture. Shops were crammed together tightly, with scant metres separating doorways; windows were appropriately narrow and crooked, and more than one were boarded up tight. Structures tilted on their foundations, and most looked as if one good, hearty shove would topple them right over. Lily walked quickly past these buildings, looking for some place in particular.

She'd never been here before, and she was reluctant to step into one of those weird shops and ask one of the storekeepers for directions. She was exceedingly relieved when she stumbled upon the place by accident, not five minutes into her walk: she happened to glance up and see a sign bearing the familiar mortar-and-pestle symbol that denoted an apothecary.

She ducked into the shop without further dallying. No familiar silver bell rang to announce her arrival; rather, she was immediately assailed by a thousand different odours – pungent and sour – and her senses reeled for a moment. This was a far cry from the apothecary on Diagon Alley, which boasted wares that were fairly innocuous, if not always recognizable. This, however….

Strings of dried things hung from the ceiling in abundance. Not all of them looked herbal, or, for that matter, entirely animal. Pots of scorpion carapaces and doxy teeth stood at attention on the counter, accompanied by a plethora of bottled powders ranging in various colours. Along the walls were shelves stocked with a wealth of vials containing everything from wrinkled, blackened tongue of banshee (at least, that was what Lily thought the crabbed, gothic script advertised) to goats' eyes floating in thick green slime. The one thing all these strange ingredients held in common was that Lily had never used any of them in her potions-making.

And then she saw, to her horror, that tacked to one wall was a stretched centaur hide. Prominently displayed over a crate of withered claws that might once have been attached to selkies' fingers, it was huge and silver and gleaming, obviously painstakingly… detached. Her heart turned to ice in her breast at that, and her breath caught roughly in her throat. _I must have been insane to come here,_ she thought wildly, remembering all the horrible things James and the rest had said about Knockturn Alley. She thought they'd been exaggerating out of plain dislike, but now – now it seemed that what they'd said was really true. A thrill of terror began to twist up inside her like a spring.

Once she had torn her eyes away from the feast of Dark components, she realized that the shop was otherwise quite deserted – and that the only sound that touched her ears was that of the floorboards creaking beneath her feet.

But then, a hand on her shoulder caused her to start and utter a small scream – she whirled to see a beautiful, pale-faced woman with hair the colour of ripe strawberries and eyes like glittering smalt. "What do you lack?" said the woman softly, and her voice was husky and rich and sensuous, and Lily shivered involuntarily.

"I – I just came in to look around – "

The blue-eyed witch studied her for a moment, and then a smile quirked at the corner of her coral lips. "What could a sweet young thing like you desire from my humble shop?"

"Um…." The woman's eyes pierced her like a frozen blade. Lily squirmed uncomfortably, and the witch let go of her and moved over to the counter, retrieving something from below. She straightened up, a small porcelain jar in her hands, and set it on the glass countertop.

"An envy potion," she said, with a mischievous, conspiring sparkle in her eyes. "For the young man whose eyes are wandering, perhaps?"

Lily suppressed a snort, fearing it would be indelicate. "No."

"I didn't think so," the witch murmured. "You don't look like the vengeful type." She pushed the jar out of the way, and retrieved another. It was fashioned out of rose-pink glass and embellished with curlicues of silver.

"A glamour, perhaps?" said the witch softly, and her lily-white hand caressed the lid of the pot. "A strong one, I guarantee you."

Lily shook her head. "No, thank you."

The witch gave her a heartbreaking smile, and Lily felt her heart skip in trepidation.

"No, of course not," said the witch, and moved the bottle to the side. "You obviously don't need anything as paltry as bottled beauty." Smirking, she produced a third vial, this one no bigger than Lily's little finger and perfectly clear, but filled with a blood-red, viscous fluid that glittered, rubylike, even in the dim light.

"This, then," said the witch, in a voice that was almost a whisper. "The drink of desire."

Lily's cheeks flushed the colour of the potion, and she took a step back. "I – I really don't want – "

"Evans?"

Lily broke off, staring at the silhouetted figure standing in the door behind the witch. Though she couldn't see the wizard's features, she knew his voice and his inflection – she was sure that he was just as surprised to find her here as she.

"Snape."

Still standing between them, the witch's eyebrows went up. "You know my apprentice?" she said to Lily, and Lily shrugged.

"It appears I do," she said, and stepped forward.

The witch's smile broadened. "Well! What coincidences! Or were you actually looking for a potion when you came here, girl?"

Lily blushed again. "I wasn't looking for anything," she protested, and the witch merely raised a single, insinuating eyebrow.

"Whatever you say, darling," she said, and, turning, glanced at Snape. "I'll make myself scarce for a few minutes, boy," she said. "But don't be long; there are stacks that want organizing."

"Don't bother," said Snape, and Lily was too surprised to be hurt by his cold tone of voice.

But the witch didn't hear, or at least pretended not to, and disappeared through the door though, leaving the two alone in the front of the shop.

"What are you doing here?" he asked her right away, and Lily's brows furrowed at his unusually hostile tone of voice.

"I – I was just passing through – "

"Rot," Snape said icily. "This is obviously your first time here. Don't you know what danger you could be in, being what you are – "

Lily was extremely irritated, mostly because she hadn't prepared an excuse as to exactly why she had come, and was consequently finding it difficult to come up with a convincing lie. "Why shouldn't I be here?" she said instead, and Snape's black eyes flashed angrily.

"Are you really that stupid?" he said.

Lily turned away abruptly. "Thank you, Snape, it's nice to see you too."

She could hear Snape let out a cross, windy sigh. "Don't be an idiot, Evans," he snapped. "Go home."

Lily was silent for a moment as she took a strengthening breath. When at last she turned round to face him, it was with a calm expression and a composed mind that she addressed him. "What I want," she said, "is to talk to you. Like we did at school. Don't glare at me! It's a perfectly decent request. I swear, just three minutes and I'll leave quietly. I've someone waiting for me in Diagon Alley, anyway."

She could see a muscle working in Snape's jaw, but he finally acquiesced with a curt nod of his head.

Lily smiled at him, unconscious that the relief showed so strongly on her face. "Thank you," she said.

"Get to the point, Evans."

Lily sniffed, but decided not take offence at his snappish tone. "Are you really apprenticing here?" she asked instead, rather interested.

He shook his head, looking disgusted. "No. Catilina thinks of me as such, but all I do is organize things and stock shelves."

"I'm sure you're good at it," said Lily, recalling how organized he could be, but he sneered.

"It's vile work."

"Why do you do it, then?"

His expression soured even further then. "My father wished that I get a taste of the real working world this summer," he said. "Presumably so that I might discover for myself how very abhorrent it is and seriously pursue a higher vocation."

Lily frowned. "And have you discovered how very abhorrent it is?"

"Unquestionably," said Snape, and she detected a slight softening about his wicked sneer.

Lily gave a small, encouraged smile, and moved to one side of the store to examine a bottle of what looked like grey-green hairs floating in lamp oil. "At least it pays," she said, and remembered that Snape really didn't need the money; from what she'd gathered, his family was richer than Cresus.

Snape gave a hum of assent, and Lily glanced back at him. He looked pensive as he leaned over the counter, elbows resting on the age-spotted glass top. A faint sneer barely curled his upper lip, as if he was remembering something mildly distasteful, and as she watched, a strand of his black hair – it was getting so long! – fell forward into his face. He didn't seem to notice, but his eyebrows furrowed, deepening the crease between them. His delicate hands, covered to the knuckles by the black sleeves of his robes, flexed absently.

On a reckless whim, Lily asked, "When do you get off work?"

"Five-thirty." His eyes snapped sharply upwards to meet hers, as if only just realizing that he had spoken. "Why?"

"I was going to ask if you'd like to come over for tea," said Lily, turning away again. "But…. Well, never mind. It wasn't really…."

Behind her, Snape made a noise that could have been a snort. "Go home, Evans," he said, his voice faintly sardonic. "Your three minutes are up. There's nothing here you want."

Lily gave him a look of consternation. "I was just asking," she muttered, and turned to go. When she got to the door, she couldn't help but turn and give a small wave of her fingers, and bid him goodbye. He stood straight and tall behind the counter, and didn't respond, but the witch, who had come out of the store room and stood behind him in the shadowy doorway, gave a silent nod.

The broken bell above the door made no sound as she went out.

"Scaring off customers, Snape?"

Severus did not jump. By now, he was used to Catilina sneaking up on him. "She was no customer," he said, and his voice was carefully blank.

"You know her," she stated.

"From school," he said stiffly. "We're in the same year."

"But not in the same House, I take it."

"No."

Something in his tone must have given it away, for Catilina's slow smile broadened, and her eyebrows raised knowingly. "A Gryffindor."

Severus didn't answer. He brushed past her into the storage room.

Her words met his ears as he came to the back of the room to continue his previous work. "I think," she said, her voice soft but carrying well through the dusty, stifling air of the room, "that that girl wants more than you would sell her, Snape."

Severus ignored her and continued his work.


	13. chapter thirteen

ETA: Fixed the typo in paragraph 4. Thanks, Lavinia!

ETA: THAT was truly brilliant of me. :headdesk: Well, now I guess you all know my dirty little secret. I'm not perfect! It's distressing, though - in my document, the chapter's titled 13... how come it ended up 12? I guess the document I was working from was a later copy in which I seperated the prologue as a chapter of its own.

Anyway, here's the proper chapter. Apologies again for the messed-up layout.

See chapter 1 for all disclaimers.

AN: Okay, it's been a while. I'm sorry. Once again, I will excuse myself by saying that technology is NOT my friend, and floppy discs are evil incarnate. But here it is, Chapter the Thirteenth - coincidentally, the first installment of Part Two, aka "Breathe". (Those readers of mine who are familiar with the works of the Great and Unrivaled Pink Floyd, I invite you to take a second listen to the lyrics of the song - this part is greatly inspired by it!) (Coincidentally - the first part, which encompasses chapters 1-12, also has a title now, so I shall be doing some editing in the hopefully near future and include it in the info. I realize how very messed-up the format has been lately, but I can blame that on dialup, which is slower than molasses in winter. I'll try to fix everything within the next couple of weeks, as the inconsistencies with the layout is bugging the crap out of me. Or, I may just post the proper edited version on my LJ, which is considerably more user-friendly than ffn.)

ALSO, I am going to ask you, my loyal readers and fellow afficiandoes of the Snape/Lily pairing, to drop by Livejournal, sign up for a free account, and join our community, Cliched1977. (Link: http/ www. livejournal. com / community / cliched1977 ) It's a fledgling, of course, but with a little help we can get it rolling. There's a dreadful shortage on SS/LE 'support groups' out there, and I'd love to be able to sit down with someone, figuratively speaking, and discuss our favorite pairing in-depth.

FURTHERMORE - I'm working on a one-shot this very moment, centering around - who else? - Lily and Snape and a series of unique messages. If anyone's interested, give me a shout - it'll be a while before it's finished, tho', because I'm so busy lately.

And FINALLY - I would like to send out a HUGE THANK-YOU to my wonderful, wonderful reviewers! Particular thanks to Lavnia, a girl with especially good taste; to Amscray, whose comments never fail to baffle and delight; to Viskii, whose vocabulary I am always happy to improve; to Nemka, whose enthusiasm is rivaled only by her charm (give us a wave if you're out there, dahling!); and finally, Morwen's Revival, who soooo made my day with that lovely gargantuan review - I'm delighted my words brought you back to the fold, so to speak! Lil/Sev forevah!

**chapter thirteen**

"There's a parcel for you, Lil," said Mr Evans from the kitchen. Lily, still dressed in her pyjamas at noon, came in and was delighted to find an owl perched on the back of her father's chair. The parcel was resting on the tabletop, square and badly-wrapped. Lily plucked the note up first and unrolled it.

_Happy birthday, Lily!  
__Regards, Peter_

Interested, she tore open the parcel to find a book on old Irish charms. "How sweet," she said, surprised that Peter had bothered – she didn't know the boy very well; the fact that he had remembered about her desire to study in-depth on this particular branch of charms was touching. "Peter sent me a charm book for my birthday."

"Peter?" said Mr Evans, one eyebrow raised.

"A friend of James'," Lily explained, ignoring her father's insinuating tone of voice. "I don't really know him too well."

At that moment, another owl soared into the kitchen, bearing another parcel. "Oh dear," said Mrs Evans, walking into the kitchen at that moment. "The birthday wishes arrive."

Lily handed her mother Peter's gift while she relieved the other owl of its burden. This one was from Remus and Sirius – or, at least, that was what the note said. It was a leather quill-care case, with a newly-sharpened penknife, several pen nibs, and a large packet of drying powder. Enclosed also was another note, this one from Sirius, wishing her a happy birthday and offering a rather bad limerick commemorating her fifteenth year. Lily laughed anyway.

At that moment, Petunia walked in.

She let out a disgusted noise as soon as she saw the owls, and practically flew back out into the hallway. "Filth!" she cried. "Get those filthy birds out of the kitchen! Don't you know people _eat_ in there?"

Lily sighed. Mr Evans rolled his eyes, and Mrs Evans merely looked distressed. "They'll be gone in a second, Petunia," Lily called back, and then said _sotto voce,_ "Honestly. She's the only person I know who's phobic about owls."

"Are they gone yet?" Petunia called imperiously after a moment's pause.

Lily's sigh was more exaggerated now. "Just a second, Petunia," she cried out, exasperated. Tossing Sirius' note on the tabletop, she marched over to the window and pushed it open again. Regretfully, she shooed the two owls out, having appeased them both with slivers of the ham that they Evans were having for lunch, and then she called to her sister to inform her that it was safe to come out.

Petunia marched in then, nose in the air and mouth pursed in disapproval. "God, Lily, get your junk off the table already!"

Lily glared at her older sister. "Good morning to you, too," she said loudly.

"Be nice, Pet," said Mr Evans. "It's your sister's birthday."

"Well, happy day," said Petunia snidely, not even looking at her redheaded sister as she sat down at the table, carelessly pushed the parcel wrappings and gifts aside. The quill-care case fell to the floor, and Lily shrieked angrily.

"Will you please be a little more careful?" Lily snapped. "That's a present!"

"Who's it from?" said Petunia unpleasantly. "Your _boyfriend?_"

"Shut up, Petunia," said Lily, not with a little irritation.

"Be nice, Petunia," her father warned.

Petunia did not recant; she picked savagely at the potatoes she had just spooned onto her plate. "Bloody witch," Lily heard her mutter under her breath.

Lily did not say anything; she merely gathered up her gifts and went upstairs.

Petunia had been more distant and harsh than usual these summer months. Their temporary truce over the Christmas holidays seemed to have dissolved over the spring, and Petunia was, if anything, even more unkind than she had been before. Lily was guiltily glad that her older sister spent more time out of the house than in, and that their encounters were few and far between.

Lily often missed the camaraderie she had shared with her sister before her Hogwarts letter. The two had been so close – Lily had really idolized Petunia. But when that letter had come… well, that had been the end of that. No more tea parties shared with their dolls; no more pooling allowance to buy huge bags of sweets or the occasional record; no more reading to each other late at night when they were supposed to have been asleep, illuminating their makeshift quilt-tents with a stolen torch. Those days were over, and Lily really did miss them.

These were such sombre thoughts to be thinking on her birthday. She stoutly resolved not to delve into them again today, and went to her room to get ready for her own celebrations.

While she was getting dressed, another owl came. This one was from James, and bore a box of truffles and a wizarding novel titled _Widower_, which, according to the information on the back, was the 'thrilling new tale of magic, murder and mystery by critically-acclaimed wizard Percival Cudgeon'. Apparently it was a whodunit. Not exactly the kind of book one expected to receive with a box of chocolates, but then again, Lily hadn't really been expecting either, and was nonetheless pleased at least by James' effort.

She finished dressing, made a mental note to send out thank-you cards later, and bounced down the steps into the main area of the house. Petunia was nowhere to be seen, and Lily noticed that the girl's shoes were gone from the front hall.

"You look nice," said her mother.

"I'm wearing the blouse you got me," Lily grinned. "It's awesome."

Her mother had bought her several articles of clothing for her birthday, and Lily, always impressed by her mum's unusually good taste in clothing – unusual for a mum, that is – was more than eager to show her gratitude. "I'm glad you like it," said Mrs Evans. "That green is so you."

Lily laughed. "If only the boys could see me like this," she said. "They'd die. Sirius would demand I burn it."

Mrs Evans looked surprised. "Whatever for?"

"Green's a Slytherin colour," Lily explained. "And the boys are terribly biased."

Mrs Evans rolled her eyes. "Boys," she sighed, reminding Lily exactly of Cordelia.

"Well," said Lily, filling a glass with tap water, "as soon as I grab my satchel, I think I'll be off."

"All right." Mrs Evans momentarily put down her newspaper, watching her daughter pluck her leather school bag up from the bench that rested against the eastern wall of the kitchen. "Don't forget your bike lock."

Mrs Evans always said that before Lily went out.

"I won't," Lily said, as she always did.

"Have fun. Be good."

"I will."

"And bring me back some of that marvellous chocolate!"

Lily laughed on her way out the door. "Sure, Mum."

Diagon Alley was warm and bright and semi-crowded today. It was a Saturday and people were doing their shopping. Lily met Eliza at Flourish and Blott's, and they exchanged greetings and idle chit-chat. Eliza gave Lily her birthday present – a basket of homemade peanut brittle and a pocket-sized book of poetry by E. E. Cummings. Lily thanked her profusely, and, resisting the urge to sit right down in the bookstore and devour both the peanut brittle and the poetry, she took Eliza's arm, and the two girls set off to scour the market for interesting buys.

It was two weeks after their first meeting in Diagon Alley, and Lily hadn't developed much of a shopping list since then. As it was, the most she spent that afternoon was two Galleons on fancy ice cream for both her and Eliza – she refused to let the other girl front the bill, claiming that, being the birthday girl, she should be allowed to spend her money in whatever way she wished. When they had finished their treat, they bid each other goodbye, content and full.

Lily watched Eliza go off down the street. When the girl had disappeared round the corner, Lily steeled herself and set off in the opposite direction – west, toward Knockturn Alley.

"Be sure to lock that cupboard once you're done with it," said Catilina as she stacked vials of the potion Severus had just brewed on the shelf. "And dispose properly of those scraps."

Severus grit his teeth. He knew all this, and Catilina knew he did. He knew she only reminded him to keep him humble, but it was irritating nonetheless. He tried not to slam the cupboard door he was supposed to lock.

"Business was good today," said his employer from the front of the shop. "I do believe it's picked up since you came."

Severus glanced over his shoulder in surprise. He couldn't see Catilina, but her lilting voice still carried over the threshold of the storage room door.

"But don't get a big head, Snape," she warned. "You still have a lot to learn, especially when it comes to people."

Severus rolled his eyes upward. Suddenly, she was standing at the doorway behind him, and when he looked back at her, she was smiling.

"Keep up the good work," she said.

He turned back the cauldron he was scrubbing. "Yes."

Knockturn Alley wasn't as empty as it had seemed the first time she had gone there. Then again, it was quitting time. Lily saw a number of strange and frightening characters coming down the street. She saw a rough-looking wizard, tall, dark, and bald, with a fake right eye – she knew it was fake for the fact that it glittered like a ruby in his craggy socket. An emaciated woman dressed in a bedraggled, decidedly nineteenth-century corset and skirts swept passed her on the walk, leering at Lily in a decidedly lecherous way as she brushed by. Lily felt her stomach turn over, and glanced away to see a wasted dwarf grinning up at her from a doorway with hollow eyes and rotten teeth. Lily shut her eyes and quickened her pace.

She arrived momentarily at the apothecary, and there she faltered. What if he threw her out? Or worse, what if he ignored her? How stupid would she feel then? But she couldn't let these thoughts take over her mind – she shook her head, took a breath, and with a façade of confidence, she pushed open the door.

The smell of herbs and dried things and strong, elemental magic invaded her nostrils, but Lily knew better than to be taken by surprise. The shop wasn't empty today; a fat older witch, garbed in badly-tailored robes, stood at the counter, talking with the red-haired witch from Lily's first visit.

Catilina straightened up as Lily entered, smiling in greeting. "Well, hello," she said, using the sleeve of her robe to brush imaginary dust off the aged countertop; "I was afraid my surly apprentice scared you off for good!"

Lily hadn't expected such a sudden greeting, and faltered a bit, adjusting her nearly-empty bag over her left shoulder. "Um. No, I'm used to that."

Catilina laughed her beautiful laugh. "I'm sure you are, sweet," she said, and glanced at the fat witch whose conversation she herself had interrupted. "Oh. Delilah, this is… I'm sorry, I don't know your name!"

"Nobody," said Lily without thinking, and Catilina raised an eyebrow.

"And I'll bet you'll be asking us to call you Odysseus next." She came around the counter, speaking to Delilah now. "Use it how I told you," she said, handing her a skinny tube of pale orange fluid. "It should take effect within two minutes. Owl me if you want more."

The fat witch thanked her and went out. Catilina then came toward Lily, her faded blue robes sweeping the creaking floor.

"Do you need anything from the shop today?" she asked, amusement in her voice.

Lily shook her head. "I wanted to talk to Snape," she said casually.

"I thought so. Well, he's almost finished in the back room. He'll probably be a bit snappish, but don't let that stop you – the boy could use some levity in his life. I swear, he's stiffer than a board."

Lily frowned to keep from grinning.

Footsteps from the store room dragged her attention away from the dusty hem of Catilina's robes. "It's all finished up in here, Ca – "

He broke off, staring at Lily as he stopped in the doorway.

"Well, then," said Catilina, as if nothing was amiss, "I guess you're free to go, Snape." And the witch brushed past him, into the dark of the store room.

"Good evening," said Lily, by way of greeting.

Snape didn't bother to scowl. "I thought I told you not to come back here," he said.

"You didn't."

Snape sighed gustily.

"And even if you did," she added, "I'm not entirely certain I would have stayed away."

"You're a fool," he said.

"Better to be an happy fool than a fretful genius," she said.

Snape sneered, and moved around the counter, rolling down the sleeves of his white shirt. The top two buttons of the shirt were undone, and Lily thought that she had never seen him looking so casual – or so Muggle. As he came around the counter, she saw that he was wearing pants. Black, of course, and a far cry from jeans, but she had never seen him wear anything but his usual black school robes and the sight was a shock to her.

"So, Evans, what exactly is it that impels you out of your no doubt idyllic abode all the way to Knockturn Alley?"

"I – I wanted to visit you," said Lily, cursing herself inwardly for faltering.

Snape snorted, but did not say anything as he rolled down his other sleeve.

"You're off now," she said; "we could go have tea or something."

"I don't think so."

"Don't want to be seen in public with a Mudblood?" she asked lightly.

He looked startled with her choice of words, but he didn't reply, and she took that as a yes.

"Then," she said, "come home with me. Have dinner." And, before he could protest, "It's my birthday. My mum won't refuse me a guest tonight."

He glanced up at her, and she could see the unease in his eyes. "I can't, Evans."

"Why?" said Lily, refusing to let her temper get the better of her. "Won't your parents allow it?"

Something horrible flashed in his expression then, and his mouth tightened in a firm, ominous line. Lily, knowing what he was about to say, gave an inaudible sigh and began to step backwards, toward the door. But then –

"No. No, I'll come."

_I must be crazy,_ he thought as he followed the girl into Muggle London. _I really do have a death wish. I should just turn right around –offer no explanation – and go home._

But as he stood there, waiting for her to unlock the contraption she had rode in on, he knew he wouldn't do anything. He would follow her to her house, meet her family, eat dinner, and linger. Because Achaicus would be furious if he found out. He'd flay Severus alive.

This thought gave Severus a potent, bitter pleasure, and was the reason for going along with Evans.

She seemed much more comfortable on the Muggle streets than she had in the apothecary – understandably – and was even so bold as to chatter to him about some spells she'd been dying to practice, but lamentably couldn't due to the restrictions on underage wizardry. This seemed strange to Severus, especially taking into consideration the fact that they were walking down a Muggle street, where anyone could overhear their conversation.

When he questioned her about her apparent disregard for the International Code of Secrecy, she looked blankly at him and informed him that Muggles didn't notice anything until it hit them in the face. "And anyway," she said, "if anyone overhears us talking about spells, they'll just think we're a couple of Dungeons and Dragons freaks and leave us alone."

Severus didn't understand the bearing dungeons and dragons might have had on the current conversation, and didn't care to know. He was silent, and she was too, apparently running out of things to say about the spells she had been reading about, or just discouraged by his lack of enthusiasm.

She broke the quiet at last. "So," she said, somewhat awkwardly, "do you Floo to work?"

Severus shook his head. "I walk," he said.

She looked interested. "Oh, so you live round here?"

"No, you idiot, I live in Eire."

She wasn't offended, and even chuckled a little bit. "All right, stupid question. But you live around here! I didn't know that."

"It came as a surprise to me, too."

Evans looked confused. "What?"

Severus actually debated telling her the story, but rejected that idea almost as soon as it had come to him. He didn't want her sympathy. "My… family recently relocated," he said instead.

"Oh." She nodded. "Well, that's nice, I suppose. Do you like it here?"

"I loathe it," he said.

She seemed taken aback. "Well, the city's not for everyone," she said at length. "Have you – that is, where did you live before?"

"Chesterfield," he said briefly.

"Hmm. Were there Muggles there?"

"No. At least, not in the vicinity of my home."

"You must love it here," she said, and he realized with some surprise that she was being ironic.

"But you," he said, "you live among Muggles."

"My parents are Muggles, yes," she said. "As is my sister, as are my aunts and uncles and what's left of my grandparents. And all my old friends."

He didn't speak. He couldn't imagine growing up without magic. He wondered how her family had reacted when she got her letter of admission from Hogwarts.

"Anyway," she said, "you'll only have to meet the immediate family this evening. And probably only the parents. Petunia – that's my sister; she's older than me – she hasn't been around much lately."

Severus was surprised to learn that Evans had a sibling at all. She had never talked about this sister, and he had assumed that she, like he, was an only child. A thoughtless assumption.

"My parents are Robert and Frida. Dad's a writer. He compiles technical texts and indexes them and that kind of thing. I'm not exactly sure. Mum sews a lot; sometimes our neighbours come to her to have a dress done for their daughter's wedding or something."

When he didn't answer, she cleared her throat and continued. "What does your father do?"

Severus stiffened. "He is a banker in the international department at Gringotts," he said – which, as far as he knew, had been his father's business up until a couple of months ago.

