Chapter Seven--Polarize
7.1
It was still, quiet. The thin downpour of mid-November snow fell in a constant, gentle wall as it had for days, swamping the grounds and fortifying the castle ramparts with ever-deepening turrets. I smiled down on it from my perch on the rickety bridge connecting the castle to the eastern grounds, leaning out over the wooden railing to survey the slowly-sloping hillside below. Beside me, Emmeline eagerly did the same.
I could just make out, through the sheet of snow, the iced-over lake opposite us, Hagrid's hut to the far left, along the forest, and the greenhouses and various castle towers to the right. The snow had already wiped out all traces of last night's massive snowball fight, an impromptu skirmish between the four Houses that lasted several hours (with troops coming and going of course) and had only ended when the sun had set and the students were too numb and exhausted to maintain their bunkers, prompting a wild charge to the center of the field, the students flinging snowballs as quickly as possible before being battered to the ground. I'd been forced to call an official halt when the war deteriorated to somewhat-friendly wrestling, and even then James had to pry several of the younger students apart before the end.
But it had been fun, a true moment of light-hearted revelry to offset of obligatory workload of distantly approaching N.E.W.T.s and the more threatening end-of-term exams. Numbed, sodden with snow and laughing, slipping bits of ice down James' robes while behind the lines, only to have him respond by smashing a snowball into the side of my head… almost made me feel carefree again.
Carefree. Right.
I laughed thoughtfully to myself as I crossed my arms on the railing, pushing snow over the edge, and momentarily rested my chin on my arms, lazily staring out at the falling snow. "That was fun yesterday, yeah?" I asked, gesturing with a finger to where the fight had taken place before looking askance at Emmeline, who had conjured up a blue ball of fire and was toying with it, grabbing at the levitating flames with her bare fingers as it radiated warmth. She looked calm but I knew that thin veneer was on the verge of cracking, and I hoped to stave off her nervousness of the day's hearing with lighthearted conversation. She smiled slowly, sensing what I was up to, but seemed eager to think of something other than heading to the Ministry..
"All's fun in love and war," she said lightly, brown eyes twinkling. With a jerk of her wand the blue flames expanded, transforming into a five-pointed star that mimed a person doing a teetering head-stand, before splitting into five miniatures that cart-wheeled along the railing. She smiled at me, seeking approval for the show, and when I applauded she gave me a mock-bow, adding a flourish with her arms, her dark robes swirling around her.
"Speaking of love…" I grinned impishly, raising an eyebrow at her. "I'll just pretend that you and Broderick Helm were wrestling out there in the snow, all right? Because I really don't need any of those mental images floating around my mind."
"I'm sure you have plenty of your own imaginings to contend with," she scoffed amusedly, trying
unsuccessfully to hide a grin. "The steamy looks you and Potter were giving one another could melt the lake,
eh?" With another twitch of her wand the stars came back together to form two larger ones, which immediately
locked together in the mime of a very passionate kiss.
"What steamy looks?" Instead of preserving my dignity and saying something scathingly witty in retaliation, as my reputation for having a somewhat cheeky demeanor suggested, I blushed, burying my face in my hands. "Can't I think a man is attractive without the world ending?" I asked weakly from between my fingers, hardly believing the words coming out of my mouth; but there they were, a surprising truth that I couldn't hide from my closest friend. Still, I stuttered in my immediate attempt to save face. "But, you know-it's Potter-so nothing will-"
Emmeline laughed, for the first time in what seemed like ages, and I hardly minded that it was at my expense. "Oh, spare me, please. I know exactly what you want to do with James Potter." She triumphantly directed her wand at the two fire-stars, which started miming something much more passionate than a snog, and with a glare containing bits of amusement, embarrassment, and resigned admittance, I playfully dashed the lewd pair apart.
"Emme-" I began to exclaim, astonished at what she suggested, but she looked so shocked and melodramatically taken aback at what I had done to her flame-couple that I simply began to laugh. It didn't take her long to join me.
Our childish giggles subsided after a moment, as we both remembered why we were standing on the bridge on a cold, Saturday morning when we'd otherwise be in bed: we were watching for Emmeline's escort to the Ministry. Sober now, back to the task at hand, I glanced at my watch.
"Quarter to eight," I announced, eyeing Emmeline calmly. "The hearing is at ten? The escort should be here soon… "
She nodded, silently, and we both lapsed back into our own thoughts as we stared out at the deserted grounds, waiting for something to happen. I shuffled through my recent rambling thoughts, searching for some topic that would pique Emmeline's interest for a time, but the only topics that rose to mind were those I had promised to keep to myself.
Life was… different, somehow, now that I had truly been taken into James' confidence. Knowledge of the Map, he had stressed, was limited to myself alone; it was already too much that I had told Emmeline and Alice of the Marauders' transformations, though they wouldn't breathe a word. And though precedent suggested open honesty with my friends, strangely, it was somewhat pleasing-even thrilling-to be in on a secret with James. Perhaps that was why we had been fairly quiet about the depth of our budding companionship; oftentimes I sought out his company for Head duties when it wasn't entirely necessary, and as of late it seemed that I was never alone: when not slaving through studying or Slughorn's various Slug Club activities, I was either with Emmeline and Alice, or with James.