"That's interesting." Evans seemed to perk up, oblivious to the lie. "Does that entail a lot of travel?"

"Sometimes, yes," said Severus.

"So he spends a lot of time away from home?"

Severus sighed. "Yes."

She must have mistaken his irritation for regret, because she glanced away at once and said, "Sorry. I'm getting nosy."

"No, it's fine," Severus said, and she glanced at him in utter shock. He understood the feeling: since when did he excuse anyone, even if they did apologize? He could have kicked himself. He looked the other way, and hoped she would forget the slip.

"Anyway," Evans said, having cleared her throat, "is there anything else you need to know about my Muggle family before you meet them?"

"Nothing I can immediately think of."

"All right. Well, if you do think of something, don't hesitate to ask. Your clothes look Muggle enough that Petunia won't freak, but I wouldn't talk much about magic in front of her. She… doesn't really…."

"She hates you, doesn't she?"

Evans started visibly. "Of course not!" she said, sounding earnestly surprised, and a little discomforted. "Why would you say a thing like that?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "She's a Muggle," he said.

Evan's puzzled expression turned into a scowl. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Severus rolled his eyes. He knew Evans better than to think that she was genuinely curious; he had the distinct feeling that she was being deliberately thick. "Oh please, Evans, spare me. You know Muggles hate us just as much as we hate them."

Evans stopped in the middle of the walk. "Now, you know that's not true," she said flatly. "You're putting too much of a generalization on things, Snape. Not all Muggles are like my sister. And I don't hate Muggles."

"Well, of course not," Severus snorted. "You did grow up with them, after all."

She looked a little hurt, and Severus had the grace to at least feel embarrassed, but when she spoke, her voice was controlled and neutral.

"Plenty other wizards can appreciate Muggles despite their being unmagical," she said. "And plenty Muggles can get along just fine with wizards."

"Name one," said Severus.

Evans was flustered, and sputtered a bit. "I – I can't," she said, blushing to match her hair. "Not off the top of my head. But this is a big world, Snape – and people are different. Believe me, there are more sympathetic Muggles out there than you think."

Severus scoffed, but before he could respond, she held out a hand to stop him, and said in a very different tone, "Here we are."

They stood before the small Evans house, which was painted a dark avocado and all but crushed between its neighbours. The garden was tiny but bloomed beautifully, and Severus noted with a wry smile that growing within there was no nightshade or mandrake or zedoary – or really anything but a fine collection of various-coloured full-blown roses. The front walk was narrow, but the green growing between the slabs of cement was neatly trimmed, and Severus found he didn't really mind the pure, cloying smell of the flowers.

Before him, Evans squeezed down the little path, and the roses, crawling in profusion out of their lot, nearly blocked her from view as he followed behind. And then they stood on the porch, and she was stowing her bike beside a pair of muddy green wellies and a porcupine-shaped boot-scraper. The door, painted a deep forest green, stood ajar, and from within the house Severus could hear the sounds of music and casual chatter.

He was suddenly filled with trepidation at the thought of what lay beyond that innocent doorway, and Evans noticed his hesitation and turned to glance back at him.

"First thing I'm going to do when I get in," she said fervently, "is get a glass of something cold. It's _hot_ out."

And she disappeared into the dim of the house.

She knew that tempting him with refreshments was sneaky, but she didn't care. She'd gone to enough trouble to get him this far, and she'd be damned if he turned back now. And, wonder of wonders, her ploy seemed to work – for he followed her in, stepping cautiously over the threshold as if he expected it to hold some Dark magic in store for trespassing Slytherins. But he entered more or less unscathed, and she could see his unease abate somewhat.

"Hey Mum," she called, swinging her satchel onto the steps and kicking off her shoes. "Mum, are you in?"

Her mother's voice came from the sitting room. "In here, hon."

Lily threw an encouraging smile to Snape – he seemed somewhat less than encouraged – and padded into the next room, where her mother was watering the potted plants that bloomed in abundance there. "Did you have a good time?" said Mrs Evans, not looking up from her watering can. Lily glanced once more at Snape, who still stood in the hallway, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dimness.

"Yes, it was wonderful," she said. "Um, I hope you don't mind – I brought home a guest."

Mrs Evans looked up at that, and Snape stepped forward as Lily made room for him in the doorway. "Quite all right," said Mrs Evans, though her face showed a little surprise. Lily smiled and made the introductions.

"Mum, this is Severus Snape – he's in my year at Hogwarts." Turning to Snape, she said, "This is my mother, Frida Evans."

Mrs Evans set down her watering can and fisted her hands on her hips. "Pleasure to meet you, Severus," she said. "I do believe Lily's mentioned you before."

"He's the one who brought my Potions grade up to an O," Lily said.

"Will you be staying for dinner?" said Mrs Evans.

"If it is not objectionable," said Snape, and Lily just barely contained a snort of laughter at his stiff tone. Mrs Evans looked similarly amused.

"We'd be pleased to have you," she said. "Dinner won't be ready for a while yet – the casserole's still in the oven. And Lily – Petunia's bringing a friend or two, I hope you don't mind – "

"It's fine," said Lily, but she wondered if it would be. She remembered very clearly the Christmas dinner, and tried not to visibly cringe. "Um. How long do you think it'll be until we eat?"

"Oh, forty-five minutes or so."

"Okay." She turned to address Snape, who was looking decidedly lost. "Let's go get something to drink."

They went to the kitchen, and she opened up the icebox to peer inside. "Orange juice, milk, cola. Take your pick."

"Cola?" said Snape dubiously.

"Pepsi-Cola. Pop. It's good," she added, and took two frosty bottles from the icebox. She rummaged through a drawer for the bottle opener.

"Why don't we go upstairs," she said, popping off the cap off one bottle and handing it to Snape.

"What's upstairs?" he said as he sniffed gingerly at the open mouth of the bottle.

"Stuff. Come on."

"This is my room," she said, opening up a door in the hallway. "It's little." She went in, flipping a switch on the wall – Severus flinched as a bright yellow light snapped on. "Those," she said, gesturing toward a cardboard box sitting atop a large wooden chest at the end of the bed, "are my pride and joy. Here." She indicated what looked like a plush saucer balanced atop a wicker frame. "You can sit if you want. Do you know what an LP is?"

He sat down on the saucer – it was much more comfortable than it looked – and shook his head.

"I didn't think you would. I'll show you."

Evans went over to a boxy device balanced on an end table on the other side of the room and depressed a button. A large black disk on top of the device began to slowly rotate. She adjusted a bar of plastic so its head rested atop the spinning black disk, and for a moment there was a crackling sound. Then, music.

"This is the latest Pink Floyd album," she said. "It's called _Wish You Were Here._ It just came out this month."

"Ah," said Severus, who had just taken his first sip of cola and had been rather surprised by all the bubbles.

"Here, check out the sleeve," she said, and tossed him a rather large envelope. On the front was a photo of two men shaking hands. One of them was on fire.

"There's another sleeve inside," said Evans, and Severus pulled it out and examined it.

At length he handed it back wordlessly.

"So," she said, flopping down on the bed, drawing a pillow up under her chin. "How long have you been working at that apothecary?"

"Since the third day back."

"Ah. You're quick. Does it pay well?"

"It's adequate."

"I should get a job. I'm just too lazy, I guess. So, where do you live?"

"I told you before."

"I mean, which street?"

"Why?" he said suspiciously.

"So I can send a Howler to your house, berating you for being so difficult," she said, but there was no true irritation in her voice – at least, not that Severus could tell. "Because I'd like to know."

Severus' breath hissed noisily through his teeth. "I'd rather not say," he said.

Evans shrugged. "Okay." Then: "Finished all your holiday assignments yet?"

Severus shook his head. "No."

"Me neither. I've still got the essays for Professor Helvetii and Professor Binns."

Severus scoffed at the mention of the ghostly teacher. He'd learned more about wizarding history in an afternoon of perusing his father's old library than he had in four years of classes with Binns.

"What've you got left?"

"Patina's, Edwards' and Flitwick's."

"Any idea what you're going to do for Charms?"

"Don't know," he said, taking a drink of cola. It was cold, and the bubbles stung his throat in what he decided was a satisfying way. "Probably something on Transliteration spells."

"_Scribendi,_"said Evans.

"No, _narrativum._"

"The first one's more efficient."

"Hm."

Severus leaned back in the chair, tipping his chin up as he rested his head on the rim of the saucer. Evans was silent; he could hear the words of the song –

_  
...Come on you boy child, you winner and loser, come on you miner for truth and delusion, and shine!_

Somewhere downstairs, a door opened and slammed shut. On the bed, Evans smiled and sat up. "Dad's home," she said, and got to her feet.

He followed her out of the room and down the stairs. But halfway down she stopped, and he heard her mutter, "Oh, rats. It's Petunia."

"Lily?"

"Up here," Evans sighed, and continued down the stairs.

Standing in the hall below was a bony girl dressed in jeans and a plain blue t-shirt, her blonde hair falling around her face in tight pin-curls. She looked faintly ill-at-ease, and her face had a certain pinched quality about it that denoted some lasting sort of tension. Severus knew she was trouble.

"Oh, you're home," said the blonde girl – Evans' sister – and she frowned a little. "I've brought a friend; he'll be staying for supper."

"So've I," said Evans, and glanced back at Severus.

"I see," said the other girl, in frigid tones. Severus raised an eyebrow.

"Petunia, this is Severus Snape. Um, Severus, this is my older sister, Petunia."

"Vernon's in the kitchen," said Petunia, disregarding Severus but for a cold look. "Is Dad home yet?"

"No – who's Vernon?"

A rosy tint lit up the blonde girl's cheeks. "A friend," she said stiffly, and when Severus arched an eyebrow, she scowled at him. "What're you smirking at, freak?" she snapped.

Both of Severus' eyebrows shot up at that. "It's an interesting way you Muggles have of greeting guests in your homes," he said coolly. "Perhaps it's just us wizards, but I'm not accustomed to such rudeness. You'll forgive me if I balk."

"Lily," said the blonde girl, "I swear I shall not eat with that creature sitting at the same table."

Severus jumped, not because of the girl's less-than-flattering words but because Evans the younger had laid a hand on his arm as she addressed her sister. He was so surprised that he missed the first half of her scolding.

"…no need to be like that," Evans was saying, sounding highly irritated and not just a little embarrassed. "I've never been so rude to your guests."

Evans the elder snorted and flounced out of the hallway.

Beside him, the red-haired girl heaved a silent sigh. "I'm so sorry," she muttered at last, removing her hand from his arm. "She's usually not that hostile. Don't know what got into her."

"She's a Muggle, Evans," said Severus, suddenly uncomfortable. "I didn't expect anything else."

Evans' flashing green eyes met his. "But you should have," she said, and he was surprised to hear a note of anger in her voice. "That's no excuse, Severus. We're people, too – just because we don't have wizarding parents doesn't mean we should forget our manners."

"They're all the same," said Severus. Her use of his given name hadn't gone unnoticed, and now he was even more uncomfortable.

"What, you think my parents are like her?" Evans snapped. But her fierce expression immediately softened, and she touched her hand hesitantly to his arm again. "I'm sorry," she said for the second time in as many minutes. "I didn't mean to lash out. Please, Snape – don't hold it against her. I know she was dreadfully rude, but she's my sister, and I love her anyway, even if I don't particularly like her."

Severus sighed. "I'll mind my manners," he acquiesced.

"I expected nothing less of you," she murmured, and took him by the arm into the parlour.

Dinner was an uneasy affair. Mr Evans arrived home soon after Petunia, and he seemed quite pleased to meet Snape, but the evening pretty much went downhill from there.

Vernon, as it turned out, was a hulking lump of a young man who seemed to possess a rugby ball for a brain. Needless to say, he wasn't extremely tactful, and he took an immediate dislike for Snape, who only returned the sentiment. But Lily was proud of him, and knew that he had made a much better impression on her parents than Vernon could ever hope to make. For one thing, Snape possessed the valuable ability to maintain a conversation for more than thirty seconds without bringing up the subject of rugby or football, and that was a welcome contrast to Vernon's contributions to the conversation. This wasn't to say that Snape was particularly talkative, but he spoke civilly and intelligently enough when addressed.

Lily was also quite relieved when he proved himself quite adept at dodging pesky questions that might give away one of those jealously-guarded secrets concerning their mutual nature and education. She got the sneaking suspicion that Petunia had let on about her sister's expensive boarding school, and Vernon proved to be quite curious about the nature of Lily's education, so the young witch and wizard spent a harrowing meal evading anything that smelled like the truth.

She was immensely glad when the meal ended and Vernon announced that he had to leave. Petunia saw him out to his car and returned to the house some minutes later looking quite grumpy.

The parents had retired to the upstairs bedroom. Lily was sitting in the parlour with Snape, who was watching the television with some interest. She stood as her sister entered, hoping to avoid the girl, but she was too late. Petunia marched up to her and hissed in her face, "_You're damn lucky._"

This wasn't what Lily had been expecting to hear, and she inquired in surprise, "What?"

But Petunia had already stormed away, heading toward her bedroom, no doubt. Lily glanced over her shoulder at Snape, who was regarding her with a hooded expression.

"_He_ was damn lucky," he said, no inflection whatsoever in his voice. His left hand had gone to his right sleeve, where Lily could see the end of his wand poking out of his buttoned white cuff.

"God," Lily muttered, and sat down on the floor beside him, wrapping her arms around her knees. "It was awful."

He was silent a moment. "It could've been worse."

"Not by much." She gave a bleak laugh, and grabbed a pillow off the couch and lay back on the brown carpet, staring up at the ceiling. "Sorry it was so awful."

"Don't apologize." He sounded stiff, and she glanced at him – his gaze was focused on the wall clock above their heads. "If anyone should, it's me."

"Why?"

He glanced at her, a wry smirk twisting his mouth. "Because I crashed your party."

Lily snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. It was her fault."

"Hmm." He turned away, and Lily reached out to touch his bare hand. She saw him start, and a dash of colour spring suddenly to his cheeks.

"I should be going," he said suddenly, and began to get to his feet.

Lily sat up immediately and grabbed his sleeve before he could stand. "Oh, don't go yet," she said in cajoling tones, but he slowly untangled his sleeve from her fingers and stood.

"If I don't leave now…."

Lily sighed. "All right. But, would you like something to drink before you go?"

He shrugged, and when she held out a hand he didn't hesitate in helping her up, though he looked a little surprised afterward. She thought his hand was very warm.

She got him another Pepsi, and he left then, after a brief but comfortable good-bye. She stood at the door and watched him disappear into the gloom of the evening.


	14. chapter fourteen

**See chapter one for all disclaimers.**

A/N: Okay, I officially love Regulus Black. Not only is he one of my favourite characters to write, but also… well, I don't want to spoil anything for those people who haven't yet read HBP, but those of you who have….

I am shutting up now.

But speaking of HBP, I have a few questions for those of you who've read it (don't worry, I'm not going to spoil in this chapter – but next chapter might not be so safe). Should I change it so it's canonical? I read the Book and discovered that I can keep this totally canonical after changing only a few minor details – if you want to vote, please stop by my LiveJournal and put in your two cents.

Also, I think I'm going to need a beta reader pretty soon. Anyone up to the task?

I'd like to thank my wonderful reviewers and dedicate this to the person who came to my journal and bugged me to get this thing posted. Thank you; I needed that.

As for this chapter, please enjoy. At fifteen pages, it's a little longer than usual, but I think y'all can handle it. ;-)

**chapter fourteen**

She visited the apothecary frequently, despite his half-hearted urging her to stop. She brought him things – conversation, mostly, but occasionally a book or a tin of biscuits she herself had made from scratch. She invited him home again, but he declined both times, saying that he had prior obligations. In truth, he was uncomfortable over at the Evans' home, where her parents were intrusive and her sister was odious and Evans was far too solicitous about his home life.

Then, one day in early August, he received his letter from Hogwarts which informed him that he had been elected prefect for Slytherin. How he had managed it was beyond him; it was true that his grades were exemplary, but he certainly hadn't been winning any popularity contests in his previous four years at the school, and generally the prefects were people the rest of the house looked up to.

Of course, no one in Slytherin really looked up to anybody else, or so it was Severus' understanding. He could only guess that Maria had put in a good word for him. Whatever the case, he was both pleased and apprehensive, for he knew as well as anyone that the public was prone to scrutinize those in positions of power, and he could well imagine what might come of that. He'd worked for four years at being invisible, and for the most part, he was quite good at it. He supposed it would be for the best, though. After all, he couldn't very well hide from confrontation for the entirety of his life – and this might be fun, if he was vigilant and stayed on top of Potter and Black. But vigilant he'd have to be, and keep his eyes open constantly if he wanted to succeed.

It came as less of a surprise to discover that Evans had been made the Gryffindor prefect. She wandered into the apothecary that same afternoon, flushed from the exertion of her walk and positively glowing. Severus ignored Catilina's smirk when he greeted the girl civilly and they exchanged congratulations – hers bubbling with delight, his more reserved but not lacking in sincerity. She apologized for not coming to see him sooner – he waved away her explanation before she could offer it, stating that he hadn't expected her to come see him – and was it his imagination, or did she looked wounded at that?

Catilina broke in then to inform Evans half-seriously that if she insisted on coming in and interrupting her pupil at his work, she'd be forced to dock his pay, and Evans backed away, apologizing profusely, and Severus went into the store room to continue his work, leaving the ladies to themselves. He wasn't worried – Catilina could be sharp, but he was confident that Evans could handle herself. He picked up where he left off on his Somnifacient Tonic.

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"I'm perfectly serious, girl. Severus is a hard worker, and I'm sure he appreciates interruptions in his work even less than I do."

Lily twitched uncomfortably. "I know that now, ma'am. I'm sorry. I won't do it again. But surely, you must understand me – I don't know where he lives, and he won't tell me – "

"Perhaps that is best," said Catilina. "At least one of you has some sense."

The girl frowned, and lowered her voice. "I don't think it's good for him, to leave him to his own devices. And I'm his friend. I couldn't allow him to do himself harm."

"Severus can take care of himself, girl. And frankly, I think that you'll do him more harm than good. You're in for trouble with that one. One thing he really doesn't need is an attachment."

"Oh," Lily said, blushing a little. "I'm not really that attached to him."

Laughter bubbled up out of the witch's throat. "Ah, the naivety of youth! Believe that, if it makes you comfortable. But no, what I meant was that _he's_ the one who might endanger himself with affection, if you understand me."

Lily's blush deepened, and she scowled. "I'm afraid I don't, actually," she said, and the other witch shook her head, a sad smile playing over her lovely lips.

"Oh, you'll learn," she said softly as Lily backed away. "You'll learn."

Lily left.

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She did her school shopping that afternoon and didn't return again to Diagon Alley. It wasn't until September first that she would see him again, and she was uncertain about how she should react – was she to behave toward him as she had through the summer, or, now that she was under the scrutiny of her friends, should she turn a cold shoulder? But the answer to that question was obvious: she would behave as she always had, and let James and the others make what they would of it. She wasn't sure what Snape thought, but she regarded him as a friend, and she wasn't about to let go of that because her other acquaintances disapproved.

But when she first saw him on the train, her courage failed her, and she all but ignored him. Irrationally, she felt slighted when he did the same, and she retaliated by fussing over Remus, who had also been made prefect. She indulged in spiteful pleasure when she saw a scowl twist Snape's face.

The prefects initially met in a designated compartment to receive their orders from the Head Boy and Girl. Lily sat with Remus, truly delighted that he had been made prefect, but was somewhat less than pleased when she saw Bellatrix Black walk into the compartment, a self-satisfied smirk on her moon-pale face, to sit down by Snape. She did notice that Snape was even less pleased by this, but she didn't comment.

The Head Boy and Girl – Daniel McLuhan, a Gryffindor, and Amelia Andrews, a Ravenclaw – came in and gave them their instructions. It was fairly simple; when they got to school, they were in charge of escorting the first-years to their dormitories after the feast, and until then, throughout the trip, they were to occasionally patrol the corridors of the train.

This latter order was met with less enthusiasm: the corridors of the train were, as on all trains, incredibly narrow, being at the most only two feet wide, which was plenty of room for one Lily-sized person, but it made things awkward if two people wanted to pass at the same time.

After the meeting, Lily went back up the train to find Cordelia and Eliza. They shared a compartment with Helen and Lara, who wasn't nagging Cordelia for once. Lily was glad to catch up with her friends. She felt slightly guilty for not telling them the highlights of her own summer – well, they wouldn't appreciate that she'd befriended Snape, would they? It'd be more trouble than it was worth to explain everything, and she didn't feel like defending Snape at the moment anyway.

So instead she let her friends talk, and she relaxed, allowing the swaying of the moving train to lull her into a sense of peace and well-being.

Things progressed like this for some hours, until Eliza reminded her of her prefect duties. Lily sighed to herself and stood, telling the girls that she'd be back in a few minutes, and left the compartment to patrol the corridors.

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Severus was not happy.

Generally, this statement wouldn't have surprised anyone. Severus was rarely happy; more often than not, he was out of sorts in some manner or another. But he was exceptionally cross now, for a number of reasons.

One, Bellatrix Black was his fellow prefect. He couldn't stand the girl, and avoided her at all costs. This was going to be difficult now.

Two, Evans' behaviour in the prefect compartment. He had half-believed that she would, if not openly acknowledge him, at least give some indication that she'd been serious about her associations with him over the summer, that it hadn't just been some fling born of holiday boredom. (Not, he assured himself hurriedly, that he'd expected anything _romantic_ to come of it, but the twinge of hurt he'd felt when she'd all but plastered herself to Lupin was enough to let him know that he'd let her get too close. He wouldn't let her do that again.)

And three, he was stuck in a compartment with Sirius Abominable Black's little brother.

"Who's going to be captain this year? Since Rookwood's out, I mean."

"Moon's captain," said Severus.

Black nodded, and chattered on. "And we've only lost one player. The Gryffindors've lost two, Young and that Leithart bloke. We'll only need a beater, and they'll need both a chaser and a keeper. That puts us at an advantage, doesn't it?"

"I suppose."

"I think I might try out for the team," said Black, and Severus looked at him sharply.

"Can you play?"

"Sure I can, I've been playing all my life."

Severus turned away. "Try out then," he said. "I won't stop you."

"I think my brother's considering trying out for the Gryffindor team. Wouldn't it be funny if he got picked?"

"That's not the adjective I would have chosen, but suit yourself."

"He really does hate you," said the younger Black brother, looking up at Severus with a bland expression on his boyish face.

"The sentiment is mutual, believe me," Severus muttered.

"But we'll beat them this year," Regulus stated confidently. "Last year was a fluke. You should've won – you were great."

Severus stood up suddenly.

"Where're you going?"

"To patrol the corridors," said Severus, and escaped.

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Lily hadn't encountered so much as an errant first-year in the quarter-hour that she'd been patrolling, and she was beyond simple boredom. It wasn't until she decided to return to her compartment that she stumbled upon him, stalking up from the opposite end of the train.

"Snape," she said.

"Evans," he replied unpleasantly. This time she wasn't surprised at his hostile tone.

"Enjoying your prefect duties?" She was half-repentant for her earlier behaviour, and put as much sympathy into her tone as she thought he could take – but he responded with a snarl.

"What's it to you?"

Lily frowned. "I'm sorry, I was just asking. Would you be a gentlemen and intrude on whoever is occupying that compartment so I can get past?"

"What gives you the idea that I would do that for you?" he said scathingly.

Lily shrugged. She knew what she was going to do, and even though she'd gotten relatively close to Snape over the summer, her next movement required a certain degree of guts to execute. "Suit yourself," she said, feigning casualness, and advanced to meet him.

Slipping her hands up to his shoulders, she turned sideways at the same time he did. With a little engineering of torsos and arms and legs, she had squeezed past him in one breathless moment. Now they stood facing each other, and she regarded his abashed expression with a faintly flushed look of triumph.

"Try that again, Evans, and I'll hex you," Snape growled, looking ruffled despite his intimidating tone.

Lily knew her face was flaming; she hoped that Snape was distracted enough not to notice. She struggled to maintain an even tone of voice. "Not if I hex you first," she said, though that was as ludicrous an idea as coaxing Snape to don Gryffindor colours. Snape had good reflexes. "I'll see you at school," she added, and hurried away, leaving him to scowl by himself in the corridor.

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Severus struggled to maintain an even pace down the passageway. He could still feel the warm pressure of her hands on his shoulders. The remembered sensation made his stomach lurch in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant. He shook his head – the impertinent chit; she'd better consider herself lucky that he still intended to tutor her, especially after her little – _display._

"Snape!"

Severus turned around. In his distracted agitation, he'd completely missed the right compartment. Regulus Black was leaning through the sliding door, his boyish face smiling pleasantly.

"I took the liberty of getting you some sweets from the trolley-witch," said the boy, and Severus scowled.

"Thank you," he said, spitting out the words.

"You're welcome," said Regulus, seemingly oblivious to his companion's irritation. "Pumpkin pasties, cauldron cakes, Ice Mice… come in and sit down. Surely you're done patrolling by now?"

Severus closed the compartment door behind him. "I am." He accepted the armful of snacks that Regulus forced upon him, and eyed the bright packaging suspiciously. He didn't say anything, but took a gold piece out of his robe pocket and flipped it to the Black boy.

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The remainder of the trip was uneventful. Lily fell asleep on the train, only to be shaken awake as the train drew near the station. She slithered into her school robes, and left the compartment, yawning widely. She held a door open for the other students, and down the side of the train, she could see her new fellow prefects doing the same.

It was a fine, clear night, with a south-western breeze gently warming the air. The first-years would have a pleasant trip across the glittering black lake, Lily thought, though she was glad to have the privilege of riding in one of the school carriages. Upon reaching the school, they went straight to the great hall, where they waited for the first-years to be sorted and the announcements to be spoken before they finally ate.

She was tired, and not looking forward to giving the new Gryffindors the grand tour of the Gryffindor Tower, but Remus was soft-spoken, and she knew he would be even more uncomfortable in the position of tour-guide than she. Thinking to do her friend a favour, she relieved him of most of the duty, and left him to simply show the boys to their dormitory.

It was late when she finally got to her own dormitory, and she collapsed into bed as soon as she managed to wriggle out of her school robes. Just barely awake enough to tug a nightgown over her head, she pulled the curtains shut around her bed, and fell asleep almost instantly.

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She woke early the next day and found her diary among the belongings the house elves had brought up and placed beside her bed. In the watery morning light, she sat amidst her rumpled white bedclothes, her mussed red hair tangling around her pale shoulders as she hunched over the little book and documented her return to her beloved school.