I thought of the shagging fire-figures and heat washed over my face, though I knew I wasn't actually blushing. Thoughts down that avenue were absurd-we had only ever kissed once!-especially with the war, school, and Head duties to keep me otherwise occupied. But there were times, when I was drifting off to sleep or when I found my attention ultimately gravitating to James while I worked in close contact with him throughout the day, when my imagination ran away with me and I forgot about our rocky history and even more uncertain present, and simply thought of him.
Still, I had yet to sort out how I felt about him and what these feelings meant. I'd thought over this so often that the stream of consciousness felt worn through: I admired him, certainly, was attracted not only to his body but to his leadership capabilities and his spirit… and yet he seemed a dangerous creature, hell-bent on fighting a force that was unstoppable…
"There," Emmeline whispered suddenly, startling me as she leaned over the railing to point at a figure, shrouded in a traveling cloak, that was making its way up the path by the lake, too far away to make out clearly. My mental image and thoughts of James evaporated as the figure calmly pressed through the drifts of snow as though without a care for them, heading very clearly for the castle. "That has to be my escort."
Without another word, we took off down the bridge, striving to beat the figure to the Great Hall. The wind and snow picked up, working strongly against us, but we were determined to persevere. Ducking our heads into the storm, we ran.
7.2
We both were panting and Emmeline was clutching a stitch in her side after our sprint, but we had beaten the escort to the door. Snow gusted in with the visitor as he entered the Great Hall and forced the doors shut against the bellowing wind, and a tingle of nervousness shot through my body as the figure turned to face the Hall and raised its hands to lower the hood of its traveling cloak. A second later my anxiety turned to joy as the cloak revealed the tall, wiry, and somewhat worn-looking form of Frank Longbottom.
"Frank?" Emmeline and I exclaimed in unison, rushing over to greet him with a hug after he had pulled off the icy cloak. "It's wonderful to see you!"
"What have you three been up to?" he asked in his familiar, full voice, grinning as he took in our flushed faces and folded the cloak over his arm. His eyes wandered from us to around the room, and I realized he had assumed that Alice would be with us.
"It's just us, Alice is sick," I said hesitantly, nervously slinging my thick, plaited hair over a shoulder. "But it's nothing too bad..."
"Oh?"
Emmeline nodded enthusiastically, though she was bent over with her hands on her thighs, still trying to catch her breath. "She went to the Hospital Wing with a fever and chills yesterday, but she should be released later on today, or early tomorrow. I think Madame Pomphrey just wants to be sure she isn't contagious."
"Those remedy potions are a nasty business. I don't know which is worse: their taste, or being ill," Frank said, making a face, before he shrugged, still looking slightly anxious for Alice. "Perhaps I can visit her later-for now I believe I need to get you to the Ministry," he said, pointing unnecessarily to Emmeline.
"Actually," Emmeline began cautiously, her eyes wide and round as she straightened, "Dumbledore gave permission for Lily to come with me-if you're willing."
"For moral support." I added hastily, seeing the dubious look cross Frank's face. I smiled assuredly at him, encouragingly, though I was still sure Frank could since some anxiety in me.
"He did, did he?" Frank contemplated the both of us for a moment, studying our hopeful faces, but just as he opened his mouth to announce my verdict, the door to the Great Hall swung open, admitting much snow, ice, and wind, but also the Gryffindor Quiddich team flanked by Hagrid, who had clearly supervised the team's short practice.
On the whole, they looked somewhat irritated, probably because the storm had called off practice and that meant they had gotten out of bed early on a Saturday for no reason. Yet at the head of the procession stood James, his broomstick hefted across his shoulder and held steady with one hand, while the other brushed flakes of snow and ice out of his windswept hair. His scarlet robes were heavy and soaked through, yet the surprise and jovial camaraderie in his eyes, shining through his snow-flecked glasses, made him seem anything but defeated by the weather. His cheeks, of course, were reddened by the cold, his hair dripped melted snow into his blazing eyes, and he looked otherwise freezing and miserable, yet he smiled at the unexpected sight of his friend.
Emmeline tossed me a hasty look, as though she knew-because she could read me so well-that I felt that his dominating presence had only been enhanced by the blustery backdrop and it amused her. I ignored her, simply trying to keep the pleasure of seeing him-and the lingering irritation at that pleasure-off of my face.
James barked a laugh, wiping off his glasses quickly with enthused surprise as he said, "This can't be Frank Longbottom."
Frank smiled and clasped James' arm in a brotherly way as the rest of the team sidled off to the Common Room for hot showers and warm beds, trailing mush behind them. Hagrid tossed a wave at Frank but couldn't stay to speak, and as he made his exit, Frank spoke. "It is, and good to see you."
James glanced quickly at Emmeline and me before swinging the boom off his shoulder and releasing it to hover beside him so that he could give the taller man a proper back-pounding embrace. "What are you doing here-Alice said something about you touring Azkaban?"
Frank paled slightly, shifted his weight uncomfortably, and nodded. "Just a routine inspection," he said guardedly, before turning to gesture to Emmeline and me. "However, this morning I'm set to escort these two lovely ladies to the Ministry."
James turned a sharp eye on me, deflating my triumph at being allowed to go along. "What brings you there?"
"Oh," interjected Emmeline, trying to appear nonchalant. "Frank is taking me to a hearing, and Lily is going along for support… while also getting a chance to tour any departments she might like to work in."
I tried not to smile at Emmeline's convincing embellishment, but James wouldn't have it. "What-?"
"Lily can tell you about it later, if she'd like," Emmeline finished, ignoring James' displeasure. "But right now we don't really have the time."
I turned my eyes on James warningly, silently telling him to keep out of it, but he responded with a similar flat glance that clearly suggested that I owed him one. Frank stared interestedly between the two of us for a moment, looking amused at the familiar at-odds dynamics between us, yet surprised at subtle friendly undertones in our glances. He was sharp, that one, not foolish enough to comment on the looks he seemed to be able to understand clearly, and after a moment of contemplation he coughed, glanced at his watch, and declared that it was time for us to get a move on.
"We need to Floo from Dumbledore's office," he said definitively; however, his next quiet words were startling enough that I tore my eyes from James'. "And I'm afraid I have to confiscate your wand, Emmeline."
"Right," she said stiffly, hesitantly pulling her wand out of her robes and handing it over, looking dismayed. "Take care of it."
"You'll get it back if..." he didn't finish the sentence, and Emmeline nodded sharply at his unuttered words. The pair of them began to head up the Great staircase, and I waited for them to get a short way ahead before gesturing to James to walk with me. He was trying to suppress his building agitation, yet still snatched his broomstick out of the air and stared determinedly ahead as we climbed the stairs.
I waited for him to begin speaking, mentally preparing my defense, wondering which determent he would try to use first. However, his words took me by surprise.
"You didn't tell me that Emmeline had some sort of hearing." His voice was low and calm, but still he didn't look at me.
I furrowed my eyebrows at him; he sounded slightly wounded as well. "It really wasn't something she wanted me to advertise."
"Right." He took a few more steps before opening his mouth as if to speak, but caught himself before he uttered the question.
"She used the Killing Curse on a Death Eater that was on a rampage in her village," I whispered almost too quietly to hear, shivering, watching Emmeline and Frank down the corridor as he briefed her on what would take place once we reached the Ministry. "If you must know."
"Really?" he said bracingly, impressed and surprised, yet still sounding as though I had just condemned myself. "I knew she'd involved herself in the war somehow, but I didn't…" He took a deep breath before sighing exasperatedly, as though unable to hold in his tension and words any longer. A moment later, the dam burst. "Do you know how bad it's gotten out there lately? Half of the magical community stays in their homes unless absolutely necessary, and here you go, trotting off to the Ministry for no good reason-"
"What do you know about it?" I interrupted rudely, trying to keep my voice lowered and speaking through clenched teeth. "Dumbledore has given permission, Frank has given permission, I'm of age, and you've no right to stop me from going."
"I have reason, though!" he exclaimed, stopping halfway down a corridor, placing a hand on each of my shoulders and firmly forcing me to face him. We both glanced quickly at Frank and Emmeline, who had hesitated a moment, waiting momentarily for us to catch up, before Emmeline knowingly decided that it'd be best to continue on her way and motioned Frank to lead on. After they had gone, I glared at him.
"And what's that, Potter?" I asked acidly, my temper beginning to rise as he held me still. "You don't think I can take care of myself?"
"You're about to walk into the primary target of the Death Eaters with someone who has killed one, and someone who has put three others into Azkaban," he said softly, his eyes boring into mine earnestly. His leather-gloved fingers tightened on my shoulders in sharp contrast to his voice. "And you're Muggleborn. Don't you understand how foolish this risk is?"
"Thank you for your concern," I said slowly but forcefully, my voice quavering thinly as I fought against an abrupt thickening of my throat and I tried to think of the best way to express the varying emotions rushing through me: I was angered that he didn't have more confidence in my abilities; I was touched that he cared so much about me; I was saddened that he didn't seem to realize that this was, in its way, a rebellion against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, that I didn't want to hide away and let others do the fighting for me; I burned to be there with Frank and Emmeline, and let my presence shout that I would do the same as they had done. "I know what's out there," I ended up saying simply, feeling suddenly rung out. "And if you know me at all, you'll understand why I have to go."
His lips tightened and I saw him clench his jaw, but slowly he relented. Shame replaced the obstinate concern on his face, and his body, which had been so rigid through our disagreement, slackened. "You're right, Lily, I'm sorry," he said, releasing me gently and raising a hand to rub his temple wearily. "You have your reasons…."