_We get our schedules today. I hope mine is convenient; it would be horrible to have an Herbology class right before a Charms or Divination lesson._

_I wonder if our charms club will still meet? Maria's not here anymore. I'm kind of disappointed; I wish I'd known her better. Maybe I can get her address from someone. Snape seemed rather familiar with her; perhaps he'll have it._

_God. Snape. I told myself I wasn't going to think about him, and now I am. I feel awful when I think of how I treated him on the train yesterday. I mean, I barely even acknowledged him. True, he did no more for me than I did for him, but still, I shouldn't have given in to my trepidation about James finding out. I'm a wretched girl._

_I'm hungry. I think I'll go down to the Great Hall and have breakfast._

She ate alone, and when she had finished, she went and got her schedule from Professor McGonagall. She looked it over anxiously.

"Well, that's fortunate," she said to herself, noting happily that Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures – both oftentimes messy lessons – occurred at the end of a day. She was somewhat less pleased to see that her first class was Divination, a lesson which she loathed utterly.

"Hi, Prefect Lil!"

Lily glanced up to see Cordelia settling down across from her. Her friend was wearing a red sweater beneath her black school robes.

"Morning. Whaddya need?"

"Eggs," said Cordelia succinctly, and was joined momentarily by Eliza. Eliza looked more awake than Lily felt. Her hair was still wet from her shower, the thick blonde curls twisted back tightly into a ponytail. Lily could see that those curls were already beginning to frizz as they dried.

Eliza sat down beside Cordelia, and the girls exchanged pleasantries before beginning their breakfast.

"You've your schedule already?" said Cordelia some time later as she mopped up egg with a soggy piece of toast.

Lily handed it over for inspection.

"Elective first," said Cordelia. "Well, I guess that means I have to go get my schedule now."

Each class, which was comprised of students from the same year and house, took all their mandatory classes together, with particular hours allotted for each student's three chosen electives. This meant that Cordelia could not just glance at her friend's schedule to see which class she had first; her electives were different from Lily's, and thus her schedule would be different.

Lily nodded, and Cordelia, having polished off her toast, went out of the Hall.

Eliza and Lily finished their own breakfasts and parted. Lily was out of breath when she arrived at Professor Vectis', and quite content to doze through the lesson, which was mostly comprised of the Divination professor outlining the course that would follow over the next months. Lily was exceedingly glad with the class was finished, and went to Transfiguration, happy to be out of the stuffy little tower room that was Professor Vectis' domain.

The day progressed well. The Gryffindor fifth-years had Potions immediately following lunch, and Lily was pleased to see Professor Eberwulf after the long summer. He gave them a writing assignment, which was to list the eight ethical concerns that addressed potions-working; Lily couldn't help but think of Snape when she received her assignment, and wondered what he had to say on the subject of the ethical concerns, and what he would make of the assignment. But she soon pushed thoughts of that sort out of her mind; she found that thinking of Snape did strange things to her head, not to mention her temper.

She was glad to get out-of-doors to her Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology lessons, which, surprisingly, left her not half as filthy as they usually did. Professor Kettleburn's lesson covered a highly entertaining ferret-like creature called a jarvey, whose curses were strong enough to turn a sailor's ears blue, and whose behaviour was met with much amusement on behalf of the students. Matthew Kettleburn sustained several nips from the temperamental animals, but on the whole the lesson was quite enjoyable, and even Lily found herself laughing when one of the jarveys screamed that the professor was a "blasted sonowah misbegotten manticore" and scampered beneath the gamekeeper's nearby hut.

Herbology was taken in Greenhouse Five, and was rather nerve-wracking, being that there were several carnivorous plants in there that had something of an appetite and weren't exactly picky about what wandered into (or who was actively sought out by) their podlike, toothy heads. But, provided that the Graecian Ivies were strictly avoided, a student could get along quite well under Professor Sprout's no-nonsense instruction, and the lesson was quite enjoyable, despite the humidity.

Nevertheless, Lily was quite glad when she could finally get back up to the castle and take a long, cool shower. When she emerged from the bathrooms, dressed but hair still dripping, she was in a very good mood, and decided to take her studying outside. She went to her usual spot under the tree by the lake, and happily ensconced herself in her schoolwork.

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She was working on Eberwulf's essay when she was interrupted. The voice was familiar, but vaguely so – she had to turn to place the speaker, and when she did, she was taken by surprise.

"Oh, hello, Regulus!"

Grinning, the Black boy skipped down the side of the rock outcropping and came up short beside her. "Hi, Evans. I mean Lily. What're you doing?"

"Schoolwork," she said. "What about you? Don't you have work to do?"

The boy shrugged nonchalantly. "Only a bit. Can I sit down?"

"I don't know, can you?" said Lily, and Regulus laughed and plopped down beside her. He soon proceeded to pluck up a blade of grass and shred it with his fingernails.

"So how was your summer?" he said conversationally. "You didn't write to me."

Lily raised her eyebrows. Had she agreed to write to him? "I'm sorry if you expected me to," she said. "If it matters that much, next time I will."

"Well, I could've written too, I suppose," he said, and gave a peculiar one-shouldered shrug that reminded her forcefully of Snape. (She hastily pushed the ensuing mental image out of her mind.) "So I really can't say anything."

"How was your summer?" Lily asked in return, and added, wondering what kind of pastimes this kid indulged in, "Play much Quidditch?"

Regulus shrugged. "Sometimes," he said. "When I get a chance. We have a house in London, so we don't have a field or anything. But Sirius was gone half the summer over at Potter's to play. He didn't invite me." Far from sounding genuinely left-out, Regulus' mouth was downturned in a mock-pout, and his voice was exaggeratedly bereft. Lily almost got the impression that he was _flirting_ with her – and she had to laugh; he was so very much like his brother.

"To be honest, Quidditch isn't really my thing," she said.

"Except when Slytherin's playing," said Regulus casually, and Lily's breath caught in her throat. She glared at the boy sitting beside her – his eyes glittered in a distinctly un-boyish way – and said, "Now, you know a gentleman wouldn't dream of implying such a thing," she said.

Regulus merely laughed, and said, "I won't tell anyone, don't worry."

"I wouldn't worry anyway," said Lily archly, "because there's nothing at all to tell."

"Mm-hmm," said the boy, his tone insinuating. But then he brightened, and said, "You know that both our houses will bee recruiting new players this year?"

"Yes," said Lily; "I heard something like that from James and your brother. Are you thinking of trying out?"

Regulus squirmed a bit. "Actually," he said, "I was thinking something along those lines. But I'm not sure if they'd pick me – I'm not a very good player, you see."

A Slytherin admitting to insecurity? Lily never would have imagined it.

"Well, there's no harm in trying out, is there?" said Lily.

"Depends on whether or not you get picked," said Regulus, and laughed wickedly.

Lily stretched out her legs and crossed her ankles. Her pleated skirt brushed the tops of her knees, and she folded her arms beneath her breasts, glad for the cool breeze that brushed past, making stray red hair dance and tickle her cheeks.

"Is your brother thinking of trying out?" she asked. "Do you know?"

"Oh, he's been chattering about it non-stop," said Regulus with a roll of his eyes. "I keep thinking – what if he tries out, and gets picked, and what if I do the same? That would be funny, I think, to play against him."

Lily made a noncommittal noise, unsure of what to say.

"He'd pound me if he got a chance," he said cheerily, as if the thought didn't concern him at all. Who knew, Lily thought; perhaps it really didn't. Slytherins were odd.

"What year are you in?" Lily asked suddenly. She had an inkling, but she couldn't remember exactly –

"Third," said Regulus promptly.

Lily nodded. "So this year's your first for electives. What've you got?"

"Oh," said Regulus, and assumed a meditative pose, "let's see." He began ticking them off on his fingers. "I've got… Ancient Runes… Arithmancy… and – um – Care of Magical Creatures. Why? What do you have?"

"Divination, Arithmancy, and Care of. But I'm trying to transfer out of Divination, because honestly, it sucks."

Regulus belly-laughed. Lily was sure that the people on the other side of the grounds could hear him. "Yeah, I've heard that," he said, once he'd calmed down enough to speak. "They say that the only difference between Vectis and Binns is that Vectis is a woman."

Lily smirked. "I take it you don't see much in Divination?"

"Smoke and mirrors," said Regulus, waving a hand dismissively. "I didn't really want to take Care of Magical Creatures, either, but it was either that or Div or Muggle Studies – and quite frankly, my mother would never let me take that. She says that Frame's a cuckoo; has New Ideas about Muggles. Thinks that wizards should look up to them or something."

Lily stiffened a little. It was clear that Regulus was not a fan of Muggles. "Muggles are people, too," she said defensively.

Regulus snorted. "Barely," he said, and caught a glimpse of her expression. His tone softened a bit. "Sorry, Evans, I know you're Muggleborn – but I honestly can see the use of them. They've given nothing to the world, have they?"

"I beg your pardon," Lily said in surprise. "Haven't you ever heard of electricity? Or automobiles?"

Regulus made a sort of 'pfft' sound and waved an irritated hand. "Mere substitutes for what magic can naturally provide. That eclectic stuff is unnatural."

"Electric," Lily corrected. "And it's not unnatural. Muggles harness the powers of the elements to assist them. Electric power, hydroelectric power, nuclear power – and that's just technology, Regulus. I haven't even gotten started on the arts. Ever heard of Michelangelo? da Vinci? Or what about Shakespeare? Moliere? Even wizards enjoy their plays. And Homer, and Aristotle, and all the rest – "

"Homer was a wizard," said Regulus chidingly. Lily glared.

"That's inconsequential," she snapped. "More than half of the Greats were Muggles. Wizards and Muggles alike have enjoyed their works for centuries! How can you say that Muggles have no place in our society?"

Regulus patted the air, a soothing gesture. "Let's not talk of it, Evans," he said. "I can see that this is one subject we'll just have to agree to disagree about."

Lily sighed huffily. "You're taking the easy way out, Black," she said. "You know I'm right."

"Ha," said the boy; "I don't think so. I just don't want to argue."

Lily eyed him suspiciously, but he was getting up, brushing the dirt off the back of his slacks. When he had finished straightening himself up, he turned to her, a pleasant smile on his face. "I hope you don't hate me for my beliefs," he said, sounding sincere, and offered a hand to her. It was pink and smooth, and the only blemish Lily could see was a dark blotch on his thumb and the first two fingers of his right hand, where his quill rested. "You know that I don't hold your parentage against you. You couldn't help your parents any more than I can help who my brother is. I hope we can still be friends."

Lily studied him for a moment, squinting in the glare of the sun, which was sinking behind him. Finally, she spoke up. "I knew that being friends with any Slytherin would never be easy," she said, "but I like a challenge." And she shook his proffered hand, and he beamed at her, his pale blue eyes glittering as the lake did in the setting sun.

And then he left, picking his way back over the stony little bluff that hid her spot from view, and when he was gone Lily tried to relax. But it was no use; her nerves were agitated now, and inwardly she burned at the thought of anyone disregarding Muggles as being useless – for even though she had accepted Regulus' offer of peace, she still couldn't ignore the fact that any acquaintance of hers would think such things of those who were her kin.

She scowled at the books and parchment sitting beside her. Blast, she still had homework, and now she was all riled up. If only there was something she could do to change the wizarding world's opinion toward Muggles and their magical offspring

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The rest of the week was enjoyable, if a bit harrying. The sheer load of OWL-preparatory homework was enough to stagger even the sturdiest of studiers, and even Lily, whom most regarded as overachieving, was nearly overwhelmed.

She didn't have much time for inter-house relationships that first week. She saw Snape in the halls occasionally, and though they sat in isles parallel to each other in Arithmancy on Tuesdays and Thursdays, she still hadn't mustered up the courage to say more than a simple 'Good afternoon' to him.

In truth, she was still embarrassed about her behaviour on the train. She was certain that the cold shoulder Snape was now giving her was the direct result of that behaviour, and Lily knew that she deserved every moment of his antipathy. Nonetheless, the situation made her quite miserable, and she wished heartily that she could make amends – but _how,_ when the person with whom one wanted to make amends ignored one so well that even a distance of a metre was as good as a hundred?

Hence, Lily was somewhat more than surprised – and rather more than a little glad – when he approached her in the library Saturday morning.

She had gotten up early to peruse the school library before it was flooded with schoolwork-laden students. She'd finished all her own assignments but one, and now she was catching up on her reading. It was comfortable to be ensconced among the stacks, watching the occasional book flicker past, guided by the librarian's most frequently used Replacement Spell. The library was dirty, as all libraries are, but in the golden morning light that streamed through the high windows to pool on the floor like so many pools of amber honey, the motes in the air sparkled and danced on phantom breezes like the fairies of Lily's youthful imagination.

It was as she sat there, totally absorbed in her book, her girlishly stockinged legs tucked up beneath her in one of the ancient, well-worn tartan sofas, morning sun turning the fine hairs on her arms to gold – it was then that a slight movement alerted her to a foreign presence, and she glanced up to see Snape, his hand resting on the arm of the sofa, a cautious distance away from her elbow.

She stifled the scream that would have attracted Madame Pince's attention, and put her hand to her breast in an effort to quiet her dancing heart. "Oh," she whispered, and her book flopped shut in her lap, "Snape, you scared me."

"That'll be the first thing on our list of things to study," he said, frowning slightly as he moved to sit in the armchair across from her. "Your reflexes. They're awful."

"I'm a student, Snape," she snapped, her temper returning as she recovered from her fright, "not an Auror."

"You're a minority in an age of prejudice," Snape corrected in a surprisingly steady tone. "Do you want to survive your fifth year?"

Lily was wondering why she'd been so fired up to apologize to him.

"Is this really necessary?" she asked tiredly.

His coffee-black eyes flashed at her bored tone. "Evans – "

She could sense a lecture coming on, and decided she'd had enough. "Listen, Snape," she said. "this arguing will get us nowhere. Come here." She patted the cushion beside her. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

Snape opened his mouth to speak, to perhaps protest, but she'd already snapped her fingers, and a house elf had cracked into existence. Lily winced – she'd forgotten how much noise they made – but she gave it her directions anyway, and in the time it took for Snape to get up and come to sit in the chair beside her, it had returned bearing a tray with two saucers, two teacups, a dish of sugar lumps, a tiny pitcher of cream, a plate with a few lemon wedges on it, and a steaming teapot, muffled by a red and green tea-cosy. It set the tray on the little end-table between the two prefects' chairs, and Lily immediately began the process of pouring tea.

"Cream?" she said, and when he inclined his head, she poured a small amount into the bottom of one of the cups, and then added the tea on top. "Sugar?" she asked him, and he nodded; "One lump or two?" and he held up a single finger. She used her fingers for the sugar – there were no tongs to be found among the articles on the tray – and then handed him his cup and saucer.

He accepted it, careful of the rapidly-heated china, and sniffed it gingerly. "I can make my own tea," he said, as she poured tea into her own cup and added sugar and a squeeze of lemon; but she did not reply, and he didn't press the issue.

For a brief interlude, they sat and sipped their tea in silence. Lily was mollified, and hoped (futilely) that Snape was too. But he had only finished half of his tea when he set down his cup and saucer, looked her squarely in the eye, and said, quite plainly, "When do you believe you'll be available for Defence lessons?"

Lily coughed as her tea went down the wrong way. When she had calmed herself, she spoke, eyes watering: "Good grief, Snape. Can't you drop it?"

"No."

Lily rolled her eyes and flopped weakly back on the sofa. "Maybe I don't want to take your lessons," she said.

"Don't fool yourself," said Snape, not at all bothered by her careless tone of voice. "You need them, and you know it. Besides," he added eloquently, "you are intrigued."

Lily scoffed, but did not verbally deny his claim. "Supposing I agree," she said after a moment. "Suppose that's what I do. What's in it for you? What do I have to do?"

"We went over that before," he said sharply. "I need – a sparring partner, if you will. It's no secret that you need instruction. And I need practice. We'll mutually gain."

Lily thought about this for a long moment.

Then: "But do you need a sparring partner more than I need an instructor?"

He arched an eyebrow. "What are you insinuating?"

"What about potions?" she said. "And before you say anything, I know what you said. You said I'm advanced enough. But I'm not. I want to advance more. I really do want to work on my potions technique. I noticed a distinct drop in my control last year when you stopped tutoring me in favour of teaching me philosophy." Her eyes were narrowed. "I want my potions lessons back."

This was apparently the last thing Snape had expected to hear, for his face registered more surprise than Lily was accustomed to ever have seen. How could she have taken him off guard? She'd been certain he knew how much she valued those lessons….

He regained his composure soon enough, and was shaking his head before Lily could speak again. "No," he said. "I told you last year. Not until you've boosted your skills in Defence. And I hardly think it'd be fair, anyway – that I should give you both defence and potions lessons and you not provide anything by way of recompense."

Lily's eyebrows arched. "Transfiguration lessons," she suggested, but he vetoed that immediately.

"I am quite satisfied with my talent in those respects," he said, and then added, somewhat stiffly, "You were an apt instructor. But," he went on, before Lily could properly marvel at the compliment, "the defence lessons alone would, I believe, be rewarding to both of us. I've seen your work in the classroom before, Evans, and I know that while you are semi-competent, you could be much more than that." After a moment of hesitation, he added, "Do consider accepting my offer."

Lily sighed, long and windily. Snape was still, and merely regarded her with those inscrutable eyes of his over the rim of his teacup as she waged mental war on her own sensibilities.

But in the end, she broke down, as she secretly knew she would. "Okay. All right, I accept. But – but you have to promise me – "

His gaze sharpened. "Promise what?"

Lily frowned. "Promise me that we won't do anything that could lead to trouble. I don't want Professor Dumbledore to find out that we've been – I don't know – summoning demons, or, or sneaking out into the Forbidden Forest to look for pogrebins, or – "

Snape shook his head emphatically. "No, no, no. Nothing like that. Mainly I want to focus on duelling. Those books I lent you last year – "

"Yes?"

" – We're done with those. We'll start practicing kinetic magic first thing. How are Sunday evenings?"

"Not Sundays," said Lily hurriedly. "I want Sundays to be free. Saturday evenings."

"Starting tonight?"

Lily was a little startled, but acquiesced. "Um, sure. Should I bring – "

"Just your wand," he said.

"What time? An hour before dinner?"

"Make that right after dinner," he said. "I don't want to be constrained to a single hour." With that, he set down his half-full teacup and made to stand up.

She caught at his sleeve before he could rise. "Wait a second," she said. "Stay – finish your tea."

"We have concluded our business," said Snape, sounding bemused and a little stubborn as he drew his sleeve out of her grip.

"So? You don't have any pressing engagements, do you?"

"No, but – "

"Finish your tea, then," Lily interrupted. "Indulge me in some extracurricular conversation."

Snape heaved a put-upon sigh, but he plucked up his cup and saucer again, and Lily was appeased for the moment.

"So," she said, watching him drink his tea, "how has your week been?"

"Fine, thank you," he answered automatically, and Lily refrained from rolling her eyes.

"Are you still taking, um, Ancient Runes?"

"Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday," said Snape.

"How is that working out?" Lily asked.

Snape set his saucer down on the tray between them, and cupped his cooling tea in his long, curling fingers. "What do you mean?"

"Do you enjoy that class?" she clarified.

"It's all right," he said.

Lily thought that trying to have a conversation with Snape was exactly like pulling teeth. "Does Professor Edwards give you a lot of homework?"

"It adds to the load," said Snape, and Lily understood that to mean 'yes'. She decided to change the subject; apparently, this one didn't really interest Snape all that much.

"So," she said, "Quidditch. I hear our teams'll be needing new players this year. What do you think?"

"I think that it's odd that you should bring up the subject," said Snape calmly. "I wasn't aware that you were such a fan of the game."

"I've always come to my friends' games," said Lily. She decided to go out on a limb and add, "And I think it's a shame that you didn't win last year."

She saw his nostrils flare. "I don't want your pity, Evans," he said sharply.

Lily glared at him. "It's not pity, Snape," she said, emphasizing his surname. "I'm trying to be sociable. I really do regret the fact that we won last year – it gets boring after a while, you know. I imagine James would be horrified to learn that I'm essentially rooting for the other team. And don't look at me like that!" Snape had scowled at the mention of his arch-nemesis's name. "Potter's got to learn that I can have friends outside my own house."

"How's he to learn anything when you conceal your defiance so well?" Snape offered as a rejoinder.

Lily blushed; Snape was all too right. She soldiered on anyway. "I haven't quite worked my way up to that step yet," she protested. "But it's only a matter of time. And can't we have just one conversation without ending in argument? It's really beginning to irritate."

"You're telling me?" she heard him mutter under his breath.

"Look," she said, "I'm trying to be polite. But you make it almost impossible – !"

"I'm sorry for that," he said sarcastically, and Lily nearly saw red.

"Damn it, Snape!" she said, and regretted it; the librarian had finally taken notice of their little discussion, and came bustling over, hissing at them to shut up or leave. Snape took that as his cue.

Lily leapt to her feet, snapping her fingers and ordering the ensuing house elf to take away the tea things. She snatched up her book and followed Snape out of the library, skipping in her eagerness to catch up.

He swept down the deserted corridor outside, and she struggled to match his pace. "Wait a second," she said angrily, and only when she seized his arm did he turn to face her – but he didn't stop there, he seized her in turn, and drew back his left hand –

Lily slapped him. His black eyes went wide, and Lily was aware of the guncrack-sound echoing through the open corridor. She was almost to angry to speak, and glowered at him for a full thirty seconds in silence before she regained her wits.

"If this is how it is always going to be," she said, gritting out every word separately and slowly, so as to impress upon him that she meant what she said – "I refuse to work with you."

He opened his mouth, but when she held up a hand, he was still.

She continued. "I loved doing potions with you," she said, speaking in a more natural tone of voice. "It was quiet work, and we got along. But defence magic is much more kinetic, and is by nature fiery. I will not – I will _not_ do this if every lesson ends with us screaming at each other. I've done my best, but when you refuse to humble yourself it puts all of my efforts to waste. I can't keep the peace by myself. Please, for once, talk to me without sarcasm or – or rancour, and – pretend to be a human being!"

Snape's face was a livid mask. "You _dare – _" he began, and she saw his hand go for his sleeve, where he kept his wand.

Lily turned abruptly, facing her back to him. "Go ahead," she said softly. "Curse me. Do it while my back's turned. Convince me that you're just like them. Believe me, Snape, it'd make my next decision so much easier to make."

She realized with a surge of horror that her eyes were wet, and that she was crying. She knew that it would be more embarrassing to turn and face him now than it would to be found by some random passer-by, face down on the floor, victim of _Petrificus Totalus_ or some other debilitating hex; so she simply stood there and waited for him to make up his mind.

But he did the unexpected: he paced around to stand in front of her, and when she looked up at him, she was astonished at the emotion she found waiting in his eyes. It wasn't regret, and it wasn't shame, and it certainly wasn't concern… but maybe a tentative mix of the three? He'd put his wand away, she saw through tear-blurred eyes; he was now fingering the cuffs of his sleeves, wrists crossed in a subconsciously defensive position, and he seemed to be chewing on his lips.

"Well?" Lily muttered, turning her head to draw her sleeve across her eyes. "What are you waiting for?"

His hand found her arm and drew it away from her averted face. The touch of one cool finger beneath her chin brought her head up, and she met her gaze with his – his hands dropped, and he hastily withdrew again, but this time he spoke, and his voice was just a little hoarse.

"I've been…."

She waited. His eyes flickered.

"…inflexible," he finally said.

She still waited.

"And I… would like to…."

Lily licked her lips. They tasted like salt. _Go on,_ she silently prodded.

"…express my – remorse, for my actions."

She found herself feeling less satisfied than she thought she'd be.

"That is not to say," he added quickly, "that you have been entirely without fault."

She opened her mouth to protest hotly – _(I know, I've been trying to tell you – !) – _but he shook his head almost imperceptibly and said, "You haven't," he insisted. "And I know you've admitted to it. Which is… more than I've done." He scowled. "And I'm sorry."

Irrationally, Lily felt her eyes tear up again. "It's fine," she muttered, her voice sounding phlegmy. She cleared her throat, and said again, "It's fine. Just – I hate fighting with you." She hugged herself and wiped her damp cheek on her shoulder. "Um. I'm going to… go now."

"Will you come to the third-floor classroom tonight?"

Lily sighed. "Can we start next week?"

A muscle worked in Snape's jaw, but he nodded. "Of course."

"Thank you," she said, and then fled.


	15. chapter fifteen

See chapter one for disclaimers.

A/N: First off: This error-free chapter is courtesy of Lavinia Lavender, my brand-new beta reader, who is better at Briticising than I am, and is refreshingly honest with criticism! (Give her kudos; she makes me look like less of an idiot with homonym problems!)

I'd also like to send out some thanks to my reviewers...  
Amscray: Don't forget music. Canonically speaking, nothing yet leads me to believe that there are any good wizarding musicians. Oh, and LS/SS forever. ;)  
Zany Kaos: Mmm, thank you for the sugar quills:munches: And here is the chapter, as per request!  
Aellyr: Regulus is LOVE! (...someone should make me a colour bar!)  
Elfstorm: Thanks for your enthusiasm and input. To answer your question, no, I don't think :spoiler: is :spoiler:... if you'd like my theories on the subject, you should check out my LJ community, cliched1977. (And I have to disagree with you: libraries ARE dirty. I work at one. No matter how much you clean... there's always dust. All the paper, y'know.)  
Taney: Fic-rec! YAAAAY! Thankyouthankyouthankyou! (Also, it is my firm belief that Lily/Sev works because... IT WILL BE CANON. Bwahahaha!)  
Alaksandra: LiveJournal is kind of like a religion to me... I'm glad I inspired you back into the fold. ;) Thanks also for the recipe. It sounds delicious, and now I'm craving French vanilla ice cream!

Further notes: if you haven't read it already, I direct you to my newly-posted one-shot, The Language of Flowers. It's SS/LE and bittersweeeeeet. Also, it's more than a little metaphorical - okay, the whole thing is one big metaphore - but there's a key down at the bottom if it seems a little thick. (Be sure to read the author's notes at the bottom!)

This chapter is a little fluffy, but rest assured that it is comic relief and not the start of a trend. (And also - nothing against slash, but this fic will be purely het. Or, if there is any slash, it will be off-screen - no main characters will be having shenanigans with members of the same sex. Thank you and good night.)

Enjoy!

**chapter fifteen**

Oh, it was so good to simply enjoy the day with her friends! Eliza and Cordelia had put together a picnic lunch – with food stolen from the evening table – and had persuaded Lily to come out of the tower and onto the grounds. It was a beautiful evening, one of the few warm ones left in the season, and Lily knew better than to pass up the offer. And she desperately wanted a change of scenery to take her mind off of the morning's distressing events.

The girls sprawled on one of Cordelia's old quilts by the lake, munching sandwiches and biscuits and drinking pumpkin juice by the gallon. Cordelia amused the other two with imitations of her older cousins she'd stayed with during the summer, standing up to tell obviously exaggerated stories, and Lily and Eliza were soon in fits of laughter.

When the three had finally calmed down, and Cordelia had plopped back down onto the quilt, they resumed a semblance of sanity and the talk turned to Current Events. Cordelia, most predictably, brought up Quidditch, but Lily and Eliza booed her into silence, and then they took up the topic of Boys.

Lily was surprised to learn of the young fellow Eliza had met over the summer at her uncle's Devonshire novelty shop. Eliza (blushingly) told them of her encounter with Mr Martin Hoekema, a Muggle fellow who had come into the shop to purchase – what else – pulp fiction of the scientific persuasion. Eliza had been more than happy to help him, and though he didn't find what he was looking for, she discovered a mutual fan of Ray Bradbury and what she hoped would be a closer acquaintance in the future.

Cordelia had much to say on the topic of her cousins and their respective romantic liaisons, which were probably less of a secret than they'd appreciate. Lily, however, had no interesting on-topic tales to tell – or, in any case, any tales that she would divulge while not under the influence of Veritaserum. Cordelia was flabbergasted.

"Ye gods, Lil," she said candidly, "you mean to tell me that you just sat indoors all summer and read?"

Lily was very comfortable on the grass-cushioned quilt, and didn't waste energy in working up a sharp response. Instead, she merely shrugged and said, "I'm only fifteen, Cordelia. What do I need a boyfriend for?"

Cordelia's eyes went comically wide, and she stared at her redheaded friend. "You don't need a boyfriend for anything," she said, sounding scandalized. Her expression of shock, however, soon turned into a very self-satisfied smirk. "But they sure are fun."

Eliza smirked, and Lily rolled her eyes. "Cordelia, you're outrageous," said Eliza.

"I'm serious, Lily," said Cordelia after a moment's pause. "It'd be ridiculous for you to leave your fifth year without ever having a boyfriend."

"Not that ridiculous," Lily protested lazily. "Why should I be in such a rush to attach myself to a member of the opposite sex?"

"Because if you don't soon, the boys'll start to think you're a snob or worse," said Cordelia. "And besides, you'd look pretty dumb going to the Halloween Ball all by yourself."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Balls are stupid," she said. "All the upper years say so."

"Oh, they just say that to sound cool and disillusioned and stuff," said Cordelia in disgust, and then she grinned. "And because then they can skip out and snog in the rose bushes, and no one'll miss them."

"Rose bushes in October?" said Lily sceptically as Eliza laughed.

Cordelia hit Lily gently on the knee. "Rose bushes. Pumpkin patches. Same difference."

Lily sat up, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Does it really make a difference whether or not I go to the ball with a boy?"

Eliza snorted. "Of course it does," she said, and Lily looked at her in surprise. Eliza hastily clarified. "Not to me, of course. And not to Cordelia, either." She pretended to glare at her tomboy friend. "But to the rest of our year? Yeah, it will."

"What, do you think they'll make fun of me?"

"Yeah. Well, maybe not to your face. But they will behind your back."

"Stuff dies down," said Lily with an unconcerned shrug.

Cordelia gave a huffy sigh. "Don't you have any concern for your reputation?"

"Hey, if it doesn't bother me directly –"

"That's the _point,_ Lil," Cordelia said emphatically. "It _will._ Maybe not right away, but in the long term –"

Lily laughed. "Jeez, Cordelia; nobody ever cares about secondary school after they've left!" she said. "And probably those who _do_ will remember me for doing the clever thing and not, you know, like, getting pregnant before I'm out of my sixth year and then dropping out to work at the Leaky Cauldron serving drunks Firewhisky for the rest of my life."

Cordelia rolled back onto the grass, laughing her head off. "Oh, you're one of those people who think that going out with a boy could – let me guess – _lead to dancing!"_

Lily sighed. "Seriously – school's not the place for that kind of thing."

"Personally," said Eliza, "I think that if Lily doesn't mind the talk, she can go boyfriend-less until she's thirty."

"Yeah, well, it's not like she doesn't have admirers," Cordelia muttered, leaning over to fish a bottle of iced butterbeer out of the wicker basket they'd brought.

Lily grinned. "Oh yeah? Like who?"

Both girls answered at the same time. "James."

Lily made a face. "No way."

"Actually," said Eliza, "James is rather fond of you, Lily."

"Come on, now," said Lily, "you're burning my ears with that ridiculous stuff!"

Cordelia laughed. "He does, Lily," she said, and poked her friend in the side. "You should hear how he goes on about you sometimes. I mean, I'm a pretty close friend – 'cause I'm on the team and all, and in his year – but he really does fancy you."

Lily, at once both horrified and amused, covered her ears. "La la la, I can't hear you; you're both nutters and I'm not listening… La la la la…."

Cordelia tried to pull Lily's hands away from her head, ennunciating firmly, "James – fancies – you – you – bint –"

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU," Lily said loudly, and slapped Cordelia's hands away.

"Oh please," Cordelia said suddenly. "You can't have been totally ignorant about all this! I mean, come on, Lily; half the boys in our year – and a few in the upper years, too – have fancied you since you started taking your hair out of those dreadful pigtails and started wearing tighter clothes."

Lily began to giggle. "Oh god," she said, and flopped backwards into the grass – "It's official! You've done your nut! I can't believe you just said that!"

Eliza looked heavenward. "Denial," she intoned.

Cordelia gave Lily a playful shove. "You are hopeless, my friend," she said.

"Thank you very much – this, Eliza, coming from a nutter. Do take note; you can remember back on this instance when they finally cart her away to St. Mungo's, and then you'll say, 'Why didn't I ever listen to Lily? She was the only one who had her head screwed on straight!'"

When they had polished off the contents of their picnic basket, they packed up and trooped back up to the castle. Lily was grateful to hop in the bath and wash away the faint sheen of sweat that had been the result of the warmth of the sunny afternoon. The water was cool and scented with her favourite almond-flavoured soap, and in the sweet steam she mulled over a certain pressing issue.

Well, she'd had the feeling that James might have possibly fancied her, but now it seemed to be confirmed. Unless she could possibly attribute Cordelia's insisting to the usual teenage enthusiasm for intrigue of that sort – which was unlikely, seeing as that Eliza, not normally a fan of intrigue of any kind, had agreed with Cordelia – she would soon have something of a crisis on her hands.

Forget 'soon'; she had a crisis now. Gods and little fishes. James _fancied_ her. Lily found herself simultaneously wincing and blushing at the thought. It wasn't that she didn't like James – she did, as a friend, but he was high-maintenance, high-strung, and not always the most pleasant person to be around. He grated on her nerves. He was intrusive and overbearing and _noisy._ He was as bad, if not worse than, Sirius.

She preferred Snape's company. (She back-pedalled quickly away from that line of thought.)

But _James._

Blast and botherment.

Lily banged her fist on the rim of the claw-footed tub, and regretted it when her knuckle collided painfully with the sweating metal edge. She gritted her teeth against a few colourful words that sprang to mind, and tried to relax.

Didn't she read somewhere that if a boy liked to tease you, it meant he fancied you? If that was true – well, Lily knew it wasn't good at all. James not only harassed her repeatedly; he did it constantly. Especially this last week. He seemed to have developed a penchant for jinxes over the summer; perhaps he was just letting off excess steam, but he'd hexed her no less than four times over the last five days. In the hallways, in the common room – nothing really serious, just a Jelly-Legs or a Petrificus Partialus – but it was more than irritating, to say the least.

But did it really mean anything? James had always been a jokester, and not just to her, but to everyone, male and female alike. (Though she was certain that his female victims outweighed the males by a fair amount.) And she'd heard from other sources that she hadn't been the only one this week to end up on the unfortunate side of his wand; he'd jinxed a couple Ravenclaw girls as well as a Slytherin third-year who (apparently) had been trying to steal his bag via the Summoning spell. It was highly unlikely that James was harbouring some secret mad passion for a gawky little Slyth boy.

Lily didn't like to flatter herself, but even she had to admit that it wasn't half as unlikely that he'd been harbouring a secret mad passion for _her._ Which was what made her uneasy.

Too much to think about at the moment, Lily decided. The bathwater was getting chilly, and she had schoolwork to catch up on. She pulled the plug and got out of the tub.

"Oy, Snape, what's eating your head?"

"Your plebeian hyperboles, Rosier," Snape drawled, staring up at the forest-green canopy over his bed.

"Jesus Christ. What, did your owl die?"

"No, but yours will if you don't shut up," said Wilkes from across the room. "Leave the man alone, Rosier; can't you see he's trying to sort shit out?"

Snape cast an irritated glance toward his roommate. "Thank you, Wilkes," he said.

"Anytime," said Wilkes, not responding to (or, more likely, recognizing) the sarcasm in Snape's voice.

Snape continued to regard the shadows of his canopy with a distracted sort of scrutiny. The ancient embroidery, preserved over the years by some brilliant charmwork, seemed to flicker against the curve of his retinas. The twisting patchwork of embroidered forest played home to a thousand stitched creatures, more of which became visible to Severus every year. He was now searching out the Werewolf, which usually crouched in a fold near the top-left bedpost –

_There._

The creature made itself visible to his eyes as it pursued the Hind, a graceful blackwork creation with slender legs and a terrified expression. Severus smiled. He had discovered that one in his second year, the night when the Bloody Baron had told him the tale of the Wolf and the Hind. The story was simply this:

A man fell in love with a woman, as men are wont to do. But the woman had another suitor, a wicked governor, who, when he discovered the other man's affections, assumed that the woman had been playing him a fool, and turned her into a hind, and the man into a wolf. The curse could only be broken when the wolf pursued and killed the hind. Of course, the story ended with the wolf slaying the hind, turning back into a man, and killing himself upon discovery of his actions.

Severus had always thought it was a stupid story. No one won: the woman was killed, the lover committed suicide, and the governor was left with nothing.

Now, however, the story rather appealed to him.

He really wasn't thinking about the story of the Wolf and the Hind. Though not the words Severus himself would have chosen, Wilke's assumption that he was 'sorting shit out' hit the nail on the head, in a crude, proletariat sort of way. He was thinking about earlier events of the day, though he was almost loath to do so. He wasn't used to being humbled. Though her slap had smarted, the blow hadn't stung half so much as the humbling had.

But even more noteworthy than the humbling to which she had subjected him was the instant in which she had turned her back on him. Of course, he had been furious at the time – she'd been _ignoring_ him, for Merlin's sake – but as he lay here in bed, he realized that she hadn't been ignoring him, as he'd thought then, but instead she had been making a very important statement.

Did she realize what a show of faith in him she had made? She honestly hadn't believed that he would do it, that he would hex her while her back was turned. He wasn't sure whether he should be flattered or to take umbrage at her assumption, but entrenched far within him was the realization that she could have given him no higher tribute than that turning away. It _proved_ that she didn't believe him to be like his peers; it only showed what trust she had in him. The thought both thrilled and terrified him.

He could almost forgive himself for making her cry.

"_Go, go, go!_"

A blue and tan blur hurtled past the box in which Lily and Eliza sat, and Lily broke into delighted laughter as James made a crazy pirouette in midair in order to avoid Sirius, whose Silver Arrow was as speedy as ever. Eliza tugged on Lily's sleeve, and she turned to see Cordelia make a dive for the Quaffle Remus had just thrown. "Look at her go!" Eliza cried, and leaned over the box to see the outcome of the dive. Cordelia just managed to snag the Quaffle before it hit the ground, and Eliza, laughing and cheering, flung herself into Lily's arms.

It was Sunday afternoon. Lily had accepted her friends' invitation to come out and watch the boys (and Cordelia) battle it to the death on the Quidditch pitch. It was all in good fun, and Lily was having a wonderful time. The September air was crisp, and everyone outdoors was wearing their jumpers like their own private team colours. James was dressed like a king – his crimson jumper was decorated with an abstract pattern of actual gold threads and finished off with blackwork around the collar and cuffs. Sirius wore a royal blue that made him look like an elfin prince; Lily's own silly heart had fluttered when he had greeted her, looking ever-so-strapping in his tan Quidditch cords and shields. Remus looked a little haggard in his dun-coloured, too-big secondhand clothes, but Lily, as a friend, thought he never looked better than he did that afternoon, with his cheeks flushed and his sleepy eyes smiling. Peter was there, too, looking cute in his yellow and black robes, and he was on top form on the field.

Eliza let go of Lily in order to leap up and yell at Remus, "_Fly, boy! Go!"_

Remus, distracted, got an earful of Quaffle. James nearly fell off his broom laughing.

So it went, and so it had gone for forty-five minutes already. The boys were sweating hard, and Cordelia was flushed red, but they were still in fine spirits. It wasn't until James started getting bored that they wound down the game. Eliza immediately rushed out of the box and down the steps in her hurry to get onto the field, but Lily took her time in gathering up her things.

Before she could escape to the stairwell, however, James flew up to the box and, smiling charmingly, offered her a ride down to the field.

"Um," she said eloquently.

"It'll be quicker than the stairs," said James, and gave her a wink.

Lily tightened her lips to suppress a nervous smile. "I really don't like flying," she said. "I'm sorry."

"Crazy girl," she heard James say. "Suit yourself."

Halfway down the steps, Lily made a face and said to herself, "Thank you, I will."

She met the others on the way out of the stadium.

"Hello there, beautiful," said a faintly perspiring Sirius, and slung a familiar arm around her shoulders. Lily giggled and couldn't help the blush that heated her face. "Oh, your hair smells divine."

"Sirius Black, you are an outrageous flirt," Cordelia put in from the other side of the group. She was dabbing at her shining face with a towel.

"A flirt? I am not a flirt. I'm being perfectly serious. Shut up," he added, before anyone could comment.

"You're far from perfect, but we love you anyway," said Remus from Lily's other side.

Sirius gave a bark-like laugh and suddenly dropped her in order to swing around and grab hold of Remus.

"Yeah, Moony, we love you too," he said, sounding sickeningly sweet, and Remus rolled his eyes, giving him a silly grin and a not-too-gentle shove.

"Now, Sirius, darling, you wouldn't want our grand secret to get out, would you?"

Sirius pretended to pout as James and Peter made identically disgusted faces.

"Little too much comradely spirit for _moi,_" Eliza said dryly.

"You should see them when they're alone," Peter said suddenly, to a brief silence, followed momentarily by roars of laughter.

Sirius was actually doubled up, he was laughing so hard; and as Lily watched, he fell over and rolled onto his back.

"God, will you put a sock in it?" said James in mock-disgust, and pretended to aim a kick at his best friend. "Good one, Peter," he added, and Peter grinned widely.

"Wormy, whatever are we going to do with you?" Sirius gasped as he managed to sit up, clutching his side.

"You could let me take pictures," said Peter, and Sirius groaned and flopped backward again.

"Stop it, Peter," Remus protested mildly. "You're going to ruin my good-girl reputation."

"Too late for that, old friend," Peter intoned gravely. "Everybody knows."

"Merlin's knickers," James chortled – _"Cut it out,_ Peter!"

"You're just jealous they didn't invite _you,_" Peter said instantly, and by now Lily was crying, she was laughing so hard.

"That's it," said Cordelia, attempting to regain a semblance of calm, "Peter, you are SO invited to my birthday party."

Peter blushed, but only a little bit. "Oh, if only everyone were so generous! But you know, no girl wants to go out with a fellow two feet shorter than she is, no matter if he's got talent." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and now the boys groaned, waving hands at him as if to ward him off. Sirius, who had finally pulled himself together and managed to sit up, held his nose and made a gesture suggestive of banishing a foul odour.

"I'll have you know, I resent these defamations of my character, Wormy," said Sirius once he'd finished, but his head was nearly splitting, his grin was so wide. "Just for the record, I'm a flaming heterosexual."

"Good boy," said Remus idly, and patted Sirius' shaggy black head.

The boys really got a kick out of that one.

"Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week," Remus said, bowing. James and Peter mimicked throwing flowers.

"I need a drink," Lily croaked, voice hoarse from laughing, and wiping her tearing eyes.

"I thought you didn't?" said Sirius, and Lily didn't dignify that with a response.

"Let's sneak into the kitchens," said James. "I'm hungry, and dinner's not for an hour."

Lily was sobered now. "Is that all right?"

"What, sneaking into the kitchens?" said Sirius, distracted as he tugged free the grass that had gotten caught in his long black hair.

When Lily nodded, James gave a loud snort. "Well, it's not like we're going to be stealing a ton," he said. "Just enough to hold us over until dinner. And the house elves are great – they'll summon you dragon drumsticks if you mention you've had a hankering for them."

"C'mon, let's go," Sirius whined, bouncing on the balls of his feet and tugging at James' arm like a little boy.

"Ew, get away from me, you queer," James cried, and Sirius chased him all the way back up to the castle.

Lily had never been in the school kitchens before, and she felt like tiptoeing as she followed the very noisy group of boys through the hole behind the still-life; but as she watched James and Sirius clatter back and forth carelessly, she began to grow easy.

What James had said about the house elves was right: they were more than eager to please. Lily only had to mention that she was thirsty before they had presented her with an entire tray of mugs and glasses containing _everything _– coffee, tea, milk (whole, half, _and_ two per cent), pumpkin juice, apple cider, lamb's wool (though it was really too early for that), hot chocolate (ditto), some wizarding version of pop – the list went on. Lily selected a glass of orange juice and sat down to watch the boys try to figure out what they wanted to eat.

Half an hour later, they departed. The boys were stuffed to the gills, yet still concealed bits of food about their persons, "for later," as Sirius said – and the girls were quite content to laugh as the boys insisted in cruder and cruder terms how extremely full they were, which seemed to please the house elves to no end; they kept offering to run off for heartburn tonics and milk of magnesia.

Lily was glad to go, though; she had a headache, and her joints were aching. She was glad to finally get up to Gryffindor and crash in her bed; she fell asleep and didn't wake up until the next morning.

Well, she had no doubt that James was flirting with her. It was plainly visible; even Lily couldn't deny it. But it didn't necessarily mean anything. He flirted just as much with Eliza and Cordelia, and yet they weren't accusing _each other_ of being the object of James Potter's attention as they were her. It was the same with Sirius: he would sweet-talk anything in a skirt, but it was only a casual manner he assumed. Lily had always known that; it was why his outrageously flirtatious behaviour had never given her any real cause to worry. And when she wasn't put out with him – which was rare – she could actually enjoy his flirting, because it gave her a confidence that she usually didn't possess.

But what was the difference in James' attention? Now that she was consciously aware of it, she couldn't put her finger on what it was that made her stiffen up when he winked at her. She wasn't really attracted to James; though he had been the subject of a passionate crush in first year, those feelings soon faded when she became used to him and discovered how obnoxious and self-centred he could be. The same was true of Sirius. But again, why didn't Sirius unnerve her as James did?

These were the questions she wanted answers to, so, the next week, Lily commenced a study of James' behaviour around and toward her. It wasn't as difficult (or as terrible) as she had expected it to be. James tended to follow her around like a second shadow. And when she began keeping a sharper eye on him, she discovered several things.

The first thing was that he seemed to follow her around. Oh, this wasn't really news: he'd always been underfoot before, and it had irritated her to no end. But now that she was watching for odd behaviour, she noticed that he deliberately went out of his way to bump into her. On Tuesday, she discovered him loitering outside her Arithmancy class, and he walked her back up to Gryffindor even though, in the end, it made him late for his game with the boys.

A more unsettling discovery was that she found herself reciprocating when he flirted with her. She was, frankly, disgusted with herself. James was not the type of boy she would ever attach herself to. He was rude and self-centred. All right – he _meant_ well, but that just didn't cut it. If he wasn't trying to charm her pants off, he was ignoring her. Lily couldn't decide which behaviour was worse.

So why was she flirting back? Though the idea appalled her, she figured it was probably because he was – you know – _dashing._ Lily had always been partial to the tall, dark and handsome type. James was tall. He was taller than any other boy in their year, easily clearing six feet. He was dark – his hair was naturally a dusky blue-black, and he tanned like an Indian. Needless to say he was handsome. Quidditch practice had made him 'well fit', as Cordelia would've put it. And hadn't Lily known better, she might've said that his wire-rimmed glasses gave him a studious look, too.

She knew better. James was far from studious. Yes, he was brilliant, but he did not conform to the educational norm. He got the lowest scores in Charms, though she knew very well that he was more than adept at them. The only subject at which he truly excelled grade-wise was Transfiguration, but only because he truly loved that particular art.

The question remained: why was she flirting back?

If she was honest with herself – and that had always been her main goal – she would say that it was the attraction of a popular boy's attention, rather than the boy himself, that peaked her interest. Never mind the popular part – she could care less for that. But the fact that a boy _was_ really interested in her was supremely satisfying.

That didn't answer her question, though. According to Cordelia, there were plenty of boys interested in her at the moment. So she was right back where she started from: why flirt back at James, rather than pursue someone who wouldn't be chasing after every pair of shapely legs in the vicinity?

Truly, it was a frustrating enigma. It seemed the more she thought about it, the less sure she was of her own numerous answers to the problem. By the end of the week, she was so confused she almost couldn't remember what side she was on – was she trying to push James away, or was she supposed to be accepting his favours? It frustrated her to no end that she couldn't get a grasp on her own feelings.

Saturday evening came swiftly, and Lily found herself dreading the evening that lay before her. After dinner, she headed up to the designated study-room, brushing off James' invitation to come race with them on the field. She managed to get up to the classroom, though she was so distracted by thoughts of James that twice she forgot entirely where she was going. When she finally arrived at the dimly-lit classroom, Snape was already there waiting for her. It was dark out, and the floor-to-ceiling windows, backed by the black night and lit by the blobby wax candles, reflected them like mirrors.

"What delayed you?" said Snape, and Lily was relieved; he didn't sound as if he was in distemper.

"Oh – I was – a little distracted. Got lost."

Snape clearly didn't believe her, but he didn't remark on her excuse. "Do you have your wand?" he said instead.

Lily almost replied sarcastically, but figured that would only be adding fuel to the fire, and replied by pulling her wand from her belt.

"All right," said Snape, withdrawing his own. "First of all, we'll start with the basics. Etiquette, stance, et cetera. You stand here." He pointed to a spot about a metre before him.

Lily was aware that wizard duels were required to conform to a strict set of etiquette rules – a hangover from the Dark Ages, when duelling over slights had become quite popular. She had never researched into it, but evidently Snape had.

"Now, usually," he said, "women aren't expected to duel. Their fathers or brothers or lovers were in charge of defending a woman's honour. Of course, this is the twentieth century, and things have changed. The basic protocol for duelling has not, though, which is why – for a formal duel, at least – both men and women are required to bow – and the deeper the bow, the more honour you do to your opponent. Flourishes are _strictly _unnecessary, unless you are performing for an audience."

Lily, unsure, gave a brief, shallow bow, keeping her eyes on Snape's as she tried not to wobble. He smirked.

"That's right. Exactly." He returned the bow, and then walked across the room to join her. "Now: stance. You're right-handed, so you stand like so." He stepped up beside her and pivoted on his booted left foot so his right shoulder was facing forward. "You extend your arm, like so – are you following along?"

He glanced behind him and she imitated his stance, feeling rather silly. "Good. Now, extend your wand arm – " He dropped his stance and turned to correct her. He didn't touch her, but his hands fluttered near her elbow and she straightened her arm accordingly. "And your hand should turn like this," he added. "Your knuckles do not point upward. Rather, your thumb should be parallel with the floor, and your fingers should curl under – right. Like that."

He took a step back, and she relaxed her pose. "All right. Now, I'm going to step back here, and we shall bow, and then you shall cast an _expelliarmus._ All right?"

"Okay," said Lily, though she didn't feel very okay about it.

Snape returned to the southern side of the room, and, raising an eyebrow, bowed. She returned the formality, and then, conscious of her stance, she extended her arm to cast the Blocking Spell.

An unexpected Jelly-Legs Jinx hit her, and she went over backwards with a startled yelp.

Snape came over to her and stood above her, frowning a bit. "Reflexes," he said. "You have to be expecting the offensive, and either hit them before they hit you, or put up a blocking spell fast."

"But I _wasn't_ expecting it," she cried, wriggling ineffectually. She was strongly reminded of an old dancing teacher who had repeatedly yelled 'Noodle-legs! Noodle-legs!' at her when she tried to arch into a backbend and inevitably ended up flat on her back on the padded red floor. "You berk, I told you not to surprise me like that! You promised!"

Snape sighed, cast the countercurse, and extended a hand to help her up, but she ignored it and shimmied out from under him. "Evans," he said as she brushed herself off, "your attacker is not going to give you fair warning before he hexes you to death. I told you, you need to work on those reflexes. _Expect_ an attack. And really, I would've thought my intentions were quite clear – after all, I was pointing a wand straight at you, and I _did_ tell you to put up a blockade."

Lily sighed and rubbed the back of her head. "That was a strong jinx," she muttered. "I'm going to have to work on my blocking spell if I want to deflect that."

"Then let's do that," he said, and she was surprised that he'd agreed. He was being a lot more giving than she thought he'd be. "One of the most important spells in your arsenal will be the Disarming Spell. Of course, it doesn't do much good for bigger curses, but it'll easily deflect minor jinxes and curses. I'll stand here, and you practice from over there."

Lily took a few steps back, adjusted to duelling stance, took a breath, and cast.

It missed him entirely, hitting instead the wall beside him, knocking a puff of dust into the air. Lily made a disappointed sound.

"But first," said Snape, "we're going to work on your aim."

Two hours later, Lily had mastered a stronger Disarming spell, as well as a few minor jinxes and hexes. Her aim wasn't much better, but she'd managed to hit Snape a few times, as well as block a third of his hexes. She was rather exhausted when they concluded the lesson, but managed to thank him and bid him good night before leaving.