"And… you're not really one to talk about taking risks," I added, unable to deny that I was still a bit taken by his concern and that he even thought he had a right to protect me at all. Weirdly, an embarrassed smile quirked my lips as I tried to casually thumb the excess moisture from my eyes.
"I didn't mean to upset you," he said awkwardly as we turned to follow Emmeline and Frank. The corridors were beginning to fill now with students heading to breakfast before journeying down Hogsmeade, and he was forced to whisper lest anyone overhear. I tried to ignore the obviously eavesdropping portraits nearby, some which were leaning flat against their frames in order to better hear us, but James tossed several of them quick, pointed looks, heated enough for them to decide to appear more discreet.
"It's what you're best at, isn't it?" I said, only partly joking, as we rounded a corner and I spotted the griffins guarding Dumbledore's office. I gratefully used them as my escape from the conversation and James' lingering concern. "Listen, I need to go. Have fun in Hogsmeade today-don't forget to patrol a bit, too."
Impulsively, I reached out and laid a hand on his cool, clean-shaven cheek. I rested it there for only an instant in my attempt to bolster his confidence in me, and he seemed somewhat consoled. His eyes closed as he bowed his head into my touch-but only for a moment before he pulled away from me and became all poise and confidence, his mask of cool pride once again firmly affixed.
The portraits exploded into flurried whispers.
Ignoring them, James once against hefted the broomstick over his shoulder and nodded professionally, as if that would undo the too intimate moment that had just past. "You watch your back." He said it lightly, but I could tell, despite that knowing, suave exterior, that he was tense, still worried.
As I turned away from him, I flicked my wand out of my sleeve and twirled it confidently-almost cockily-in my fingers, offering the only assurance that I could and using his own words against him. "I always do."
7.3
Despite the caution and fear pervading Britain, the Ministry of Magic was a bustling hive of activity, so busy it seemed as though nothing could stop business from continuing-and it hadn't, not even for a Saturday. I stared awestruck at the various playing fountains, the large atrium, the rows and rows of Floo-fires, and the tiny owls zooming overhead, nearly colliding with one another as they carried messages to various departments. The place was choked with witches and wizards visiting from different countries, all speaking loudly to their translators, Ministry employees who were carrying the oddest things from one place to another, conducting their business as swiftly as possible, and a multitude of other magical creatures who had come to make their grievances known to the government.
Despite this vivacity, the whole place had a solemn shadow cast over it that unnerved me, a product of too many deaths, not enough convictions, and constant strain. I felt that at any time the place would snap, and it might be the next attack that would do it.
Security was understandably tight. My wand was confiscated and put through various tests to determine that it had not performed any Dark spells of late; a Healer even tested my reflexes and shone a light into my eyes, trying to determine whether I had been placed under the Imperious Curse. I knew that was for show; there was no way such simple tests would be able to determine whether or not I had been cursed, and it made me wonder how much more of the security precautions were simply a façade. Frank's precaution played over and over I my head: watch what you say, because you never know who you're really speaking to.
There were Aurors stationed everywhere; some nodded to Frank as we passed or leaned in to speak a few quiet words, others kept their attention solely on monitoring what was going on around them. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was mad to try to attack the Ministry itself and take over officially, but, as Frank reminded us during his constant stream of talk about current events and what the Ministry was doing about them, it had been tried before.
Frank ushered us into one of many lifts, which filled rapidly before we ascended from the eighth level. "We have a bit of time," he explained as we got off on level two, "so I thought we might stop by the Auror department and see what you make of it."
"Recruiting much, Frank?" Emmeline laughed as Frank touched his wand against a nondescript wooden door bearing a small plaque stating AUROR DEPARTMENT. He simply smiled at her words and shrugged as though saying "you never know".
"I don't know if I'm cut out to be an Auror," I said honestly as the door swung open and we walked into a catacomb of cubicles and overflowing desks. There was no empty space on the walls of the large office aside from where sunlight shone brightly through the magical windows, and even the ceiling had items posted on it: newspaper clips were everywhere, as well as pin-up snapshots of various Wanted witches and wizards, family photos, and large maps of Great Britain with pins pushed in to mark important locations. I trailed my hand interestedly along a map as I leaned in to read it, taking note of points marked as DE sighted, attack zone 113, and probable target. "I'm more for spell work than Defense."
"And who said that spell work has nothing to do with being an Auror?" demanded a harsh voice from behind me, making me jump and spin around guiltily as though I had been caught red-handed committing a crime. The face that stared into me unnerved me further: the elderly man had flyaway, graying hair, piercing brown eyes, and more twisting scars and missing bits of face than I had ever seen contained on one visage.
"I never said it didn't," I said quickly, taking a step back from the man in alarm. "Only that I prefer Charms to Defense Against the Dark Arts."
The man, who was wearing robes that did not quite conceal his peg-leg, stared at me for a moment before he began to laugh. I narrowed my eyes, feeling slightly mocked, before looking quickly to Frank for instructions. He hastily stepped in to introduce us.
"Auror Moody, this is Lily Evans, Head Girl at Hogwarts," Frank said quickly, and I noticed that he addressed the man with the upmost deference though Frank didn't seem intimidated by his superior at all. "Lily, this is Head Auror Alastor Moody."
The Auror looked at me sternly for a moment before pulling a silver flask out of his pocket and taking a long drag from it. "So you don't think you want to be an Auror, do you?"
I hesitated. "I'm not quite sure what I want to do after I graduate-I'm leaving my options open," I replied, feeling awkward to be singled out so. Emmeline simply shook her head at me when I glanced at her for help, at a loss for anything to contribute. "I want to oppose You-Know-Who somehow, but I haven't decided in what manner."
"Longbottom! Prewett!" barked Moody, once again making me jump. A red-haired man in maroon robes sitting hunched over a desk across the room turned at the sound of his name. "What's does it take to be a successful-which means 'living'-Auror?"
"Constant vigilance," they both answered promptly, as though it had been drilled into them. They caught each other's eyes and seemed unsure whether or not to be amused at being told to recite like school boys, but shrugged identically, I assumed, because they knew it was true.
"Constant vigilance!" Moody repeated loudly, ignoring Prewett's joking addition of "And nothing lower than Exceeds Expectations on your N.E.W.T.s!". He leaned in toward me intently. "Doesn't matter what subject you're best at-if you pay attention to the world around you and can think on your toes, you'll do fine. What better way to oppose You-Know-Who?" And with that, he abruptly turned his attention to Emmeline.
"Emmeline Vance," he said gruffly. It wasn't a question, but despite his pedantic air, she straightened her back and stared Moody in the eyes.
She was still nervous and afraid, and I admired her for trying not to let it show. I saw her mouth tremble slightly, but then she swallowed, pressed her lips firmly together, and nodded. "I am."
He turned to the desk behind him and flipped open a file, checking whose it was. I read Emmeline's name at the top before he scooped it up and tucked it under his arm, turning back to face us. "We need to talk. Your father is already waiting for you." He gestured to the largest cubicle, stationed at the back of the room. "If you please…"
She tossed Frank an apprehensive look but he nodded at her, and I smiled at her encouragingly as she followed the limping Auror into his small office and closed the door behind them.
"What was that all about?" I asked nervously, turning to face Frank as he sat at the desk behind Prewett's. He summoned over another chair and I gratefully took it, perching myself nervously on its edge.
"One moment," said Frank, leaning forward in the cramped space to tap Prewett on the shoulder. "I want you to meet Fabian Prewett, my partner. Fabian, Lily-and Emmeline too-are set to be Alice's Maids of Honor at our wedding."
Fabian turned around, smiling, and shook my hand. "Nice to meet you." The man was weathered and seemed exhausted, just like Frank. With bags under his eyes and a slight pallor to undermine his peak physical fitness, he was not quite attractive, yet his personality seemed open in a way that I'd never have imagined an Auror's to be.
"Is Moody always like that?" I asked with a grin, eager to strike up a conversation and get an inside view of the dynamics of the Auror Department. Superficially it seemed cheerful, though I sensed that this was only to cover up the grim determination and tireless efforts of its occupants so that they wouldn't become too beaten down.
Fabian shrugged, and it was hard for me to read his searching expression. "After so many years of putting Death Eaters away, wouldn't you be?"
"I suppose so." I nodded good-naturedly, understanding the reason for Moody's shrewd mind. "Constant vigilance, eh? Are you all supposed to drink from personal flasks?"
Fabian snorted in answer, rolling his eyes, before glancing at his watch. "Well Frank, I'm off to a family luncheon. Want me to bring you anything?"
"Nah." Frank waved him away with a smile. "I'll eat at Hogwarts, later."
"You know Molly tops the Hogwarts kitchens…."
Frank rolled his eyes. "All the same, give your brother and sister my regards for me, yeah?"
"Will do," said Fabian, fastening his cloak. He shook my hand one last time, and a smile and four strides later, he was out of the door.
"About Emmeline," began Frank in a whisper once we were alone, and I leaned forward, elbows on my knees so I'd be able to hear him, my good cheer diminishing. "She killed a Death Eater, had the fortitude and will power to do it, Unforgivable or not," he explained, straightening up some files on the cluttered surface of his desktop. "That makes her valuable."
"Hm." I reflected briefly on the sense of the argument, but didn't like to dwell on the thought that my friend had killed someone. I pursed my lips before trying to alter the subject. "So… is she the only reason why you're here on a Saturday?"
Frank laughed as he shoved a small stack of superfluous files and reports into the small cabinet at the foot of the desk. "No, I practically live here." He spread his hands, encompassing the scope of his desk and its accompanying file cabinets. "It's all research-identifying and discovering the habits of Death Eaters…"
"How do you determine whose files to go through first?" I asked curiously, accepting the stack of files that Frank slid toward me and forcing them into the overstuffed cabinet at my feet.
"It's all discrimination or tip-offs, to be honest." Frank scrubbed a hand through his hair. "At least in my squad… I mean, we're covering Dementors, Werewolves, Banshees, any creature naturally inclined toward the dangerous habits that Who-Know-Who encourages."