Prefect meetings usually took place on the last day of the month, but Remus was in the infirmary with a nasty and sudden bout of the flu, so the monthly meeting was postponed until the fifth of October. It was exceedingly boring; the Head Boy and Girl, McLuhan and Andrews, mainly wanted to discuss the Halloween Ball, which was to occur in exactly one month, to be followed immediately by the formation of Quidditch teams for the upcoming season, which began, as usual, on the first of November. Of course, the prefects were all expected to help in preparation. Lily was none too thrilled, and could very well predict what Snape's opinion on the subject would be. Bellatrix Black, though – Lily was still perplexed at how she had managed to get the prefect position; the girl was certifiable – she was quite enthusiastic, and had a thousand ideas for decorations and music and even menu, though the house elves always took care of that.

Overall, the meeting was dull, but not horrific. Lily couldn't really care less about the Halloween Ball and whether they hired Wands Up or the popular classical octet Gregarious Flynn for the music, so she didn't fuss when decisions about it were prepared to take to the Headmaster, who was the final authority on such matters.

Bellatrix was put in charge of decorating, and the sly girl ever-so-politely asked Lily and the other girls if they minded pitching in. She was cloyingly sweet in her proposition, and even if she hadn't been a prefect, Lily would've had a hard time refusing; she was surprised, however, when Remus offered to help as well, though she was quite glad that she'd have someone familiar there with whom she could talk and complain.

That evening, Remus indulged her in a game of chess in the common room, and they discussed the outcome of the meeting.

"Do you know her at all?" said Lily, directing her knight out of the path of Remus' bishop.

"Who, Bellatrix?"

"Yeah."

"Not really." Remus moved his bishop again, putting Lily's remaining rook at stake. "I only know what Sirius says, and he's kind of biased."

Lily chuckled.

"What about you?" he asked as she dodged the bishop and captured a pawn.

"Eh, I don't know her too well, either. But she's kind of crazy."

"That's what Sirius says."

"I think she's a psychopath, actually," said Lily, frowning as Remus' bishop captured one of her knights.

"How do you figure?"

"Oh – well, she seems to have a total disregard for common niceties. I mean, she was being nice in there, but she was faking it. You saw that, didn't you?"

"I confess I did," said Remus, who was even more inclined to see the good in people than Lily was.

"I've had some association with her in the past," said Lily. "She was on my charms team a couple years ago, but she dropped out because she got bored. She's pretty brilliant, actually. But her field's Defence Against the Dark Arts." She finally made up her mind and directed her queen to capture that pesky bishop.

"That makes sense."

At that moment, the portrait hole opened up and James and Sirius trooped in, brooms over their shoulders, sweating and red-faced.

"Looks like they're back from practice," said Lily.

Remus looked up, distracted for a moment. "Oh. Yes. They're getting ready for Quidditch season."

"I wondered why they seemed scarce lately," said Lily. James caught her eye at that moment and, breaking into a grin, sauntered over.

"Hullo there, Lil."

"Potter," she acknowledged, a tad uncomfortably.

"Aw, whatsa' matter, Lily? Not happy to see me?"

"Not when she's trying to defend herself from the Black Onslaught," said Remus, gesturing at the chessboard, where Remus' queen moved forward to intercept Lily's.

"Are you taking my name in vain, Remus ol' pal?"

Sirius loomed suddenly behind Remus' chair, sounding cool and relaxed despite his sweaty, bedraggled look, and Lily, pretending to be distraught over the death of her queen, said, "Go take your shower."

Sirius straightened his spine and clicked his heels together. "Yes, sir!" he saluted her, and goose-stepped off to the bathrooms.

"See you later then, Lil," said James, giving her a wink before sauntering off after Sirius.

Lily looked up at Remus, blushing slightly. Remus looked a little embarrassed himself.

"I'm sorry," said Lily after a moment, "but I've rather lost my taste for chess at the moment."

Remus smiled. "That makes two of us." He Banished away the chess set and they both stood up.

"I don't know about you, but I'm going for a walk," said Lily.

"It's rather late, isn't it?"

Lily shrugged. "We're prefects, aren't we?"

The corners of Remus' Grecian mouth tilted upward. "Too true," he said, and Summoned a cloak from his dormitory. They set off for the darkening corridors of the school, a pleasure walk under the guise of official duty. Lily hoped they wouldn't actually have to exercise that power.

Some distance from Gryffindor tower, Remus finally took it upon himself to break the silence. "So," he said, "it would seem that not all is well between… James and Sirius and us."

Lily gave a soft, nervous laugh. "You too, eh? Well. I'm glad I wasn't the only one to notice it."

"I have my own issues with them," Remus confessed. "But what about you? Would you like to share?"

Lily glanced up at him. In the twilight corridors, he looked otherworldly – the wandlight washed the shadows from his face; his dark eyes were large and luminous and concerned. She abruptly was aware of his presence in a way she hadn't been before. He was no weakling, she knew, though how she knew she wasn't sure. Perhaps it was the calm presence of mind he consistently kept, but she knew that inside those many layers of shabby robes was a strength she'd never expected, and suddenly half-dreaded.

"It's nothing drastic," she said after a moment. "I mean, I love them both dearly. But, oh, they can grate on one's nerves!" Even as she said it, she regretted that she was unable to tell him the whole truth.

Remus laughed. "I know exactly what you mean. I –"

"Mr Lupin! And Miss Evans!"

They jumped at the sound of the voice and turned to face the headmaster, who was standing there in the middle of the corridor, his sparkling blue eyes hardly obscured by his half-moon glasses. His beard, long enough to be tucked into his belt, shone silver in their wandlight.

"Professor Dumbledore," Lily said, surprised. "Good evening."

"Good evening, children. May I ask why you're out so late?"

"Prefect duties," Remus said immediately.

"Ah." The wizened wizard smiled. "I admire your dedication. But it is a calm night – surely you may return to your beds. I will send for you if there is need."

Lily and Remus thanked Dumbledore, and turned around and headed back to Gryffindor, both rather uncomfortable.

"That was awkward," said Lily at last, and Remus gave a panicky laugh.

"No kidding. I about froze there."

"Me, too. Funny thing, because ostensibly we weren't doing anything wrong. I mean, we're both prefects."

Shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his robes, Remus agreed with her. "I know. But Professor Dumbledore always…."

"Seems to know?"

"Exactly. Doesn't matter if you have a rock-solid excuse… he can see right through it."

"It's almost scary," said Lily. "He's like a mind-reader or something."

"Mm. He's been very good to me."

"He's been good to all of us," said Lily.

Remus faltered in his stride, and Lily stopped with him. He gazed out the nearby window at the waning moon, and for the second time in the hour she saw the effects light had on his face…but the glimmer of milky moonlight had an effect quite the reverse of the wandlight: rather than stripping his face of shadows, turning him into a powerful, self-assured young man, it seemed only to accentuate the few premature crags in his face, the pale streak in his hair, the lines around his eyes. It even went so far as to stoop his shoulders, and now he appeared lined and aged, frail and sickly, rather than the healthy young man she knew him to be.

"Remus," she whispered, her soft voice shaking with fear, but his eyes were for the moon only.

"_Remus,_" she said again, and this time touched his right arm so he jumped.

He didn't pull away (_as Snape would've_), but rather relaxed beneath her hand, even placing his own above her hers and patting it. He smiled, and he was young again, and she returned his smile with palpable relief.

Before even she knew what she was doing, Lily had slipped her free arm through the crook of his and smiled up at him as fully and purely as the moon would in twenty-six days.


	16. chapter sixteen

AN: ... It's been a month. I AM SORRY.

But here's a sixteen-page chapter for my faithful readers.

A big thank you to my luvly beta, Lavinia. :waves: She makes my stuff readable, and for that I am eternally grateful.

One final note: I am so evil.

Happy reading!

**chapter sixteen**

"Now, we're going to split up into pairs for this project. Sit _down_, Mr Wilkes! Now. Each pair will need two feet or so of parchment, as well as – _desist,_ Mr Wilkes! If I have to address you again this hour, it'll be twenty-five points from Slytherin! – Right. What was I saying?"

"Two feet of parchment, sir," said Webster Stark, a seventh-year Ravenclaw.

" – Two feet of parchment and the prediction index, if you don't feel comfortable without it. The instructions are all on your parchment," the professor added as he indicated the stack of paper on the otherwise uncluttered desk beside him. "I want you to map out fifty variables and semivariable odds for your partner's next week based on the usual character, heart, and social numbers derived from the standard European translation. Miss Burghold, if you'd followed directions you wouldn't have to translate these numbers yet again. – Well, then, I suggest you get hold of a planner of some sort, because I'm not going to remember these things for you. So: you have your assignments; get to work."

The classroom was a bustle of activity as the students paired off together. Severus got out a pre-cut roll of parchment and began digging through his quill case, looking for a suitable nib. His usual one was clogged with ink. He'd never had that problem before; he'd always used a magical, non-clogging India ink, until the exorbitant price became far beyond his salary, and he's been obliged to switch to a cheap Muggle brand meant more for arts-and-crafts than everyday use.

As he fussed with his quill, he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, felt a bump – Evans had scooted into the seat next to his, and was trying to get his attention with a desperate sort of expression on her face.

"Mind if I pair with you?" she muttered, and cast a pointed glance sideways. Severus followed her gaze and saw Wilkes stepping forward, a smug, determined look on his face. Severus sneered and gave a curt nod, and Evans gratefully rearranged her supplies in a tidy fashion atop the table.

Across the room, Wilkes gazed at the two with a raised eyebrow, and then turned around and partnered with a weedy Ravenclaw boy as if he'd meant to do so all along.

Evans mouthed a thank-you at Severus once Wilkes' back was turned, and Severus glanced away, embarrassed by her gratitude.

They started on the assignment, and Severus was almost surprised to find that Evans, with whom he had never before partnered in Arithmancy, paced him nicely. They worked almost silently, but she seemed to premeditate his calculations, and so there was really no need for words. And they worked so speedily that they finished the project before the end of the hour, and Professor Helvetii looked a little stunned as they turned in their rolls of parchment with moments yet to spare.

They returned to their place at the table, and Severus, as he sat to gather his supplies, wanted to know: "So, is Lupin fully recovered from…?"

"The flu. Yes; it took a while, but he's fine now." Evans looked surprised that he'd bothered to ask.

"He's ill often, isn't he?" said Severus, merely for the sake of conversation – but then he realized something.

"Poor Remus," Evans shook her head, and her red hair gleamed, metallic in the sunshine that rolled through the window. "He's _always_ ill. Seems a week doesn't go by that he ends up in the infirmary with one thing or another."

Severus frowned unconsciously. "Is he particularly accident-prone?"

"I don't think so. Not very. He's had a few broken bones, but not many, to my knowledge. I think his immune system is weak, or something."

Severus had no idea what an immune system was; it was some Muggle thing, he was sure.

"And his mother's frequently ill, from what I understand," Evans continued. "He goes and visits her often enough – "

The bell rang, and there was an immediate commotion. Severus found himself waiting for Evans, who had been preoccupied talking to him and still had half her things laying around the table.

"Anyway," she said, once she'd slung her bag over her shoulder and bid Professor Helvetii a good afternoon, "what's the situation with the music at the ball? Any updates?"

Severus heaved a longsuffering sigh. "Wands Up have been vetoed, due to unavailability. Now they're trying to decide between Gregarious Flynn and another 'modern-classical' group – a sextet of Scottish hags."

Evans raised an eyebrow. "That sounds interesting."

"Not the way I would have worded it. I've heard them before."

She laughed out loud, surprising him. He noticed uncomfortably the looks they were drawing in the hallway, and noticed with more than a little unease that Wilkes was shadowing them under the pretence of loitering with some younger Slytherin girls.

Evans seemed to notice him stiffen, and drew back a margin of an inch. "Well," she said airily, "I should get going. Loads of homework. History _and_ Defence – I can see where I'll be spending the rest of _my_ evening." And with the barest flutter of a wink she breezed past him, ever the image of the preoccupied, self-possessed schoolgirl in her regulation pleated skirt, woollen stockings and patent-leather shoes.

Severus's eyes were downcast when Wilkes approached him. Hanging on Wilkes' arm was a fairly pretty Slytherin second-year with a sickeningly smug expression twisting her features. "Snape, was that the _Mudblood _I saw you conversing with a moment ago?"

Severus couldn't see what good it would do him to lie, so he spoke the curt truth. "Yes."

"Let me guess. Going over your assignment, like the studious little children you are."

"Continue that patronizing tone with me, Wilkes, and I won't hesitate to hex you in your sleep."

Wilkes put his hands up, an peaceful gesture. "Peace, friend. Heh; you see, Delilah, how much influence Severus has over us! It's because he means what he says; you can see it in his eyes. He really _won't_ hesitate to hex me in my sleep. That's what I love about you, Snape." Wilkes turned his cool eyes on Severus again. "You're so emotionally detached."

"Thank you."

Delilah giggled, and Wilkes nodded graciously. "You're more than welcome."

And the pair left Severus to walk by himself.

Lily went to Gryffindor Tower to put away her unnecessary things before continuing to the library, History of Magic and Defence texts in her bag. She wondered – no, she knew Snape had gotten her hint (he wasn't dense, after all) – she wondered whether he would act on it, and meet her in the library.

She sighed as she walked through the drafty corridors. Chances on that happening were slim. But maybe not – he'd seemed particularly chatty toward the end of Arithmancy. She wondered why he'd bothered to ask about Remus, whom she knew was not high on Severus' list of favourite people. Maybe he'd just been making conversation – she'd done the same thing, after all, in inquiring after the situation on the music for the ball. But Snape wasn't a conversational sort of person. As of late, though, he'd been full of surprises – perhaps he'd surprise her again.

She settled down in the library with her texts and a few tomes she'd retrieved from the shelves, and began to study.

She had difficulty concentrating at first, but eventually she sunk into her studying mode, and an hour later, the finger on her arm struck her out of her focus like a bucket of ice water.

"I'm sorry," he said, and took the seat across from hers. She'd chosen a particularly snug nook in the farthest reaches of the library that afternoon, and Severus' robes brushed hers beneath the table.

"Quite all right," she said, leaning back and brushing a hand through her hair. "You came."

He gave a wry smile. "Indeed. What do you want?"

Lily raised her eyebrows. "Want…? I don't want anything. Just – well, I thought we could talk."

To her relief, he didn't scoff or smirk, but met her statement with an inquisitive quirk of his eyebrow. "About what?"

"Anything." She pushed her book aside. "Friends. Family. School. Whatever you want."

He laughed a little at that, but not unkindly. "I think we should stay on safe ground."

"School it is."

Lily, delighted, had to restrain herself from leaping across the table and hugging him. She'd broken through! He hadn't snubbed her or pushed her away, and was going so far as unabashedly complying with her wishes. Surreal, Lily thought, and leaned back in her chair. --think about italicizing "surreal."

"What did you think of the assignment in Arithmancy?"

"It was bland," Snape replied with a decisive nod. "Rubbish, Arithmancy. Too much work for what comes of it."

Lily looked at him in surprise. Here was something she hadn't expected. "But Arithmancy can be very powerful," she said. "Far more accurate than divination, which is just a bunch of – "

" – smoke and mirrors," Snape finished, and she smiled. "Yes," he continued, "but we never do any of the hard-core arithmancy in school."

"Well, we're hardly advanced enough, are we?"

"And we're not getting any better," Snape countered. "That assignment – "

" – was child's play," Lily said. "I know. It helps, having a solid Muggle background in maths."

"What, and you think that wizards don't teach such elementary skills to their children?" Snape's tone was slightly challenging, and Lily rose to meet it.

"Apparently not as well as Muggles," she said. "I heard Wilkes complaining about carrying. Honestly, _that's_ about as basic as it gets, above using your fingers."

Snape scoffed. "Wilkes," he said succinctly, "is an ass."

Lily had to suppress a snort. "You're telling me?"

He gave her a sharp look. "You've had trouble with him."

"Of course I have. He's been in my bloody class for two years, and until today he's partnered with me almost every single lesson."

Snape glanced away. "Another very good reason to take defence lessons," he muttered, and she could see his gaze harden. She was glad he wasn't looking at her, though she felt sorry for her copy of _An Extensive History of Goblin Revivals in the Middle Ages,_ by Stezhir Salmon.

"Wilkes is just a snobby Slytherin," Lily said sternly, and wished she felt as confident. "No offence. But he's puffed-up on his own blood. As if it's something to boast about."

"I agree that the purity of one's blood is irrelevant," said Snape, who Lily had heard was a pureblood, and therefore not really concerned with the pruning of the race. "But Wilkes isn't the kind of person you should just brush off. He – "

Snape broke off suddenly and glanced out into the stacks, which were silent and apparently deserted. Nevertheless, he lowered his voice, and they both leaned forward as he resumed speaking.

"Wilkes," said Snape in a voice as soft as the cashmere scarf Lily's mother had gotten her last Christmas, "is not to be ignored. Listen, Evans – and I mean this – be careful around him. It's bad enough that he's taken a liking to you – "

Lily jerked back, opened her mouth to hotly protest; Snape, however, grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward again, and spoke in a more urgent tone.

"Don't be deliberately dense, Evans; you know it as well as I do. Of course, he only wants to get into your skirt, so don't expect any chivalry from him."

Lily wondered if she should slap him, and decided against it; in any case, she was too shaken by his curt words to keep her hands from shaking, let alone orchestrate an offensive move.

"Which is my point exactly," Snape continued. "He hates Muggleborns. So no matter – or maybe, _because _of – how much he admires your lovely hair, he won't hesitate to curse you if he gets the chance."

Lily almost didn't hear the last part of his warning. She was too preoccupied with the sudden chills that persuaded her spine to curl inward, and the warmth of Snape's long, calloused fingers wrapped around the slender bones of her wrist. Her pulse quickened, and she felt a cool prickle at her hairline.

He suddenly seemed just as aware as she, and extricated himself from her as completely as if he'd erased what just happened. She felt a twinge of fear, a little irritation, and quite a bit of embarrassment.

"I'll be careful," was all she said, though.

Snape looked away.

There was a lengthy, uncomfortable silence. Lily began to fidget.

"Lessons again on Saturday?" she said at last.

"Yes," said Snape, and suddenly stood, almost knocking over the little table upon which were piled Lily's texts.

"Leaving already?"

"Things to do," Snape snapped, and Lily recoiled.

"All right," she said hurriedly; "See you… later."

He hurried away without another word, and Lily, extremely dissatisfied, returned to her work.

"_Levicorpus!"_

"_Ahhhh!_"

There was an outburst of laughter in the corridor as the second-year girl flipped upside down, suspended in midair by one ankle. Her shrieks of terror were nearly drowned out by the crowd's amusement.

Lily forced her way through the crowd. "_Potter!_" she bellowed. "_Potter, you swine, put her down!"_

Her path was abruptly blocked. Black had her by the arm, ostensibly a friendly grip, but the boy's Quidditch strength was evident to Lily, who was certain he'd leave bruises. "Where're you headed, Evans?"

"You know very well, Black," Lily snarled, and tried to wrench herself out of his grip.

"Aw. Is that any way to treat your future husband?"

"Not in the _mood_, Black," she said, and succeeded in freeing herself. She made it to Potter's side before Black had her again.

"Darling, you're absolutely stunning when you're angry," he murmured, and, taking her round the waist, dipped her backwards.

"_Potter!"_ Lily howled, and the note of true desperation in her voice caused Potter to turn. He saw the pair and barked an order at Black, who, surprisingly, complied immediately and dropped her to the floor.

"Now, now, Padfoot," said Potter reprovingly, still looking over his shoulder at Sirius, who had picked her back up and was ever-so-courteously dusting off her front.

"STOP IT!" she shrieked, and shoved his hands away. To Potter, she cried: "Let the poor girl down!"

He chuckled; a pleasant sound, given the situation. "Why?"

"Because I'm a prefect, that's why!"

"Oh, you're going to turn in your rescuer?" said Potter, pretending to pout. "I saved you from certain snogging."

"And yet your crony continues to harass me!" she said, shoving Black's hands away once again.

"C'mon, Evans, we're just playing around!" said Potter, who was practically slavering with delight by now. _He **i**s worse than Peeves,_ Lily thought abruptly, growing more furious by the moment.

"Yeah, and you're only 'playing around' when it's someone else's knickers on display!" Lily said, gesturing toward the poor second-year, who was clutching at the skirts of her robes, trying to keep them from flying over her head.

"Aw, come off it, Evans – " Black started, but suddenly Lily had her wand out.

"You really think you can beat me with that thing, Evans?" said Potter, a glimmer of glee in his eyes.

"I'll beat you 'bout the head and shoulders if you don't let up in three seconds," said Lily seriously, and began to count. "Three… two…."

"It's not worth it, mate," said Black, patting Potter's wand arm, which was still aimed at the helpless girl.

" – One," said Lily, and at the same time, Potter's wand lifted, and the girl fell in a heap to the floor. Lily rushed over to help her up; the poor thing's eyes were filled with tears.

"It's all right," Lily said comfortingly; "you'll be fine. I'll make sure those two get detention for the rest of the month – go on up to – Ravenclaw, is it? – Professor Flitwick's."

The girl tottered away, and Lily was glad to see another girl join her and link arms. Heads down, they hurried away, the second girl whispering words of comfort in her harried friend's ear. Satisfied, Lily turned around to the boys again, who were both eyeing her amusedly.

"You two," she said calmly, "are mine."

"Didn't know you were that kind of girl," said Sirius, and before she knew what she was doing, Lily forgot about her wand and popped him in the mouth.

It was just bad luck that Professor McGonagall had come round the corner that very moment. Now, all subjected to a rather disgusting detention with Professor Eberwulf, they were partly drenched in dragon-tuber juice, sporting blisters from the wicked sap, and in foul moods.

"Who taught you to punch like that?" Sirius wanted to know, but Lily would not speak to him. She hadn't spoken to either of the boys since McGonagall had sentenced them to an hour in the dungeons. She was afraid that, should she open her mouth, she'd say something she'd regret later.

"You're spilling more puss, mate," Potter noted, and Sirius cursed and batted at his stained apron with gloved hands.

"You hit hard for a girl," Sirius said for the fifteenth time.

"Wouldn't think a little jinx like that would earn such a disgusting detention," said Potter conversationally. "I mean, this isn't just a little disgusting. This is really, really, _really_ disgusting. Buggering hell!"

"You spilled your puss," Sirius sniggered. Potter thumped him.

"Settle down over there," Professor Eberwulf boomed from across the classroom. "No more talking, or it'll be another half hour."

There was silence for a time.

Then:

"So, is this your first detention, Evans?"

Lily didn't bother to keep her voice down. "You heard what Professor Eberwulf said," she said loudly. "Any more talking, and it'd be another half hour of _puss._"

"This is your last warning, Mr Black," Eberwulf's voice rang out.

Once the professor had turned back to his own project, Sirius jabbed Lily painfully in the side. "What's your problem?" he hissed, incredulous. She suppressed her yelp by biting her tongue and refused to answer, continuing to dig the crud out of her dragon-tuber.

"Evans, if we ever get out of here, you're history."

She couldn't help the wicked smile that sprang to her face, but she didn't say another word. And aside from the occasional muttered curse from the boys as they sustained yet more injuries from careless work, they were silent until their detention had been served.

They parted at the entrance to the dungeons. The boys headed off in the direction of the infirmary to tend to their numerous burns, and Lily, having been rather more careful than they, headed straight on up to Gryffindor Tower.

She was tired. They'd been in that dungeon until almost curfew, and she was glad that, being a prefect, she couldn't be punished for being out after curfew. But three hours of dissecting dragon-tubers with James and Sirius had fried her nerves. Her legs and back were aching, not to mention her wrists from holding and cutting tubers all evening. And she felt a slight stinging on the inside of her right arm; she imagined she'd gotten burnt after all. Oh, she'd be glad to get to bed…. Lucky thing that tomorrow was Saturday….

She cursed mentally. Saturday! Ball-committee meeting! Blast if she hadn't volunteered. Oh, well, it was a ten-o'clock meeting, so she wouldn't be forced to rise until nine at least.

She turned down a corridor, and a very real chill brought her unexpectedly out of her musing. A draft whispered past her bare ankles, and she felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck as she reached the top of the small flight of steps.

"Who's… who's there?" she said, clearing her suddenly dry throat. "Peeves? Is that you…?"

But there was no sound other than the fierce beating of her heart.

– until a hoarse, sibilant voice uttered a sound, and she toppled head-first down the stairs.

The hex he'd cast rendered her stiff and virtually immobile, voiceless and nearly breathless from invisible bands constricting her chest, but she managed to twist around a bit so she didn't fall directly on her forehead. But the staircase was steep, and she tumbled, bashing elbows on the stone bannister and knees on the cruel-edged steps, until she crashed into a boneless heap at the bottom, half unconscious.

_Footsteps on the flagstones. Heart thundering – it's not Snape this time – lip smarting where it's split. That voice – _

"Careful, Mudblood."

_A hand gripping her shoulder, wrenching painfully, and now she's on her back, facing up into the shadowy recesses of the arching hallway ceiling. Her heart pounds frantically, and as she gazes up she can feel the invisible fist tightening around it – _

_A face swims into view._

"You're lucky it wasn't Wilkes."

_And though he's done away with the unfamiliar hex, she is too terrified to move. She simply lies there, looking up into the quiet Slytherin's shady face. _

"I know Severus is fond of you,"_ he says, _"and since I admire him, I'll give you a warning."

_Her heart beats faster._

"Stay away, Evans."

_And he is gone. _

Lily lay on the landing for an indeterminable length of time, waiting for her blood to slow and thicken again in her veins. And now she grew colder on the frozen flagstones, and her mind began to run rationally again, and she tried to remember who he was.

A quiet boy. Always in the back of the class, head bowed, dark hair feathering in his shadowed eyes. Lestrange. Rodolphus Lestrange. That was his name.

Lily tried to remember something else about the boy, but for the life of her, she couldn't. She'd never heard him speak before. He'd kept such a low profile even Potter never bothered him. And now here he was, showing up with hexes and warnings and that terrifying, disused voice.

She sat up slowly, feeling every ache in her chilled joints. She'd be bruised tomorrow, all right. No short skirts for a week, and by the feel of the back of her neck, no low-collared shirts, either. Her knees scolded her as she stood and made an attempt to brush the wrinkles from her robes. Oh, but she was sore. It was a lucky thing that it hadn't been a full flight of steps; she might have broken her head.

Wand drawn – not taking any chances now – she returned to Gryffindor. She was surprised to find people still in the common room when she came in; ten minutes hadn't passed since she'd first left the dungeons, but it seemed like hours. She waved goodnight to Remus and Eliza, and stiffly climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

"Merlin's beard. What happened to you, Lily?"