"That's…" I trailed off, keeping the thought to myself, uncertain how to best express the sickened, saddened feeling I suddenly felt. I thought of Remus and the prejudices facing him, feeling hollow, and the fine line Frank had to walk every day, the gravity of the judgments he had to pass over his fellow citizens. Frank tilted his head thoughtfully at me, waiting for me to finish my sentence. When I never did he nodded to himself and pulled more uninvestigated files out of a box at his feet.
"I agree," he sighed, dropping them heavily onto his desk. "But in these times, we do what we have to."
7.4
Frank and I weren't allowed inside the Wizengamot during the actual hearing, so after escorting Emmeline and her father, who was representing her, down to the chamber on level ten, we Conjured some chairs and sat talking quietly in the hallway as we awaited the verdict. We spoke of Alice and the wedding, talked for a little while about prospects for my future career, how my N.e.W.T.s would factor into my desires, and he told me very candidly what life being an Auror was like.
He was part way through describing a particularly sticky situation he had gotten himself into during training, adding a layer of humor to the story that I'm sure he hadn't felt at the time, when the Wizengamot door swung open and purple-robed witches and wizards began filing from the room, talking quietly among themselves. At long last, Emmeline and her father emerged, looking relieved.
"Cleared of all charges," he said happily as she bounced into my embrace. "Half of the Wizengamot seemed to think that the matter should have been dismissed, but of course the law had to be observed."
"Just no more Unforgivables," I said with mock sternness that hid my real dismay at their necessity, though I hugged her with sincere relief before she released me. She turned to thank Frank for his congratulations and to receive her wand, and I spotted Moody leaving the chamber, speaking quietly with a tall, elderly man wearing the robes of the Wizengamot. Despite the obvious signs of his advancing age-the thinning white hair, frail-looking limbs, and glasses covering his blue eyes-the man seemed full of vim and vigor, and smiled at Emmeline as he and Moody passed us on their way to the stairs.
We let the crowd pass before we followed them up the stairs, heading toward the lifts on the ninth floor. "Do you know who that man is? The one who smiled at you…" I whispered to Emmeline, pointing discreetly to the wizard walking with Moody.
"That's James Potter's Da," she whispered with a smile, holding up the end of her robes with one hand so she wouldn't trip up the stairs. "He was one of those who thought I never should have had a hearing in the first place.
"Surprise, surprise," I muttered to myself, still eyeing the man and thinking of the attitudes of his son. We joined the small queue of Ministry workers who were waiting for one of the many lifts, and I turned to Frank. "I didn't know he worked for the Ministry."
"Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad," he explained as we caught the next available lift and ascended back to the Atrium on the eighth level. "He's been in that Office basically since Grindlewald, sends Hit Wizards out after common criminals-though lately they're Dark Wizards more often than not. He was going to retire, but his wife's death triggered a new bout of determination in him."
"In his son as well," I mused quietly, and Frank gave me a look of agreement as Emmeline said, horrified, "Potter's mum died?"
I bit my lower lip, not knowing how much to reveal about the subject, and let Frank respond with, "She had been fighting an illness for a while…finally succumbed to it this summer."
I contemplated this information in silence, not wishing to delve deeper into the subject as we shared the lift with a somber old man, a member of the Wizengamot judging by his robes, whose brows were knotted in thought. Two messenger owls had gotten on at the ninth level as well, and I watched them play for a moment, twirling around one another in the joy of flight, not seeming to be burdened by their light parcels. I smiled and caught Emmeline's eyes as we surreptitiously dodged bits of falling dandruff; the Wizengaomt wizard, who had caught a feather on his balding head, seemed not to notice them at all.
At last we emerged into the Atrium to discover that, with most employees in their offices or already home for the afternoon, it was much emptier and far quieter than it had been that morning. Emmeline's father, a stooping, bearded man with Emmeline's twinkling eyes, bid us farewell in the lift, as he worked on a higher level of the Ministry. My stomach rumbled, disturbing the near-peace of the place, and I thought longingly of an early dinner in the Great Hall.
"You know," stated Emmeline thoughtfully as we stood in line for a Floo-fire a short time later, "people here don't seem afraid of what's going on outside. It's almost foolish."
"It may look that way, but I don't think that's true given that most of our resources are bent on stopping You-Know-Who," answered Frank, taking a pinch of Floo powder from the small pot on the fireplace hearth. I nodded in agreement, remembering the underlying sense of barely-controlled alarm I had felt when the Atrium had been bustling. "How effective would our government be in a constant state of panic and paranoia?" He tossed the powder into the flames and Emmeline stepped into the grate, leaving no opportunity for a response. A moment later, my world was spinning in soot, and, pressed tightly on all sides, I squeezed my eyes shut.
Dumbledore was waiting for our return, and as I straightened my robes and rubbed the soot off of my face, feeling faintly nauseated and silently cursing all fireplaces everywhere, Emmeline joyously told him the news. She seemed oblivious to the soot shrouding her, concerned only with the knowing twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes.