Lily rolled over in bed. "Wha'?"

"Get bit by Rip Van Winkle? It's past ten."

Lily's brain was too sleep-muddled to work out Cordelia's lacklustre joke, but she heard the clock striking at that very moment, and bolted upright.

"Ten! Meeting! Why didn't you get me up earlier?"

She tried to get out of bed, got tangled in the sheets and fell flat on the floor. She got up groaning.

Cordelia caught her arm and hoisted her upward. "You aren't going anywhere in that condition," she said firmly.

"Shower'll wake me up," Lily mumbled, and tried to pull away, though her left knee was now smarting dreadfully.

"Back to bed. You look like death warmed over. I'll get 'Liza to bring you up some breakfast."

"_Meeting,"_ Lily insisted, but Cordelia would brook no argument; the fit girl pushed Lily back onto the bed.

"Skip it. They've got plenty of people; Lupin can bring you your assignments, if you have any. You need sleep."

Lily was marginally awake by now, and ready to get righteously indignant, but she really did want a few extra hours of rest. So, she allowed Cordelia to tuck her in again, and remained in bed while her friend went downstairs to find Eliza and send her off for breakfast.

She gave hardly any thought to the occurrence of the previous night _– _Lestrange's warning. She knew she'd have to be more careful now, but she was hardly going to stop associating with Snape – that was certain. She was decided, and nothing would persuade her otherwise.

Cordelia returned eventually, Eliza following, bearing a tray of breakfast. Lily was a little embarrassed at the lavish treatment but pleased nonetheless. While she ate, her friends sympathised with her tale of recalcitrant boys and an overlong detention.

"Seems to me you deserve a bit of a lie-in," said Cordelia smartly as Lily polished off her toast. "Never mind the prefect meeting."

"Remus'll fill you in," Eliza assured, and patted Lily on the knee. "Such a good boy."

"It's too late now, of course," said Lily, picking up her wooden-handled brush from the bedside table. "But I have the feeling that it was a bad idea to miss it. We're really busy with this ball coming up."

She saw Eliza and Cordelia exchange glances, and looked pointedly at them. "I don't want to hear anything about dates," she said firmly. "If I have to go, I'll go by myself. James is a prat. I wouldn't go with him for twenty galleons."

"We weren't going to say anything about it," Eliza said softly. "In fact, I was going to suggest turning him down if he asks."

"Eliza's right," Cordelia added. "He can't get everything he wants. You have to make him work for it."

Eliza pushed the girl off the bed. Cordelia toppled with a shriek, and when she finally managed to clamber back on top of the mattress, Eliza was sitting behind Lily, brushing her hair for her.

Lily smiled smugly, and Cordelia stuck her tongue out.

"Just push me off the bed, why don't you."

"I think it's ridiculous, all the energy we're putting into this ball," said Lily. "Really, why are we even having it? It's only Halloween. Sure, it's a magical night, but only for Dark wizards. I think it's just an excuse to dress up."

"And snog," Cordelia added helpfully.

"That too," Eliza said, gently teasing out a tangle. "Merlin's undershorts, Lily, where'd you get this nasty bruise?"

"Is it on her neck?" Cordelia asked interestedly, and Lily nudged her with her foot in admonition.

"Don't be disgusting. It's from when Black dropped me yesterday."

She heard Eliza's breath hiss between her teeth. "It looks horrible. Ah, that must've hurt! Well, you'll be wearing your hair down for the next week."

"I dunno," said Cordelia. "You should wear it up and make Sirius feel guilty."

"Black's conscience is the size of a withered Puffapod," said Lily succinctly. "He could decapitate me, and he wouldn't feel guilty even if I came back to haunt him."

"Carrying your head under your arm?"

"No – given Black's penchant for screwing things up, it'd be dangling by sinews, like Sir Nick's."

"That's revolting," said Eliza, jerking a bit harder on the snarl. "Let's talk about something else."

At that moment, Lara Cranfield, with her mouse-brown hair recently dyed blonde, walked into the dorm.

"Slugabeds," she said, and continued to her side of the room to deposit a dirty canvas satchel stuffed full of gardening things. "I've been up since six, and I've already worked through two greenhouses."

"Nutter," said Cordelia.

Lily and Eliza both winced as Lara slammed a book down on her nightstand.

"And what have you contributed to society this morning, Stott?" Lara growled.

"Sanity?" suggested Cordelia, and Lily saw Lara's face flush.

"And what about you, Evans?" Lara suddenly turned and attacked. "_Prefect_ Evans – aren't you supposed to be at a meeting right about now?"

"Sod off," said Cordelia angrily. "For your information, _Cranfield,_ Lily's had a rough night."

"Out with Potter, I expect," Lara snarled, and all three girls immediately burst into heated retorts.

"Just because _you_ can't – "

"I was _not _– !"

"Lara, what's your – ?"

"Oh, you can't fool me," Lara said, angling her hands on her hips. "All three of you were missing; you and Potter _and_ Black. Kinky, Evans, real kinky – "

Lily laughed bitterly. "You are such a child, Lara. For your information – "

" – yeah, you're such a child," Cordelia interrupted. She was seething. "For your information, _Lily_ was in _detention_ for saving some second-year girl's dignity from those two. Where've you been? Hiding in a hole?"

"Well, _excuse me_ for not reading the papers," Lara retorted. "_Pardon_ if I have better things to do with my time than listen to gossip."

Cordelia started laughing, and Lily rolled her eyes.

"And yet you seem to have a grand time making it up," Lily said. "You're as bad as the rest of them."

"And what about you, huh?" Lara cried. "Three against one? Is that fair? You're worse than the Slytherins – "

Cordelia stopped laughing immediately and, before Lily or Eliza could stop her, had whipped out her wand and put a stop to Lara's rudeness.

There was a muffled squealing as Lara tried to unglue her lips, but Cordelia refused to lift the hex. "Just remember, Cranfield," she said shortly, "_you_ started it."

And, flicking her gently-sparking wand, she expelled Lara from the room, locking the door behind her. Immediately there was a volley of noise as Lara hammered on the door and screamed through the magical gag, but eventually she let up and they heard her footsteps fade down the steps.

"You know it'll be hell when she gets her mouth unglued," said Eliza conversationally.

"I don't care," Cordelia scowled. "She's an idiot. Thinks she knows everything because of her nancy pureblood parents. Should've been sorted into Hufflepuff with the other gossip-mongers and bottle-blondes."

"That's a little harsh, isn't it?" said Eliza.

"No," said Cordelia sullenly.

There was a brief silence, which Lily broke.

"I think I'm going to get dressed now," she said, and proceeded to crawl out of bed.

"I guess it's about time. It's eleven-thirty."

"Almost time for lunch."

Eliza yawned and stood. "I think I'm going to go down to the library. Anyone want to join me?"

"I will," said Cordelia. "Look up some more curses to try out on Cranfield. Lily?"

"Nah," said Lily; "I think I'll go for a walk."

"It's going to rain," Eliza noted, nodding toward the window.

Lily shrugged. "Then it'll be a quick walk. I'll see you two later," she added as her friends walked out the door.

Lily finished dressing, grabbed her cloak, and left. The common room was all but deserted, and she found her way out of the castle without meeting anyone but a couple of Ravenclaw upper formers who seemed quite engrossed in each other.

Outside, it was cool and breezy and dark. The thunderheads rolling in through the mountains were an awesome sight, a thousand different shades of grey and black, limned above with the gold of the hidden sun, and lit at odd moments with flashes of lightning that washed the entire valley in an unearthly light.

Lily started down the sloping eastern lawn toward the forested side of the lake. There was a narrow hidden path there between the edge of the water and the tree line, and this was where Lily headed. She didn't notice the slim, cloak-draped figure following her until she was well down the path and he caught up.

"This is cutting it rather close, isn't it?"

She gave a shriek and dove for her wand before she realized it was only Remus.

"Oh, my God," she cried, "you scared the _life_ out of me!"

He laughed softly. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you. You're brave, though, walking so close to the Forest. How are you feeling?"

"I think I'll recover," she said gravely, placing a hand over her heart.

"No, I mean – you missed the meeting this morning."

Lily grimaced. "Oh. That."

"You sick?"

"No, just tired," she replied, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. "Detention last night."

Remus fell in step beside her. "Sirius told me about that."

"At length, I'm sure," Lily said, almost bitterly.

"He's not mad at you."

Lily snorted. "Well, I'm glad of that!"

Beside her, Remus frowned. "Sarcasm?"

"Of course. Did he tell you _how_ we got detention?"

"You punched him in the mouth."

Lily drew a quick breath, ready to protest, but Remus hadn't finished.

"I'm sure, though, that it was provoked."

"Was it ever."

"Care to share?"

Lily shrugged, bumping Remus as she did. The narrow path brought them closer together. "They were dangling this poor second-year by her ankle in the corridor. I made them stop. Sirius made some snarky comment, and I snapped."

Remus paused, and Lily stopped as well and turned to face him. "What?"

His expression was rueful. "You're better at it than I am. Being a prefect. I can't control them at all."

"What makes you think that I can?" said Lily, feeling surprised and flattered at his frank admission.

"Well, no one can keep them in line, I admit – but at least you try. I – "

He stopped, turned away.

"I understand," Lily said softly, and patted his arm. "They're your friends. And they're overwhelming to begin with. I'd do no better, were I in your position."

He glanced over his shoulder to smile at her. "Thank you."

Lily smiled back. "You're welcome."

They resumed walking, and Remus slipped his arm through Lily's, ostensibly to ward off the escalating chill of the wind.

"So," she said eventually, when they were halfway round the back side of the lake, "anything eventful happen at the meeting?"

She felt him shrug. "Still the debate over the music. I couldn't really care less."

"Me neither."

"And the Slytherins were making a fuss over decorations."

Lily tripped. "_Snape_ was fussing over – "

But Remus was laughing. "Bellatrix, I mean. She wants dancing skeletons and giant mutated bats flapping around. And spiders. She actually proposed subduing an acromantula – "

"No!"

"Exactly what the rest of us said. Even Snape agreed. I saw him yelling at her when they were leaving."

"He was yelling at her?" Lily echoed in surprise.

"Well, not yelling – I couldn't hear him at all, actually – but he was definitely berating her. You know how he gets."

"And how did she react?"

"She looked furious."

Lily smirked. "I'll bet so. Um. Was there anything they needed me to do?"

"Well, Bellatrix wants you to come to a meeting later this evening."

Lily was alarmed. She had a defence lesson with Snape later on. "What time? Did she say?"

"Six."

"Oh, I can't do that!" said Lily. "That's right after dinner!"

"What's right after dinner?"

"Um. I'm, ah…."

Remus looked amused now, and nudged her in the side. "Keeping secrets?" he said softly, and Lily blushed.

"I – Remus, I shouldn't – "

He jostled her gently. "Don't tell if you don't want to," he said.

Lily felt a surge of gratitude, and wondered suddenly: _Why_ was she being so secretive? It wasn't as if she lambasted the Slytherins in front of her friends; as a matter of fact, she made it clearly known that she abhorred inter-house prejudices. And Remus was growing ever closer to her – why shouldn't she tell him what was going on? Because he'd tell James and Sirius? She had the feeling that he wouldn't. Remus wasn't the kind of boy to betray a confidence.

So she took a leap of faith.

"Do you want to know?"

Remus stopped walking. "Only if you want to tell," he said seriously. "I don't want to push you."

"Believe me, you aren't," said Lily. "Only I _have_ to tell someone. And I don't see why I've been keeping it a – well, never mind that; I know exactly why I haven't told anyone. If it gets back to the boys…."

"It won't," he promised, and she was glad he wasn't offended that she needed him to give his word.

She was silent for a moment before licking her lips.

"I'm taking defence lessons with Snape."

For a moment, she regretted telling – his eyes widened momentarily, and she felt him begin to move back – but then he came even closer and tightened his grip on her arm.

"Well, I can see why you didn't want to say anything about it," he said, and she burst into nervous giggles. "James and Sirius would _kill_ him."

"So you don't disapprove?" she wanted to know, once her brief bout of hysteria had subsided.

"Lily, I have deep, dark secrets of my own," he said. "And frankly, I agree with you that Slytherins aren't to be avoided like the plague. I do question the wisdom of taking defence lessons from Snape – "

Lily, though she'd resolved not to, stiffened a little at the thought of criticism.

" – but I trust your judgement. And after all, there's no one who knows the Dark arts better than Snape."

Lily hugged closer to Remus. It felt wonderful to walk with him this way, and she had to wonder how much she enjoyed it. Would he interpret her proximity as a request for something more, or was he also content just to walk arm-in-arm? Inwardly she squirmed. Her feelings toward her friend were very warm, and she felt she could easily fall for him. He was the perfect fellow, sweet and courteous, and exactly the kind her mother would want her to end up with.

But something deep down told her that it'd never work between them, that his relationship with her was more fraternal than anything else. And she felt safer in that assumption, because as a brother he could provide for her in a way that a boyfriend couldn't. In the realm of Lily's admittedly limited experience, boyfriends were a rather temporary thing. She couldn't name a single couple that had married once they'd left Hogwarts, or even stayed together more than the span of the nine months they were at school. But siblings – even makeshift ones – lasted years.

An explosion of light, followed shortly by a resounding blast of thunder that continued to reverberate in her ribcage even after it had growled down, hailed the first of the icy raindrops. Three-quarters of the way around the lake, they glanced at each other, identical Oh-Merlin expressions on their faces, and, firmly gripping one another's hands, they made a run for it.

They were soaked by the time they reached the front doors, and stumbled into the warmly-lit entrance hall, freezing cold, dripping all over the glistening marble floors and laughing like a pair of children. They quieted down when they saw the mess they'd made, and, using their wands to clean up and dry off, they walked into the Great Hall together for lunch.

Lily felt particularly freed, having finally told someone her secret. She was in such good spirits that she even told herself that she didn't care whether James and Sirius found out, which was, of course, a lie, but she was feeling quite optimistic and ready to take on anything. This sentiment was only reinforced by a stomach full of delicious, hot Hogwarts food, and she spent the rest of the afternoon in an agreeable daze, which amused Remus to no end.

It wasn't until five o'clock or so that she began to come down from this psychological high and gather her wits for the evening's lesson. She unobtrusively parted company with her friends in the common room, complaining of a headache, and grinned when Remus gave her a reassuring wink. Then she climbed out the portrait hole, ostensibly on a quest for a headache tonic.

The familiar painting of Archibald the Lightheaded waved to her as she passed it and entered the classroom. Snape was waiting for her there, standing in the middle of the torch-lit room, and when he saw her, his eyebrows shot up.

"Evans, you look dreadful."

Lily's lip curled into an uncharacteristic sneer. The effects of the good mood she'd been most of the day were wearing off quite a bit sooner than she **had **thought they would. No doubt she _did_ look a mess – she hadn't touched her hair since she'd come in from the rain, and she knew it was frizzing crazily – and this was before she even considered the bruised look she'd suffered all day, due from the harrying events of the previous evening and the restless night that followed. "Thanks, Snape."

He didn't respond to her sarcasm, though, and astonished her by asking: "What happened?"

She was shocked speechless for a moment. She hadn't expected he'd inquire after her health; what was she supposed to say now? Oh, she should've guessed he'd be curious as to why she didn't attend the prefects' meeting – but she didn't think he'd care about what happened to her. Accordingly, she was so taken aback that she ended up telling him the truth, despite realizing halfway through how mortifying it was to admit that once again she'd been taken by surprise by a hex. By the end of her tale, he was scowling.

"Lestrange talked to me, too," he said, lips thin and white. "Didn't dare curse me, of course – I find it incredible to believe that after everything I've taught you, you'd still let him do that."

Lily was indignant. "But – "

"I _told_ you that this was going to happen," Snape interrupted. "That's why I insisted that you take these lessons."

When Lily finally found her tongue she managed to ask the question that had been clamouring for a real answer for the past two weeks.

"Why do you even _care?_"

He responded immediately and predictably. "I don't."

"But – "

"Let's get going on this lesson," he interrupted curtly. "I don't want to be here all night."

Lily mumbled something sarcastic under her breath, and Snape didn't hesitate in whipping around and binding her throat with a solid Gag Jinx.

"Why don't we practice without words this evening," he suggested forcefully, and she glared at him and drew her wand.

She'd caught on sooner than she thought she would, though by the end of the two and a half hours they'd run over she'd only managed four hexes and two successful blocking spells without actually speaking the words. When Snape lifted the Gag Jinx, she coughed a bit to clear her throat, shook her mussed hair back, and tucked her wand away.

Interestingly enough, she was in a much better mood now, even though she'd not had much success in mastering wordless spells. She couldn't help but smile as she rubbed out the aches she'd developed from the numerous attacks she's unsuccessfully blocked. "That was fun," she said.

Snape snorted. "Fun? You must've fallen over fifty times."

"But I managed to hit you with that Bat Bogey hex."

"Barely," Snape sneered, but she detected the barest hint of a smile around the vicinity of his mouth.

"Barely, my foot," Lily said confidently. "Your face was flapping."

"All right, gloat," said Snape, and Lily laughed, twisting her head this way and that so her vertebrae made a succession of noisy cracks.

"Stop that. You're making my neck hurt. Here – sit down."

He levitated a chair toward her, and she grabbed it before it could float past. She did not sit, however.

"Why?" she said suspiciously.

"No sense in walking about with a mass of bruises all over."

Lily raised an eyebrow. "It's the middle of October, Snape. It's not like I'm in short sleeves all the time."

"Don't be stubborn. Sit down."

Lily sat.

He came up behind her, and she felt goosebumps ripple down the suddenly-chilled flesh of her back as he tugged on the collar of her blouse, pulling it down in the back in order to get to the injuries in question. Her teeth clenched as the tip of his wand found the worst spot, the _vertebrae prominens,_ which she was sure she'd fractured when she'd fallen the night before, and where the skin had gone a lovely shade of blue-violet (she had seen it herself in the bathroom mirror that morning; it was dreadful). There was a painful bit of pressure, and the ache disappeared as immediately as if it had been Banished. Lily couldn't help but gasp.

Snape heard her. "What, you thought I couldn't do it?"

"No – it just…."

She trailed off and let him tend to her other visible bruises, and the not-so-visible ones he had to find himself. And before Lily could get a grip, this simple healing was rapidly becoming something quite different. She gradually became aware of a warmer, rougher sort of touch accompanying that of his wand as his fingers brushed hesitantly over the pale skin of her shoulders, and to her bewilderment she felt herself begin to warm.

A moment later, for no apparent reason, he drew back as if burned. Lily made a soft noise of protest, turned halfway and caught at his hand. "You missed one," she told him, and gingerly touched the back curve of her skull. He looked rattled, and she dropped her eyes and turned again, heart beating fast and breath threatening to get away from her.

His hand had just brushed the surface of her red hair when the door exploded inward.


	17. chapter seventeen

Disclaimers in first chapter. There are a few noncanonical spells in here, too, but they're pretty straightforward Latin, like all the rest. Back again with the seventeenth instalment. Hope it wasn't too much of a wait for y'all; I am (unsurprisingly) having computer problems again. It never ends. Ugh. But anyway, I hope you will forgive me for the horrible cliff-hanger in the last chapter. 

Oh, and before we get started – happy Chrismahaunaqwanzikkah.

chapter seventeen 

Lily threw herself off the chair in fright, going for her wand even as she tumbled to the floor. She knew Snape was behind her somewhere, about to reel off half a dozen hexes, but the intruders outnumbered them by far, and before Lily could even open her mouth to make an objection, a cacophony of familiar voices assailed her ears.

Behind her, there was an ominous thump, and she twisted to see that Snape had fallen, even with his wand in his hand. But he wasn't frozen; he was getting up, spitting out foam and soap bubbles. Lily shrieked in protest.

"James! Please, d–"

But James Potter saw red. Lily didn't even have time to stand before he was on top of Snape, shaking him like a rag doll.

"_What do you think you're doing, huh? Disgusting – sick – vile – little – worm –"_

His last word was punctuated by a back-handed slap to Snape's jaw. Lily watched in horror, dumbstruck and unable to move as she watched James do his best to knock Snape unconscious while Sirius egged him on.

Two figures still shadowed the doorway, and when Lily managed to identify them, she felt sudden tears of betrayal prick her eyes.

"_Remus,_" she said, feeling as if her heart had broken in one swift moment. The boy stared at her for a minute, his face a mask of anguish, before he hid his face in the shadow of the doorjamb.

The other figure was Peter. He regarded Lily with a look of scathing blame, and she felt that the longer she looked into his pale grey eyes, the more she felt like she was being turned inside out. She finally managed to tear her gaze away from his, and it only took her a second more to pull herself together. She fished her wand out of her pocket, and before Peter or Remus could let out a warning shout, she'd blasted James backwards into the wall with one powerful and surprisingly well-aimed hex.

There was immediate silence, save for Snape's gurgling breaths. The soap spilling out of his mouth hadn't abated, but now it was a bloody pink. Lily had to look away, so she focused a seething glare on Sirius.

"Wand down, Black," she said.

"What're you on about, Evans?" Sirius demanded. "He was trying to –"

"DOWN, BLACK!"

Sirius obediently dropped it to the floor, where it clattered like a broken thing.

"To the wall," she said shakily, pointing with her wand.

He joined James on the other side of the room and helped his friend to his feet.

"What do you mean by it?" she said, taking a step toward Snape, whose movements were becoming decidedly more weak as the seconds passed.

"What the hell are you on about?" Sirius said, lopsided as James leaned his full weight on him. "We just saved your ass from that –"

"Prefect?" Lily said.

"_Slytherin,_" Sirius spat.

Lily stretched out her wand-arm. "I'm going to give you one chance, Black," she said, "to explain why you're here. If it's a good explanation, I'll only recommend Professor McGonagall deduct a hundred points apiece, rather than two hundred."

Sirius' eyes widened. "From your own –"

"I'm _waiting,_ Black."

Sirius seemed to suddenly explode. "_Sod_ the house points! Why the hell are you defending that greasy git?"

Lily took a threatening step forward. "For your _information,_ Black, he's a fellow prefect."

"So?"

"So, he deserves a modicum of respect!"

"Criminals don't deserve anything of the sort!"

"Oh, give it up," Lily sighed in exasperation.

"_He had a wand to your fucking head, Evans!"_ Sirius shouted. "Does that register at ALL?"

Lily ground her teeth. "Do _not_ swear at me, Black," she snapped. "Do you have any idea what was going on when you rudely burst in and decided to muddy everything up?"

His eyes widened slightly at her words, and she saw his gaze flick quickly between her and Snape, but he kept a bold tone as he answered: "I can damn well guess. And if it's not one thing, it's the other."

"Oh, enlighten me, Black," Lily said, eyes gleaming.

"You're a fucking traitor."

Lily's gaze sharpened like icy bolts. "Care to repeat that, Black?"

"Fucking _traitor,"_ Sirius reiterated, and the hate in his eyes was horribly apparent. "Leading James on like that, while all the time you were –"

"Oh, so first _he_ was trying to kill _me,_ and now _I'm_ suddenly seducing _him?_" Lily had been at the boiling point ever since Potter and Black had burst in, but now she was rising up and over the edge. She lost control for a moment, and as she spoke, the furniture at the edges of the room and the chair on which she'd been sitting began to rattle. "You're too much, Black._ You think you know everything, but you don't know anything at all!"_ She rounded on Remus then. "_And you, Lupin, you backstabbing – you – I thought I could _trust_ you! And you had to go _tell –"

He met her accusation with a horrified look. "I didn't do anything of the sort! They found you themselves –"

"And you just _happened_ to think of checking in the dusty, disused third-floor classroom! Right! I'm supposed to believe this!" Lily had the childish urge to stamp her foot. Worse, she simply wanted to plop down in the middle of the floor and start crying. But she was certain she'd let herself die before they saw her break down in tears.

"All right. This is what I'm going to do," she said, before any of them could respond. "All of you – Potter, Black, Lupin, and you too, Pettigrew – you're all going to go up to Professor McGonagall's office. I'm going to take Snape up to the hospital wing. Don't even think about pulling anything; there's no way on earth you're getting out of this one."

"You can't make us go anywhere," said Black. Beside him, Potter seemed to be losing consciousness, and Lily was taken aback at the strength of her own spell. Maybe it had reacted badly with his state of emotions at the time; spells did that sometimes.

"I can do anything I bloody well want," Lily snarled. "You want pain? I can give you pain. I'll have you scrubbing out cauldrons and sorting dragon dung from now 'til Christmas; don't you think I can't. If I have to tell you again, I'll personally make sure you get greenhouse duty every Saturday until the end of term. You want that? By all means, keep talking, Black. Make my _fucking day_."

In the end, she figured it was probably the obscenity that got them moving. She never swore like that, and the uncharacteristic sound of the word escaping her lips startled even herself.

But they left in silence after that, and Lily was alone again with Snape to break James' hex and help him up. He seemed extremely reluctant to lean on her, but she got him down to the infirmary without much fuss, and left when Madame Pomfrey shooed her away some time after she'd taken the Slytherin prefect under her wing.

Lily was drained, but she refused to miss the appointment with the deputy headmistress. She arrived at Professor McGonagall's office and found, to her satisfaction, that the boys had gone there as ordered, and were waiting outside the door. Apparently, none of them had the guts to go in.

"What are you waiting for?" she said coldly.

Only Remus looked at her as she brushed past, and his eyes were dark and ashamed. A righteous indignation filled her, gave her a false sense of strength, and she felt horrible for it even as she was reveling in how put-upon she was.

Professor McGonagall sat behind her desk, grading papers. She looked up as the five entered, and her eyebrows drew together as she saw who was at her door.

"Evans," she said, acknowledging her prefect with a nod. "What's this?"

"Good evening, Professor McGonagall," Lily said. "I think Potter and Black would provide a better answer than I can."

McGonagall stood up. "Potter, what on earth happened to you?"

"Evans cursed him," Black said, glaring at Lily as he helped James into a nearby chair. "Blasted him back against the wall."

McGonagall regarded Lily with a shrewd eye. "And why did you hex him, Miss Evans?"

"Because he was trying to break Snape's head, Professor McGonagall," Lily said.

McGonagall glowered at the boys. "Is this true, Potter?"

Potter mumbled something. Lily strongly suspected that he was taking advantage of his injuries.

"Black, you answer for Potter, since he seems unable to form a coherent answer."

Lily saw Sirius grit his teeth. "Evans is exaggerating. Yeah, okay – James attacked that slimy git, but he wasn't really trying to _hurt_ –"

"Nonsense!" Lily said. "He cursed him, and then continued to attack him when he was unable to defend himself!"