"As I suspected," Dumbeldore said with a small smile, laying down his quill and rising from his chair. Fawkes warbled happily behind him. "How could the Ministry punish you for an action that they themselves are endeavoring to achieve?" He turned as Frank stumbled from the fireplace. "Frank, I daresay you need to speak with me?"
"Yes Sir, privately." Frank quickly embraced both Emmeline and me after ridding himself of the soot, and took the proffered seat before Dumbeldore's desk. I cocked my head, studying the interactions between Frank and the Headmaster. They seemed much closer, much more knowing than what should have been contained in the scope of their relationship, and vaguely in the back of my mind I began sorting rumors and my observations, trying to fit them together like a puzzle and solve for what I was missing…
Emmeline's chipper voice pulled me from my reverie. "When we see Alice, we'll let her know you're here." We were standing on the threshold of Dumbeldore's office, stomachs rumbling audibly, eager to head down to dinner and to discuss our separate experiences in the Ministry.
"Tell her to wait for me." Frank hesitated, glancing at Dumbledore, who was ostentatiously flipping through his correspondence, obviously wishing to avoid eavesdropping, before clearing his throat and continuing. "She'll know where to go."
A sense of both longing and happiness for Alice stole over me at the prospect of their reunion. A thought jumped into my mind, and I smiled as we turned away and trotted down the spiraling staircase. When we were out of earshot, past the guarding griffins, I said, "Not likely to see much of Alice tonight, are we?"
Emmeline snorted. "I doubt it."
7.5
My gloved fingers ached with the cold as I laid down my quill and turned from my just-completed letter to idly study the snow-shrouded view of the Forbidden Forest, presented to me by my place at the low wall on the top of the North Tower. The morning's blizzard had ceased, but not before layering deep drifts of snow upon the sturdy trees of the wood, snow which twinkled innocently in the bright starlight of a clear night sky before bringing down the younger tree's branches with a surprisingly sharp crack. To my amusement, the only tree not glittering with the white powder was the Whomping Willow, for it shook itself and flailed, not allowing a snowflake to rest on its boughs for more than a moment before violently throwing it off.
My thoughts wandering, I looked vacantly up. Moonlight shone strongly through the broken clouds above, illuminating their thin edges. They seemed flat and too-close to earth, like two-dimensional objects pressing down on me in my uncertainty. I sighed, warm breath trapped against my mouth by a hastily-donned scarf, and turned back to re-read the letter, still debating with myself over whether or not to actually send it.
It began awkwardly.
Saturday, November 19, 1977.
I've thought a lot about our last argument lately, the one in front of the portrait hole, even though it was years ago. And I've been presented with a notion: ideally, the world is white and black, right or wrong… yet it isn't. You'd think that people are either on one side or the other, but in reality you've got people mixing with both sides, trudging along against their convictions, hoping that things will work out alright for them in the end.
I am not one of these people, and it should be obvious why.
You, despite your assurances to the contrary, are. Your mind may be with one lot, but your heart is really with another. It pains me to see you this way, especially because there is only one option left: to decide where your complete loyalties lie.
It's time to choose, once and for all, and I'm afraid I know which way you'll go.
If I am right, then I hope this letter can afford true closure between the two of us; you will have thrown in with your mind, thoroughly abandoning all hope for the endeavors of your heart and forever forsaking our past friendship. Yet I hope your actions will prove my suspicions wrong. For the sake of your memory, I need to know.
Don't fight for the wrong side.
-L-
Perhaps I was being cruel, by demanding some sort of answer that he may yet not know and suggesting that only he would be forsaking our friendship. "No," I murmured sadly half a thought later, rolling the letter into a tube and sealing it with a bit of hot wax from my sputtering nub of a candle. "He is already lost."
With a heavy heart at the predicted betrayal of a once-dear friend, I fastened the note to the leather thong tied around the legs of the patiently waiting owl that I had brought with me from the owlry. It took off with a swoop of its wings before diving into an alcove of the castle and out of sight, and I stared after it for a time, leaning against the chest-high wall with my chin nestled on crossed arms. Somewhere in the back of my mind I decided that it was nearing curfew, knew that I should leave the wall and begin my rounds. But there was something so silently profound in the moment that I couldn't bring myself to move from the spot.
Eventually, though, the sheer cold drove me back inside the castle, and I began my rounds with more loneliness and solemnity that I had felt in a long while. The castle corridors were dark, as usual, lit only by scattered torches and my solitary wand. I held it high aloft to spread the bright light into every corner and behind every statue, tapestry, and suit of armor within my designated area, but despite a creeping sense of paranoia and the feeling that I was being watched by something more than passing portraits and one or two pearly white ghosts, nothing seemed out of order.
I was but one corridor away from the Fat Lady when someone placed a hand over my mouth and, despite my best efforts, bundled me into an abandoned classroom. Yet I wasn't constrained for long; once the heavy classroom door had closed behind me and my wand had been wrenched from my grasp, I was released.