"Miss Evans, try to control yourself," said Professor McGonagall, but then turned to regard Sirius with a glittering look. "That's hardly Gryffindor behaviour, boys," she said. "Miss Evans' accusation is a very serious one. And I, for one, am perfectly ashamed that _any_ of my students would do something like this, despite all the warnings they've had in the past. If everything she says is true, this is a case for expulsion."

Lily saw Black go pale.

Pettigrew suddenly spoke up. "I wasn't involved," he squeaked, sounding panicky. "Neither was Remus. We just came along, looking for Lily – didn't think that it was anything serious –"

"Yeah," Sirius said angrily. "And you can hardly blame us, Professor. I mean, she said she was going out for a headache tonic, and when she didn't come back for two hours, naturally we got worried and went looking for her. Present times being what they are – surely _you'll_ understand, Professor – I mean, when we found them he had a _wand_ to her _head!_"

Lily's eyes widened at Sirius' explanation, and that self-righteousness she'd felt earlier, swollen inside her like a balloon, was suddenly punctured. She could almost hear the hiss as the fight rushed out of her and left her with only a sense of shame and horror at the assumptions she'd made – so Remus _hadn't_ told them what she was up to! The pain was like snow in her veins. Professor McGonagall's gaze went sharply to her.

"What's this, Miss Evans? A wand?"

Lily, dazed, couldn't answer for a moment, and McGonagall looked profoundly irritated at having to repeat her question.

"Well, yes, Professor –" Lily began. Behind her, Sirius gave a wicked laugh. McGonagall glared him into silence, and Lily continued: "But he wasn't trying to – to hex me or anything. I fell down the stairs last night on the way back to the Tower, and he was – erm – mending the bruises." Her cheeks were flaming, she knew, but she couldn't help it.

"Why didn't you go to the infirmary last night?"

"I was tired," Lily said.

"And today?"

Lily shook her head. "I don't know. I guess I just – didn't think about it."

Sirius scoffed audibly. "Oh please. And we're supposed to believe that that greasy git would willingly help _you,_ a _Mudbl–"_

"Three nights' detention, Mr Black," Professor McGonagall said. "On top of the twelve you and Mr Potter will each receive for acting before thinking."

"Pr – Professor," Peter began, but McGonagall interrupted him.

"Miss Evans, can you tell me what part Mr Pettigrew and Mr Lupin played in this evening's nasty little drama?"

Lily cleared her tightening throat. "They didn't do anything," she said. "I imagine they came along out of concern – but they didn't attack Snape. They were just there."

"Mr Lupin and Mr Pettigrew, is this correct?"

The boys nodded.

"Anything to add, Mr Black?"

But Sirius was seething, and had no comment.

"Then you two," said McGonagall, nodding at Remus and Peter, "each will receive two nights' detention for neglecting to immediately intervene. In addition to this, I am deducting two hundred points from Gryffindor. Black, help Potter down to the hospital wing and have Madame Pomfrey check and see if he's going to live. And Miss Evans, you go with them and get those bruises fixed. You are dismissed."

The five Gryffindors filed out of the office, a grave and motley procession. In the front were Remus and Peter, followed by Sirius and James, the latter of whom now staggered along by himself. Lily brought up the rear.

She felt terrible now for the accusation against Remus she'd unthinkingly made. Who was she to make assumptions about how involved he'd been? And since when had he ever given her reason _not_ to trust him? She wondered if he could ever forgive her, and decided she'd be lucky if he even spoke to her after this.

They came to the infirmary hall, and this was where Peter and Remus left them. Lily didn't even try to catch Remus' eye as the two boys departed, but kept her head down and continued following Sirius and James.

Madame Pomfrey threw a fit, as Lily had expected, and didn't bother to be gentle with James, who she proclaimed would "survive". She was in a foul temper when she got to Lily, and healed the last goose-egg-sized lump on the back of her head with a vicious prod of her wand. Lily saw stars, but took it as penance for wrongly condemning Remus, and didn't fuss as the nurse ejected them from the infirmary.

Outside, the boys were waiting for her, but she rushed past them and managed to escape because James wasn't up to running and Sirius wouldn't leave him behind. Ironically, Lily was momentarily beholden to his stubborn loyalty, the very trait that had gotten them into this mess not an hour before.

Back in the comforting confines of her dormitory, she discovered the bloodstains on her blouse.

She crept to bed, swathed in her favourite white cotton nightdress, the ruined blouse clutched tightly in her hands. She pulled the curtains shut round her bed, and retrieved her diary and a Muggle ink pen from her bedside table. Making sure the curtains were shut tight – for she didn't want to wake her sleeping roommates – she dared to light her wand and record the evening's events. And at the end of the entry, she noted:

_I was appalled at James' violence. Appalled isn't a strong enough word, I think. Horrified is better. Or aghast. I was aghast at his violence. I'd never seen him like that before, not even at Quidditch. _

_A memory springs to mind of an occurrence that happened almost exactly a year ago, when there were rumours about a duel James and Snape had. Now that I look back on it, my guess is that it wasn't a traditional wizard's duel like the kind we learn about in History of Magic, but something rather like what happened today: a Muggle fight, with fists and blood. I'm not sure – would James do such a thing? Until today, I would've denied it. But seeing what I've seen, I don't know what to believe._

_I'm going to charm this book so no one else can open it but me. I found the spell in a library book a week ago, and thought it might be useful, but I didn't really think I'd need it 'til now. I don't expect anyone will steal my diary, but I can't take those kinds of chances anymore. And it's like Snape says: these are dangerous times for a person like me. I used to think he was just saying that, but now I know that he really and truly meant it, and I even go so far as to think that he worries about me. Perhaps I'm flattering myself, but what else am I supposed to assume? That he warns me because he'd rather have me as a fellow prefect than James, who's probably next in line if I resign__ or, God forbid, am put out of action?_

_Knowing Snape, that is probably true. But do I actually know him? I don't know. I don't think I know anything anymore._

_There were bloodstains on my blouse tonight. They weren't mine. _

Amazingly, she slept.

She first opened her eyes early the next morning, filled with a profound sense of misery she couldn't immediately explain. But as her brain caught up to speed with the rest of her, she remembered that it hadn't all been a nightmare, that she had done Remus a horrible injustice, and that she wasn't speaking to the boys because of what they'd attempted on Snape. The stained blouse tangled in her pillowcase testified to that.

No one bothered her that morning, and as a result, she didn't drag herself out of bed until well after lunch. And when she wandered groggily down to the Great Hall, she discovered that the story had already begun to spread and was rapidly mutating beyond the realms of truth and decency. After enduring five minutes of the whispers and the pointing and the direct harassment, she nicked a sandwich and fled back to her dormitory.

She couldn't avoid the boys altogether, as they were confined to the Tower for the rest of the weekend, but she didn't speak or make eye contact with them all day. She supposed it was juvenile, avoiding conflict like that, but she couldn't bear to face them right now. They had a class together in the morning; she'd talk to them then, if they wanted to.

The girls had heard the rumours, that was certain, and it showed on their faces. Lara Cranfield regarded her with self-righteous, condemning eyes. Helen Klonn embarrassedly refused to meet her gaze. Even Cordelia looked at her with confusion and what looked like hurt indignation. Only Eliza dared to approach her that evening in the empty dormitory and ask, and Lily told her the entire story without hesitation, emphasizing in particular how wretched she felt at having kept this secret for so long, and how horrific James' attack on Snape had been. Eliza held her when the first and only sob escaped her, and urged her to 'let it out,' but Lily choked back her tears, and the most that escaped her was a slight hiccup and the lament that Cordelia wouldn't even speak to her now.

"She's offended that you never told anyone what was going on," said Eliza. "She doesn't blame you for seeing Snape in secret. Well, of course she doesn't really _approve –_"

Lily shook her head violently, and her two braids – which she'd reverted to that morning for convenience's sake, though they were perfectly hideous – slapped the sides of her neck. "I wasn't _seeing_ him," she said. "He was teaching me potions and defence. I wasn't _seeing_ him."

Eliza touched her arm. "I know that now," she said, "but Cordelia doesn't. She's only heard the rumours. I bet she'd love to hear the story from your mouth."

"Would she even believe me?"

"Of course she would. She knows you wouldn't lie to her. _I _know that you kept it a secret because you knew that this would happen, that it'd only be trouble. But surely – no offence, or anything – but surely you should've known that keeping it a secret was even more incriminating?"

"I wasn't thinking," Lily said glumly. "I only thought of what James and the boys would say if they knew…. I wanted to keep it from them most of all, because they hate him so much, and they'd never let me live it down."

"They'll let it go eventually," Eliza assured her redheaded friend. "It may be a while – months, even, but they'll forget about it, and then you can get on with your life. Don't you see? They love you too much to hate you."

"But they despise me now," Lily said.

Eliza coughed. "Maybe a little," she allowed. "But it's not permanent. They're too good-hearted to hold a grudge."

"I hope you're right."

Eliza hugged her. "Of course I am," she said.

They pulled apart, and Lily rubbed her damp and puffy eyes on the sleeve of her jumper. Eliza patted her arm.

"Now," she said, businesslike, "things are obviously strained between you and the boys, but have you thought about Snape, and what he's going to say to you when he gets out of the hospital wing?"

Lily's heart dropped into her stomach. "Oh dear."

"My suggestion is this," said Eliza. "Don't go visit him. He's proud, and probably wouldn't take too kindly to you seeing him at his worst. I mean, it's bad enough that he got bested by James –"

Lily let out an exclamation of protest. "But they were two-to-one! He really had no chance –"

"But he won't see it that way," Cordelia interrupted. "You know boys; they're stubborn as brick walls. No, you should wait a couple days until he cools down; then you can go talk to him, and sort things out. And apologize, and make sure you ask whether he's interested in starting your lessons up again. I am assuming you want to do that?"

"Of course I do," Lily said. "But I don't want to wait."

Eliza bit her lip. "Maybe I'm wrong," she said. "I don't know Snape that well. But sometimes, friends are blinded by concern – you have to remember, Lily, that Snape's a Slytherin, and that he's quite different from us in almost every way. What we would see as a charitable gesture might come off as intrusive or self-righteous to him. And like I said, I have no way of knowing, since I'm not his friend, but I seriously think you should wait a few days."

Eliza bid her goodnight then, and left her in the dormitory as she went down to the common room. Lily was alone with her thoughts, and she was beginning to think that Eliza had a very good point. And really, what harm would it do to wait a couple of days? She'd see him on Tuesday; they had Arithmancy together. And though she wanted very badly to visit him now and wish him well, she was rather afraid to. Eliza was right, she concluded; seeing him now could only aggravate matters. Snape wasn't a very forgiving soul even at his best, and she imagined that visiting him as he lay bruised and hurt in a hospital cot was possibly the worst way to approach this.

She was restless, though, and couldn't stay in her dormitory. Oddly enough, as the sun went down she finally began to wake up, and now she felt that she would never sleep. And now she remembered that she had an apology to make, and, braving the stares and whispers, went downstairs to the common room, straight over to James, who was hunched in the firelight by the hearth with Sirius, and asked her question.

James looked her over, contempt burning in his eyes. "Why do you want to know? So you can go hurl some more false accusations at him?"

Lily compressed her lips. "Actually, I wanted to apologize," she said.

He was silent.

"He went for a walk," Sirius offered, though he looked far from helpful; rather, his eyes were accusing and angry.

"Where?"

"How should I know?" Sirius said. "Out in the castle somewhere."

Lily sighed, and guessed that she could at least go try to find him. "Thank you, Sirius."

"Any time," he said ironically, and she left the two to sulk quietly by the fire and disappeared out the portrait hole.

The corridors were cool and empty, yet alive with the natural acoustics of stone and circulating air. Lily tried to walk softly, but it seemed impossible even in her trainers, and every scrape of rubber against stone was magnified tenfold. Lily's irrational fear was that the crotchety caretaker would materialize any moment and drag her off to Professor McGonagall's office for detention, and she fought the urge to hug close to the walls by walking deliberately down the middle of the corridor.

She was lost in her thoughts for a while, and didn't notice when she started walking in circles. She did notice, however, when she came through a hallway for what must have been the third time and found an open doorway, through which she could see a strange disused classroom and a slim figure silhouetted against a moonlit window. The slight figure and the light curls of hair were familiar, and she didn't hesitate in slipping through the doorway to meet him.

He gave a violent twitch when she spoke his name, and turned around in alarm. "Where'd you come from?"

Lily looked at him confusedly, and half-twisted to gesture at the door she'd just come through – but it was no longer there, and she was silent for a moment.

"Well," she said, "there _was_ a door…."

Remus heaved a sigh, and returned his gaze to the incomplete moon suspended weightlessly in the velvet sky.

Lily crept up to his side, hands clenched tightly inside her sleeves.

"I came here to say I'm sorry," she ventured at last.

She heard him make a soft sound under his breath. "Then you're the braver of us," he said.

She looked at him in wonder and confusion. "What?"

"I owe you an apology as well."

Lily's hand fisted in the cloth of his sleeve. "No – no, you don't. You didn't – I don't know how I could've said such a terrible thing; I know you didn't have anything to do with it –"

Remus' golden eyes were filled with shame as he interrupted. "That's my point exactly, Lily – I didn't do anything. I could've stopped them, but I didn't; I knew where you'd be, but I didn't warn them away. I…."

He trailed off, and jerked out of her grip abruptly as he pivoted away from her.

"_Remus,_" she said, taking his arm again and turning him toward her. He wouldn't meet her gaze. "It's not your fault. You couldn't do anything to stop them; they'd just steamroll right over you, no matter what you might've said –"

"But I should've done _something,_" he muttered. "I'm a prefect, for Merlin's sake. But I didn't do anything; I just let them go –"

Lily shook him a little. "Stop that! It wasn't your fault."

"It was too."

Heaving a sigh, Lily stepped back. "Is this one of those nobility things?"

Remus' mouth pursed. "No, it's one of those bravery things. I shouldn't even be a Gryffindor. The Hat almost put me in Ravenclaw, you know. I think it would've been a better place for me. I don't belong here; I'm always so afr –"

"But the Hat put you here," Lily broke in gently. "It never misplaces anyone. And you're brave in plenty other ways, you know. You've told me how you feel. You know, none of the boys have done that. They talk, but they never say anything –" She laughed a little at that; it sounded ridiculously clichéd. "I'll tell you another secret. The Hat was going to sort me into Slytherin, but since I'm Muggle-born, it couldn't. And if I'd had just one wizarding relative, I wouldn't have ended up here. But you know what? I don't dwell on it. I'm here, in Gryffindor, with you and James and Sirius and the girls. Who would I have if I was in Slytherin? Bellatrix Black? _Auster Wilkes?"_

Remus didn't seem particularly surprised at this information, and Lily was glad he didn't make a big deal out of it. She continued, in a lower tone of voice: "I'm sorry for blaming you. It was wrong of me to assume that you'd betray a confidence; you've never given me reason to believe that. I'll put it down to momentary loss of wits on my part. You'll forgive me, won't you?"

Remus put an arm around her shoulder, and this time she felt no jitters, but rather a warm sense of well-being. "Of course I will," he said. "If you'll forgive me."

"I have nothing to forgive you for," Lily said. "But if it's what you want, then yes, I forgive you."

They embraced, and Lily thought she'd never felt more secure than now, standing in the glass-filtered moonlight, wreathed in shadows and Remus Lupin's arms.

"If there's anything you want to tell me," she murmured into his chest, "you can. I won't judge you."

His arms tightened around her momentarily, and she felt his chest expand and his shoulders give an involuntary shudder, and then he was disentangling himself from her and pushing her away.

"You'd better go," he told her, and distinctly hearing the frog in his throat, she fled before either of them could suffer the embarrassment of seeing the other cry.

The next time she saw Sirius and James, they were in the first Transfiguration lesson of the week. James wasn't speaking to her, but Sirius, amazingly, seemed to have softened, and helped her with a particularly difficult Switching Spell. There were shadows under his eyes, but he was cheerful and courteous, and ignored the glares the other Gryffindors were sending him. Since the Golden Boys had lost two hundred points and officially put Gryffindor in last place in the running for the House Cup, no one had been their friend, and even the usual gaggle of giggling girls that trailed after them constantly had cooled in their affections.

Lily admired Sirius' optimism, but James' behaviour was vexing. He scarcely even looked at her during lessons, and while she didn't expect anything else, the occasional sulky glares he sent her were enough to put her teeth on edge for the entire lesson, despite Sirius' and Peter's attempts to distract her. Lily was very glad for the lunch break that followed the lesson.

However, they had three more classes together that afternoon, and by the end of the day, Lily was quite ready for a reprieve from James' presence, and very possibly a bath.

But as she came out of Greenhouse Five, brushing the sticky Ringvine pollen from her hands, she was accosted by a vaguely familiar face.

"Evans – Lily Evans!"

Lily surveyed the tall girl carefully. Long dark hair, sloe eyes, wide mouth, Ravenclaw patch… very possibly a seventh-year….

"You don't remember me, do you?" said the girl.

"No, I do," Lily said. "You're… Moor. Hortensia Moor."

"Right in one!" Hortensia cried. "From the charms club last year!"

"Ah, yes. The charms club."

"That's right. I really liked that; every Wednesday night I had something to look forward to. By the way, did you ever figure out how to make your cassette play?"

"No," Lily said. She hadn't done any work on that project for months now, but she'd had some ideas concerning it. "I thought it'd be easier to create something that would play albums. All it'd really take is an amplifying spell and a good rotation device. But you don't want to hear about that." She laughed.

"Oh, but I do!" said Hortensia. "I actually wanted to ask you whether you'd be interested in reforming. I was wondering why we hadn't, and then I realized it wasn't an official club – weird, because this school has a club for practically everything! – so anyway, I wanted to get in touch, since you seemed to be in charge last year."

Lily's eyebrows shot upward. "Oh, no, that wasn't me – Maria was leader, I think, but she's gone now. If we want to reform, we need to pick a head."

"You should do it!"

Lily chuckled. "I'm no leader," she said. "And I'm not that good with spells. But – if you're interested, round up the others, and we can have a meeting this Wednesday evening."

Hortensia's wide smile split into a full-fledged grin. "Sounds fabulous. I know most of the girls in the club, and I know a few boys who'd be interested. What time Wednesday?"

"How about an hour after classes?" Lily said. "In the library."

"Perfect. I'll be in touch, then!"

And the girl was gone.

Lily continued on to the prefects' bathroom to bathe the smell of the greenhouse from her sweaty skin. In the magnificent marble tub, she mulled over what she'd just done – that was, added another complication to her schedule. Granted, her schedule wasn't that complicated to begin with, but she hated having to clog up her week with obligations. She had one already, and that was enough for her – but she didn't know whether Snape would be all that eager to renew acquaintance with her after her friends worked him over so well.

She repressed the urge to leap out of the bath and run down to the infirmary to say hello. It would do neither of them any good, and besides, he was probably already out. Madame Pomfrey never kept anyone in the infirmary longer than absolutely necessary.

Her thoughts turned back to the subject of the charms club, and she got out of the tub as soon as she finished washing her hair.

Severus had refused to be detained from his classes, and to be truthful, the nurse was all too eager to eject him from her hospital wing. He'd never been the easiest of persons with whom to work, and bleeding from the inside didn't help matters. So, she fed him a potion-injected capsule that would heal the minor abrasions that _scourgify _had made on the lining of his stomach, gave him several magical poultices for the bruises and scrapes on his face, and turned him out mid-morning Sunday.

He didn't have any classes with Potter and his erratic crony Black that first day, but his Defence lesson was right down the hall from their Transfiguration class, and from there they all went down to the Great Hall for lunch. He wished there was a convenient secret passage that would speed him away from their crowd, but none were forthcoming, and thus he was forced to walk behind them for two flights of stairs and an inordinate amount of hallway. He consoled himself, however, by keeping his eyes on the back of Lily Evans' head, pretending he was following her alone, that she was leading the way to the library or the lake or even their old study room in the dungeons. It was a pathetically self-indulgent thought, but it kept his itching wand hand from plunging into his sleeve and snapping off a curse or two in Potter and Black's direction.

Evans. There was a subject to drive a wizard out of his mind. He wanted most passionately to strangle her, but at the same time he wanted to go down on his knees before her and – and _what?_ It was a question to which he had no answer. Worship? Propose? _Apologize?_

He knew he had nothing for which to apologize, but that nagging urge to beg forgiveness was undeniably there, irritating him even more than the pains in his stomach - as was the impulse to hurt her for championing him like a knight in shining armour from the fairy tales.

_And what a damsel in distress I make,_ he thought wryly to himself the following night in his curtain-wreathed bed.

His self-deprecating thoughts didn't lend the situation much clarity. With her bold Gryffindor loyalty and subtle Slytherin vision, Evans had always been an enigma, and he'd hoped to learn something as well during their lessons together. But she was like a goblin-owned vault: impossible to crack, and worrisome to try. The closer he got to her, the more he feared that the guardian fire-breathing dragon would manifest itself and turn him to cinders for violating her Gryffindorian innocence.

Severus sighed deeply, earning him a distracted look from Professor Binns, who seemed rather more astute than usual today. He realized that he'd missed half of the lesson in favour of his contemplations, but didn't honestly care. He knew all of this anyway, and Binns' lectures, even on usually thrilling topics such as the goblin rebellions and the reign of Grindelwald, were the epitome of tedium. However – the issue of Evans would not wait. He'd see her in Arithmancy in half an hour, and he wasn't entirely certain that he was ready to face her yet. Should he skip class? Or should he go, but ignore her until a more opportune time?

He sank back into his thoughts and the lesson dragged on.

Lily walked into Arithmancy the following day with the irrational fear that he would not be there, or that – even worse – he _would_ be there, prepared with cruel remarks and scathing looks and total disdain for her. Her heart leapt when she saw him enter the classroom, and when he refused to partner with her she feared her trepidations had come to pass. But at his pointed look, she realized that something more than that was afoot, and got the optimistic impression that he wasn't as angry with her as she feared, but instead he was wary for some reason. From there, it didn't take a genius to surmise that he was willing to talk – _later – _and for now they would keep a cautious distance.

This was fine for Lily, who hoped desperately that he would prove to be forgiving, though his alienation of her resulted in her having to partner with Wilkes, who was absolutely insufferable.

"You and dear Severus are at odds then, are you?" he said over the worksheet with which Professor Helvetii had provided them.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lily said, figuring Wilkes' heart number into the prediction sheet.

Wilkes smiled pleasantly. "He's glaring at you now, and no wonder – his partner's nowhere near as pretty and talented as you, Miss Evans."

"If you don't stop I'll have to report you."

"Oh dear. Don't get your robes in a twist; I'm only trying to cheer you up –"

"If you really wanted to cheer me up, Wilkes, you'd go jump off a cliff."

He laughed at that - her unusually grim humour - and fell silent for a while as he got to work on his half of the assignment, though he was not completely still: he still managed to rile her several more times before the hour was out.

And as they were packing up at the end of the lesson, he said, "It was delightful partnering with you today, Evans. I only hope that Severus' little mood will last a while so we can have more such productive lessons."

Lily scoffed, and, tucking the last roll of parchment into her bag, stood up and stalked out of the classroom, barely catching Snape's eye before she made it through the doorway.

She trusted him to find her, and he did, right after dinner. She'd been watching him throughout the meal as he picked unenthusiastically at his food, ignoring Wilkes, who leaned in too close to mutter things Lily could never pick up at this distance and of which she could only guess the meaning. She all but ignored the boys, which wasn't too difficult, as James still refused to speak to her, and Sirius spent most of the meal nudging him in the side and glaring at him. Remus sat across from her and offered her the occasional smile but didn't seem too inclined to speak. Only Peter dared to begin a conversation, but that too dwindled away into awkward silence when Lily expressed more interest in her pudding than in what Peter had to say about the infamous elfin Bridge Burning of 1567.

Lily, however, wasn't too distracted by food to notice Snape's gaze flick up to meet hers once or twice, and when she left the Great Hall five minutes later, she caught his eyes again and gave him a meaningful look.

He met her in the outside hallway not long after that, and glared at her when he saw her loitering so conspicuously at the end of the corridor.

"Are you trying to get us both caught?" he snapped as he strode past, and she hastily fell into step beside him.

She began speaking immediately, desperate to get it over with. "I know it's unorthodox, meeting like this," she muttered, "and I know you probably never want to speak to me again, but I have to say that I'm sorry – "

"You don't have to say _anything,_" he said, still managing to keep his voice low.

She forgot herself and almost walked into him. "Don't tell me that," she said severely. "I have to. I tried to stop them, but I couldn't, and it's my fault –"

He stopped suddenly in the middle of the hallway, made an abrupt swerve to the left, past the art-nouveau statue of Circe, and suddenly they were standing inside a pitch-black corridor. Her hands went to Snape's upper arm and clutched until he lit the tip of his wand, and she backed away, shakily wringing her fingers. "Wh – what are you –"

"You wanted to talk? Let's talk." And he marched off down the secret passage. She hurried after him, and after a minute or two of breathless silence, he spoke.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Evans. Consider yourself privileged."

Lily tried not to trip over her feet in the darkness of the cramped, gently-sloping corridor.

"I shouldn't be here with you. I should be hiding in my room, trying to figure out a way to decapitate you without getting expelled for it. Believe me, I've tried to rationalize my way through this, and it hasn't worked. The only solutions I've come up with are absolutely ludicrous, not even worth consideration, and the most innocuous decision I've been able to make is that my actions stem from a total incapacity to make things easy for myself."

He was talking nonsense, but Lily was just glad he was _talking,_ and remained silent.

"Your despicable comrades loathe me, and I return their sentiments, as we are both well aware. But, no matter your affections towards any member of their nefarious party, I don't hold you accountable for their actions. I'd like to make that fully clear. So: whatever guilt-complexes you are harbouring at the moment, please feel free to dislodge them."

"But I –" Lily began, breathless with wonder, "I'm a _prefect; _I should've –"

"_So am I,_" he said. "You think I haven't considered that? Look: Potter and Black have never shown any respect for the rules. It doesn't matter whether you're friend or foe; they're still not going to do a damn thing you tell them to. And you're a girl, anyway; you think they'd put you above their inflated egos?"

Lily gasped like a fish out of water. That remark was appallingly sexist, but it was true, and she had no answer.

He stopped suddenly, and Lily halted right before she ran into him. He turned around to face her, his grave face graver still in the blue wand light.

"And you," he said. "– I'm not sure what you want, Evans, but this has got to stop."

Her green eyes widened. "…Stop?"

He merely looked at her, black eyes blank and unsympathetic. "Meeting like this, I mean."

He couldn't have shocked her more had he pushed her down the stairs. _No more potions?_ Lily thought. No more defence lessons? No more tea and biscuits and great, terrible arguments that left her in tears and fury for days? No more seeing _him_, his thorny demeanour, his wretched sense of self-assurance… his reassuring intelligence, his wry humour, his hair and cheekbones and _hands_ -

_No,_ her mind said, _nonononono_ – anything but that; better James' fury than that, better Sirius' torments and Peter's indignation and Remus' rueful secret smile – _no, no, no – _

He spoke again. "…Unless we take much bigger precautions in the future, anyway."

Lily covered her face with her hands.


	18. chapter eighteen

**AN: **It's been a while, but here I am, back with another chapter of fic for you, beloved reader. Let me assure you that this would have been posted sooner had I not forgot and my computer somehow managed to devour my edited chapter. (I honestly have no idea where that chapter went, which bites, because I had already typed out my author's notes. Rargh.) I feel kind of embarrassed because this chapter is so short. Rest assured, though, that I have not stopped writing. I love this fic and my readers too much. (Now is the time when two people pop up and start barraging me with demands to update Not What We Seem.)

Anyway, here are some general notes on the chapter, for those of you who actually read them.

Spells, which are my own: _Mordeo asper_ – "bitter bite" in Latin, and _anathema facere – _"banish him" in Latin.

The following books are not inventions of my own, but actual published works.

_Discoverie of Witchcraft_, Reginald Scot

_Nymphidia, _Michael Drayton

_Enquiry Into Plants, _Theophrastus

_The Book of Poisons,_ Gustav Schenk

Existential pockets are also mine.

Many, many thanks to beta Lavinia, who is a goddess of a beta-reader (though I am far from such when it comes to actually getting something posted). Thank her for reminding me that I still had a chapter to post. And now… enjoy!

**chapter eighteen**

"We can practice in the dungeons until we come up with a better place," said Snape as they neared the end of the secret passage. "There are some sheltered places on the grounds that would work well, too."

Lily remembered looking for Remus the other night and finding him in that strange room. "I think I know of a place, too," she said.

"As long as it's secure," said Snape, and she nodded, even though he couldn't see her behind him.

"This Saturday's a Hogsmeade day," said Lily. "After the Ball committee meeting, everyone'll be gone. We can look for a good place then. Unless you wanted to go to –"

"No," he cut in, "Saturday will be fine."

"All right."

They came to the end of the passageway, and Lily came up short behind Snape. He half-turned, and there they paused for what Lily imagined was an aeon. In the silence of the passage she could hear the whisper of his breath, and in the silver-blue wandlight his black eyes glittered, unearthly. In the tight, enclosed space his presence overwhelmed her, frighteningly close and undeniably _there_ too suddenly for comfort.

He broke the spell, glancing away and laying a careless hand on the shut door. "If you ever need to get out of the dungeons quickly," he told her, "use this passage. The password from this side is _mordeo asper._"

Saying this, he pushed the door open. A cool, dry rush of dungeon air greeted them, and the sound of voices in the adjoining corridor. Snape waited for Lily to come out of the secret passage before shutting the door, which was disguised as a section of column near the caretaker's office.

Lily watched him as he made sure the door was fully shut, and was still scrutinizing him when he turned around to give her a curious look.

"Thank you," she whispered, and would have continued, but a voice rose near them, and Snape tipped his head in a curt goodbye. And then he was gone, disappeared into the dungeons, skirting and embracing the shadows like some mythical inhuman thing. She watched him fade away, and then, shaking herself, she continued on her own way.

Severus dropped his Charms text on the bed and sat down at the dormitory's only writing desk to break the seal of the scroll that had been carefully tucked in his robes pocket all day. A familiar script met his eye, and he settled comfortably back to read.

_Snape,_

_It's been some time – too long, by my guess, and I blame myself for not writing sooner. You're a busy fellow, I know – especially this year, which, if I remember correctly, will be your fifth, right? OWLs year. I'd tell you not to let those bastards get you down, but then, I remember your particular inclination toward school and schoolwork, and figure that my advice would be superfluous, as you probably have everything under control._

_Don't worry, this letter won't be long. I just want to know a bit about how you're doing, and how you held up under relocation over the summer. Yes, I heard about that; Catilina is a friend of mine; she was the older sister of a classmate at Hogwarts. She'd left school before us, but I knew her from my visits during the summer. Don't worry, though; she hasn't been telling tales. She just mentioned her _fabulous_ new potions genius the last time I was over at Julianne's, and I found out the rest for myself. I want to offer my condolences, and also, if you like, you could come visit me at my Uncle Herbert's. (A fantastic old bloke, Mum's older brother – he knows everything there is to know about Dark artefacts, and has quite a history with the Ministry – Mum disapproves like mad, of course, but isn't that the general idea?)_

_Oh, and Catilina did happen to mention your red-headed girlfriend in our little chat; says she was something of a regular after she found out you worked at the shop. – Ooh, I wish I was there in person to see the look on your face! I can hear your voice now – _"Girlfriend? Don't be absurd, Maria."

_I'm just teasing, you know that. But I'm not going to go any further, because I'm sure I'd end up embarrassing you, and I'm rather hoping you'll write me back._

_In jest,_

_Maria_

Severus carefully rolled the parchment back up. If it had come from anyone else, he wouldn't have hesitated in sending a strong hex by way of owl, but as it was Maria, he could almost shrug off her ribbing. Summoning his quill case from his bedside table, he began to form his reply.

_Maria,_

_School is fine. The advice, hypothetical as it is, will be appreciated, especially as the advent of the first hails the beginning of Quidditch season and its loads of conflicting addenda._

_I know it will come as such a surprise to you, but I must decline your invitation to your uncle's. While it sounds fascinating, I'm afraid that I can't spare the time away from work, and I shall be returning to the shop over the holidays. I wouldn't be averse to you visiting me there, however, and I'm certain Catilina will welcome a distraction. She always does, even in Evans' case, though she does like to feign indignation at her intrusion._

_Evans is less of an accessory than you seem to think. I haven't much to say on the subject other than we have come to an agreement of sorts, and are more or less resigned to concord. I'd really prefer you didn't address me about it, as the matter is inconsequential._

_I'm sending this in the next post. Service here is pathetic – but you remember how it is, I'm sure, so I won't waste parchment on unnecessary details. Have a pleasant Hallowe'en._

_Severus _

Severus bound the letter with a piece of twine and left the dormitory. The dungeons were particularly damp, and though the Slytherin common room and dorms were warded against the wet, the corridors outside were not, and he saw half-frozen puddles at the edges of the corridor. He shivered inside his fraying jumper, and tried to ignore the subterranean chill.

It wasn't much better up in the Owlery, which was open to the darkening skies and littered with bird-droppings and feathers. He sneezed twice, startling a couple of sleeping birds, and carefully made his way over to a nearby perch, where a school owl was roosting.

Having dispatched the bird with his message, Severus hasted out of the Owlery and back down into the warmth of the school. Classes were out for the day, and for once he had nothing to do. He wasn't used to having time to kill, and he was hard-pressed to come up with something with which to occupy himself: the Quidditch pitch was occupied, and he didn't feel like holing himself up in the library. It was really too cold to go back down to the dormitories any sooner than absolutely necessary. He thought about calling on Evans, but he soon pushed that idea right out: he didn't know where to find her, and he was hardly going to go _ask._

The cold weather warranted some bodily comfort, he decided. He hadn't gotten a chance to use the prefects' bathroom, though he had seen it and been impressed despite himself. It was there he headed, and after a hot bath he succumbed to temptation and lay out on one of the gently heated marble slabs that ringed the walls of the bath, and thought about the events of the past few days.

His humiliation over being bested once again by Potter was increased sevenfold by the fact that Evans had been there to witness it, and that she had championed him. However, his thoughts as of late were increasingly prone to gravitate toward the conversation he had had with her last Tuesday at the end of Arithmancy. He had not meant anything in particular by inquiring after Lupin's health, but then he had realized that his innocent query had revealed a hitherto unconsidered set of mysterious coincidences which seemed to bear rather more magnitude than Evans assigned to them.

For Lupin was indeed ill often. Not every week, as Evans had exaggeratedly stated, but far more often than was usual for a boy of Lupin's strength, which Snape knew from personal experience was considerable, even when the boy was at his most haggard-looking. He disappeared regularly as clockwork, it seemed, but Severus couldn't recall seeing him in the infirmary on any of the many occasions that Eberwulf employed him as a courier bearing crates of Pepperup or Dreamless Sleep to the nurse. Nor could he recall fuss made over the oft-infirm prefect, or gossip pertaining to the nature of his injuries. Lupin didn't seem an especially active boy; when the rest of the Gryffindors were out flying, Lupin generally sat in the stands and watched.

Severus rested his chin on his arms, relishing the oppressive steam of the bath and the warmth of the marble flat against his stomach. What did it point to? It was a bothersome thought, like a scab at which he couldn't help but pick. But he couldn't achieve a firm enough grasp on it to work it out; he lacked information, if not incentive. He didn't hold any particular grudge against Lupin, except a vague disdain that such an intelligent fellow would deign to associate with Potter and Black. He supposed that his meagre respect for Lupin would be enough to condemn him in the eyes of his housemates, but he couldn't help but respect someone who was so very much like himself. It was true – Lupin, while firmly ensconced among the Gryffindors, was a solitary sort of creature; Severus could tell by the way he distanced himself from Potter and Black's antics. Lupin respected Severus, and had always been civil to him, unless provoked. Severus almost regretted those times he had harassed the quiet Gryffindor, before he had realized that Lupin, unlike Potter and Black, was not out to get him.

Severus sighed and sat up, wiping the perspiration from his brow. There was no use in mulling over it now, when he had no information to go on and the heat of the bath was beginning to muddle his senses. He left the warmth of the marble slab and, some minutes later, after having dressed and run a comb through his hair, he departed the steamy bath in favour of the chilly bowels of the castle.

Lily took a quick shower to wash off the greenhouse grime before heading down to the library. She was early by a quarter of an hour, but she intended to find some charms texts that might help with the project she had abandoned over the summer. To tell the truth, she was getting fed up with it, and the only reason she kept at it was because she refused to resign herself to silence during her months away from home. She thought it perfectly ridiculous that she should build up such a collection of albums to which she only got to listen three months out of the year. And it was true – she had many more albums than cassettes tapes, but vinyl was a lot less portable than tape, and it wasn't like she had room for a record player that wouldn't function.

With the help of the crotchety librarian, she found a couple books that might help her, and she sat down at one of the study tables near the front doors of the library. Around four, students began to trickle in to join her, and by four-fifteen she had an almost-full table.

"Well," she said after greeting everyone, "I'm kind of at a loss without Maria here this year. Um. And I'm not really good at speaking in front of groups. Basically, though, I wanted to reform last year's club and do something useful with our knowledge of charms. So – first things first. We need to decide what our goals for the year will be."

There was a silence, and those present – which amounted to five or six students ranging from lowly first-year to lofty upper-former – looked at each other expectantly.

Lily cleared her throat. "Uh, well, I, for one, thought it would be good if we could – you know – go mainstream, so to speak. You know. Because in the past, the charms club has always been pretty much a private group, not acknowledged by the school as an official club. I have no idea why, especially considering the size of group we had last year."

"I think it's because, as a private group, we can exclude those who we don't believe will apply themselves," said Hortensia, shaking back her long dark hair. "If we go – mainstream, as you say, we'll be obligated to include those who don't take a real interest in charms, and want to join for other reasons."

"I don't know," said Lily. "That sounds plausible. But if we had the support of the school, we'd have more opportunities available to us, I think."

"Like what?" asked Dorcas Meadowes, a blue-eyed Ravenclaw in Lily's year.

"Like funding," Lily replied.

"Funding for what?" snorted a younger Slytherin boy Lily hadn't seen before.

"Books. Materials."

"Can't we fund ourselves?" asked William Wallace, the Hufflepuff Lily recognized from the previous year.

"Well, we could," said Lily slowly, "but we'd have more opportunities as an official club than a private one. Perhaps we could talk Professor Flitwick into taking us on a field trip. And as an official club, we might also be allowed to help out the prefects with decorations for the ball, or assist in the maintenance of the castle."

"And why would we want to do a thing like that?" asked the Slytherin boy. "That's why they have groundskeepers."

Lily frowned. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Bertram Woods," said the Slytherin, drawing himself up as if the name should mean something to her. It didn't.

"Well, Bertram," said Lily, "you are obviously new. The whole point of this club is to learn, and the best way to learn is to put into practical use all those theories Professor Flitwick's been cramming in your head for the past – what, two years?"

"Excuse _me,_" Bertram Woods sniffed, "but I refuse to lower myself to the level of a common _janitor._"

"Then I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that this club isn't for you," Lily said coolly, feeling suddenly quite put out with the boy. "The rest of us aren't afraid to get our hands dirty."

Suddenly realizing the boldness with which she made that speech, she glanced to the rest of the group, feeling the flush on her cheeks as five pairs of eyes met hers. But to her relief, most of the group met her gaze with proud and approving ones of their own.

"That's right, Woods," said William Wallace. "Evans is right."

Lily watched as Bertram's face reddened. "I am not," he said heatedly, "going to voluntarily scrub flagstones or – or – muck the Owlery!"

"You'd be using a wand," said a smart-looking Ravenclaw sixth-year Lily knew only as Brody.

"It doesn't make a difference!" Bertram snarled, standing up so violently that his chair wobbled and threatened to tip. "I am no common _house-elf!"_

Lily sighed and stifled the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. "If you don't want to participate in club activities, Bertram, why do you even want to join?"

"Maybe I don't," Bertram snapped, eyes bright and nostrils flaring.

"Then leave," said William Wallace, and Bertram snapped his head round so quickly he winced.

"Make me," he said belligerently.

Lily ground her teeth, but it was William Wallace who responded first, drawing his wand.

"_Anathema facere,"_ he said with a slashing wand movement, and Bertram Woods suddenly found himself being propelled from the library by forceful invisible hands. He didn't go silently, but shrieked protests at the top of his lungs, and the sound of his yells and the library door slamming shut behind him brought the librarian speedily to the scene.

"What is all this noise?" she hissed, eyes livid and cheeks white.

"Sorry, ma'am," said Wallace with a courteous little bow. "Second-year fudged a charm. Won't happen again, I assure you."

"No jinxes in the library," Madame Pince stressed, and Wallace regarded her with wide-eyed innocence.

"Of course not! No, we were just practicing some charms, and Woods' backfired. Sent him to the nurse straight away. We'll leave if you prefer, though; right?"

The rest of the group nodded at the librarian.

"I won't tolerate noise in the library," said Madame Pince, and Wallace dipped another bow.

"Next time we'll meet in the courtyard, then. Evans?"

Surprised, Lily glanced at him. "I guess," she said, scratching her ear. "Um. Is the meeting over, then?"

"Shall we make a motion to adjourn?" Wallace replied.

"Hold on a second," said Hortensia brightly. "Shouldn't we take roll? To keep track of who was here, and whether anyone new comes next time?"

Lily exchanged a look with Wallace, and shrugged. "I suppose that would be a good idea," she said, and accepted the roll of parchment Hortensia immediately offered her. With a flourish of the seventh-year's Ever-Inking quill, she signed her name at the top of the list. William Wallace followed suit, and when the parchment had been passed around the table they had collected a grand total of six signatures.

"Should we mark down Bertram Woods' name too?" said Hortensia.

"Sure, for posterity's sake, if not for anything else," Lily said, and Hortensia jotted down Woods' name, house and year in her neat script.

"Motion to adjourn?" Wallace said, once this ritual was completed.

"Seconded," said Hortensia, and there was a shuffling as people gathered the few things they had brought and stood to leave.

"Meeting again next Wednesday?" Hortensia called out, and Lily gave an affirmative nod.

"In the courtyard if it's nice out," she said. "Otherwise we'll go to the Great Hall."

"And we can elect officers," said Hortensia happily, and Lily gave her an uncertain smile before bidding her goodbye.

_That went well,_ she thought wryly as she climbed the steps to her dormitory. Talk about a disaster. Nothing had been accomplished other than the exclusion of a Slytherin. So much for house unity and forward thinking – _God, why can't I do anything right?_

Entering the dorm, Lily slung her satchel onto her red and gold bedspread. "Be lucky if anyone shows up next week," she muttered to herself, going to the window opposite her bed and opening it. A chill October breeze drifted over the wide stone sill and across the hardwood floor. Lily kicked off her shoes and padded back across the floor sock-footed.

_Perhaps it'll go better next time,_ a hopeful voice in the back of her mind piped up, but she was inclined to doubt it. She couldn't remember for certain the exact reaction of the other students after Wallace expelled Woods from the library, but she couldn't get the image of a dozen shocked and disapproving faces out of her mind.

Meanwhile, she had another thing on which to concentrate. The ball was coming up in two weeks, and apparently they would have to officially decide on music and main entrée on Saturday. That wasn't to mention the lesson she had scheduled with Snape after the prefects' meeting, and she had to find that room again, the one with the disappearing door, in which she had found Remus. She had passed through that hallway earlier today, but she hadn't seen the door. Maybe it had been the wrong hallway….

Lily sighed and flopped on her bed. No use fretting about it now. She dug her Divination homework from her bag and began working.

Saturday morning dawned with the chilly threat of snow hanging low above the castle. The common areas of the school were knots of confusion as students in high spirits prepared for the trip to the neighbouring village. The prefects got their meeting over and done with as quickly as possible, and no sooner than they adjourned did they make a rush for the horseless carriages that took them to Hogsmeade.

Lily stayed behind in the prefect lounge, pleading an upset stomach to Remus, before his sceptical look reminded her that he already _knew._ She apologized and told him her real motive for staying behind, whereupon he gave a slight frown, shrugged his shoulders, and told her to try to enjoy herself. He left then, wrapping up in his patched brown coat, promising to bring her back some butterbeer. As he left the room, he bumped into Snape coming in, who gave him a beady look before letting the other prefect pass by.

Lily watched Remus disappear off down the hall before turning to Snape, who was observing her with a calm interest.

"Did you tell him?" he asked quietly, shutting the door behind them.

Lily felt her cheeks flame up irrationally. "Yes," she said, and tried the approach of not explaining herself. But to her surprise he did not explode, nor even berate her.

"I thought so," he said simply, and stepped out of the room. "You said you knew of a place to study."

Clearing her throat, Lily nodded. "I think so. That is, I'm fairly sure where it is, but it's kind of hard to find…. You know the castle, it likes to change…."

"It's not going to take all afternoon just to find this room, is it?" Snape frowned. "If you don't know where it is, we might as well practice in here." He gestured toward the room they had just left.

"I know where it is," Lily said, sounding surer than she felt, and they started down the hall.

Five minutes later they had arrived at the appropriate hallway, but no door was in sight. Blushing, Lily paced back and forth through the hallway, examining the hanging tapestries and the suit of armour tucked away in a niche by a window. But there was still no door. Snape watched her with a critical eye for a full minute before speaking.

"You did say it was _this_ hallway, didn't you?"

"It's here somewhere," Lily said hastily. "I just – don't know exactly –"

But at that moment, as she made her third pass down the hall, she spotted it. It was a narrow and somewhat crooked portal, nestled deep within the wall, not unlike, Lily thought, a slit in a butterfly box. Its mantle was decorated with deep runic engravings, ones of protection and concealment, and it was by these that she recognized it. She honestly didn't know how she could have missed it, and it was apparent that Snape was as surprised as she, as she heard him give a short intake of breath.

"I suppose that's it?" he said.

"…I think so," Lily said shakily, and went to the door. Snape strode over and stilled her hand before she could open the door.

"How are you so sure it's safe?" he asked, maddeningly, and his grip tightened slightly on her wrist. Lily shivered and tried to slow her unsettled heartbeat.

"How dangerous do you think it could be? This is Hogwarts, after all."

Snape's mouth twisted upward wryly. "I can't begin to tell you how hole-riddled and illogical that argument is."

"I've been in there before," Lily said, still quite aware of his hand around hers, but not entirely anxious to extract herself from his grip. "And I've obviously not been bitten in half."

"You seem to be under the misconception that I'm not serious."

"Good grief, Snape," Lily sighed, "will you lighten up? It's just a classroom. Besides, everyone else is at Hogsmeade, if that's what you're worried about."

And before he could formulate an answer to that, she had reached out with her left hand and opened the door.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight that met her eyes.

"Evans, where did you _find_ this place?"

Lily pulled her hand out of his and crept reverently into the room, which was furnished with all the trappings of a professional Defence classroom. There were gadgets, tables, a potions station and a cabinet of ingredients, and bookshelves chocked full of dusty tomes and scrolls. She and Snape dropped their satchels and headed directly for these shelves, and entertained themselves for a few minutes, reading out titles to each other.

"_A Hex for Every Season,_ Moist Braggin," said Snape.

"_Twelve Ways to Duel,_ Gertie Blutwald," Lily countered.

"_Enquiry into Plants,_ Theophrastus."

"_Discoverie of Witchcraft_, Reginald Scot."

"_Nymphidia, _Michael Drayton."

"_The Book of Poisons,_ Gustav Schenk."

Snape's head snapped around. "Let me see that," he demanded.

She handed over the little volume, and he took it and opened it reverently. His hands caressed the water-stained pages and he seemed totally absorbed for a moment before he snapped out of it.

"Well. This certainly is impressive," he said briskly, "but time's wasting. To work."

And they got to work. Lily hadn't practiced all week and was beaten sorely, but Snape didn't ridicule her when he knocked her over with a simple Disarming spell, but merely had her try again. They practiced until they both realized they were starving and had missed lunch, and they debated going down to the kitchens to rummage up something to eat.

"I have a better idea," said Lily, and out of nowhere she produced a sack of ham and Swiss sandwiches, crisps, and biscuits. Feeling immensely pleased with herself, she almost didn't notice Snape's glare.

"What?" she said as she noticed his suspicious expression. "Don't you like ham?"

"If you don't mind me asking, _how_ did you manage that?" he demanded, not sounding much like he worried whether or not she minded his question. "Existential pockets are highly restricted charms."

Lily beamed. "Flitwick helped me learn how to do it. It wasn't – well, I'm not going to say it wasn't difficult, because that's not true, but he said I showed an aptitude for it, and the last month he's helped me learn. Believe me, it wasn't easy. The first few times I managed to conjure a successful pocket, it would end up collapsing and would swallow whatever I'd put in it. I lost an entire scroll of notes before I decided I'd practice with crumpled parchment until I perfected it."

Meanwhile, she was separating the sandwiches, and as she reached the end of her speech she held one out to Snape. "Ham sandwich?"

He accepted it, but his frown didn't fade. "But they're restricted," he repeated. "You have to sign a waiver stating you won't hold the International Charms Bureau responsible if you lose something valuable, and you also have to sign a paper stating that you will not use your pockets for smuggling or anything else illegal, and _then_ they have to decide whether they actually _want_ you using the pockets – "

"I know, Snape," Lily said, rolling her eyes as she opened the crisp packet. "I did all that. I mean, I have an arm, I can sign whatever they put in front of me. And Flitwick is a highly respected member of the International Charms Society, and he vouched for me. All in all, the most difficult bit was just learning how to do it."

Snape frowned and unwrapped his sandwich; however, he did not broach the subject again. Instead: "Do you want to practice more after we're done, or do you think we should quit for today?"

Lily shrugged. "I dunno. I kind of have homework. Arithmancy in particular; that assignment he gave us Thursday…."

"I've started on it," said Snape between bites. "It's not difficult."

"Maybe not for you," Lily grumbled, and Snape gave a surprising snort.

"Don't fool yourself. You're just as good as I am. And they're just worksheets; it's not as if they require any abstract thinking." His voice was filled with scorn.

Lily smirked. "Maybe so. But in any case, I'd like your input. There is the essay at the end, if you'll remember. Who will you write about?"

"I've no idea," Snape admitted. "I'm planning on visiting the library later this afternoon and do some research."

"I'll come with you," Lily said thoughtlessly. "I could probably use your input."

Snape was silent for a moment, and when she looked up at him she saw that his face was carefully blank. "Are you sure that's a very good idea?" he said neutrally.

Lily suddenly realized her error. "Er. Possibly not the best," she conceded, and then schooled her features into a casual expression. "Ridiculous, though, assigning an essay on a famous arithmancer. As if there are any. Bet you ten galleons that half the class writes about Nicholas Flamel."

He laughed, and when he stopped short he looked just as surprised as she did.

They finished their lunch hastily. When the last chocolate biscuit had been neatly devoured, Lily gathered up the trash and, not able to help a bit of showing off, opened up another existential pocket and disposed of the miscellaneous wrappers.

Snape shook his head at her casual behaviour, an I-can't-believe-you're-using-an-existential-pocket-as-a-dustbin look on his face, but he made no comment and dug through his satchel for his Arithmancy things.

They settled down at the table again and began studying in companionable silence, one occasionally announcing a pertinent find in their textbook to the other or making a suggestion as to the essay portion of the assignment. They finished the eleven worksheets relatively soon, and having done so they made the decision to adjourn. As they packed their things away, Lily noticed that Snape slipped _The Book of Poisons_ into his bag, but she didn't comment. At the door, they glanced at one another, and Lily sighed.

"Next Saturday, then?"

Snape nodded. "Same time?"

"As long as the prefect meeting doesn't run over."

He nodded again, compressing his lips. Lily had come to recognize this look as one he put on when he was restraining himself from saying something he really wanted to say. She looked at him expectantly, and as the silence stretched out she noticed that his breathing was a little shaky, a little irregular – that his nostrils flared with every other breath, that his eyes blinked a little too fast, that his fingers were white on the leather strap of his worn satchel. He _really_ wanted to say something.

Her silly heart skipped a beat or two, and she licked her lips expectantly, but suddenly he was all motion: he pushed past her and through the door, muttering a brief goodbye on his way out. Lily was left standing at the door, hand fluttering over her heart, her pulse dancing and her breath constricted. Her thoughts whirled in her mind, dashing this way and that and crashing into one another, effectively preventing her from sorting anything out. Her curiosity pushed into overdrive, and the need to satisfy it was overwhelming, but _what_ could she do but leave the fantastic room and somehow find her way back to her dormitory?

She meandered back to Gryffindor Tower.


End file.

Harry Potter, Drama, Friendship