Fear threatened to choke me, but I forced it into the pit of my stomach as I loosened my limbs, trying to be light on my feet and remain ready to either lash out at my aggressor, or flee. My heart raced. The room was dark but for my lit wand, which was being held loosely in the hand of the person standing opposite me, shining brightly about his knees so that I had to squint to make out the features of his face.
My eyes widened as I identified him, but before I could say a word, he spoke, holding up my letter with his other hand and shaking a long lock of black hair out of his sallow face. "What, pray tell," he said softly yet dangerously in his oily, familiar voice, "is this?"
I straightened my back and fiercely stared into the black eyes of Severus Snape, still thrown and at a loss for what to say but trying to hide it. "I should think the meaning is clear, Severus," I responded quietly in a tightly controlled voice.
My one-time friend sneered, and something deep inside me broke. "And who do you think you are, believing you have such a claim over me?"
Despair washed over me as he stalked toward me, forced the letter under my nose. Abruptly anger followed; he would not be allowed to manipulate me as he had in the past, he would not have such control over me.
"Stop it," I hissed, snagging my wand from him with one hand while pushing him hard away from me with the other. Simultaneously we brought our wands to bear on one another, and I knew that he really was lost. He seemed surprised that I had wriggled away from him but no other emotion escaped him; I simply stared at him, my fear gone in the wake of cool determination. "You see that I am not such easy prey."
"Perhaps," he said dangerously, his wand still steadily directed at my face. I hoped he was bluffing; briefly, I wondered which of us was the better dueler, and prayed I'd never have occasion to find out. I certainly had no desire to hex him. "You see that I have made my choice."
A small gasp inadvertently escaped my lips, a weak admittance of pain and betrayal sparked by the words. "How could you?"
"How could I?" He exploded, glaring at me, his wand now beginning to shake with repressed emotion. "Lily, how could you? You accuse me of betraying you, but you double-crossed me long ago, leaving me for your oh-so-loved group of Gryffindors and your high and mighty ideals-"
"I left you because of your foul company," I interrupted fiercely, taking a step toward him rashly, "and the disgusting prejudices coming out of your mouth-"
"SHUT UP!" he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth at the words. I looked upon him, horrified; his eyes were red, brimming with angry tears, his teeth were bared, loathing etched on his face. "I don't want to hear it. I always stood behind you, even though you are a Mu-even though you are Muggleborn-until you left me for the very people who have tormented me for years-"
"And it was well deserved!" I spat, wanting to slap him. His slip of tongue had condemned him yet again, and I wondered why I had ever offered him a second chance to redeem himself. "You didn't always stand behind me, you've always been obsessed with the Dark Arts!" Angry tears were beyond the intensity of the disgust coursing through me now.
His face screwed up, exhibiting the pain that I was now trying to suppress; his eyes bore into mine and I read every ounce of despair written there. We had been friends, I thought. Something in him had been good. No longer. "No, Lily, I-"
"Curse you, Snape," I said bitterly, not wanting to hear anything else he had to say, searching blindly behind me for the door handle. I found it, and, keeping my wand level on him, opened it to stand silhouetted in the frame. "Don't ever speak to me again." After one last look at him, a look that burned itself into my memory, I turned and ran.
"You deserve what you're going to get!" he cried into the darkness, but I had already fled around the corner and stuttered the password to the Fat Lady, who seemed alarmed at my shaking voice. I stumbled into the safety of the Common Room, into the loud, exuberant atmosphere of students regaling one another of the day's adventures in Hogsmeade. Nearly overwhelmed and trying to maintain my composure, I searched hurriedly for Alice and Emmeline, but they were nowhere to be found.
7.6
My eyes finally alit on Sirius and James, who were seated on one of the couches in the back corner of the room, talking together while paying Wizard's Chess. James' feet were propped up on a nearby table, his hands behind his head as he impatiently waited for Sirius' move; Sirius, for his part, was studying the board as best he could while facing the distraction of an attention-starved cat curled up in his lap. I walked silently over to them and sat, facing them, on the edge of their table next to their game board.
"Lily, what's wrong?" James exclaimed in a near-whisper, dropping his feet so that he could lean questioningly toward me, his game forgotten. "You look pale." I shook my head at him, my face void of expression as I pressed my lips together, stared unseeingly ahead, and firmly told myself that I was not going to lose control of myself now that the confrontation was over, told myself that Snape wasn't worth it.
Sirius and James exchanged a concerned look, not knowing what to say. "Have a chocolate," Sirius ventured tentatively after a time, fishing around in his robes for some sweets from Honeydukes and upsetting the cat in the process. It flicked its tail angrily at him before jumping lightly to its feet and stalking off to find another object for its affections.
"She likes Chocolate Frogs," James suggested with a small smile, but I was too numb to confirm or deny his assertion.
"Right, hang on," said Sirius with all seriousness, pulling a handful of candy, freshly bought, out of his pockets and extracting a Chocolate Frog from the lot. He held the Frog out to me and I took it with a grateful nod and a shaking hand, not yet trusting myself to speak.
I turned the candy over and over in my hands, staring determinedly at it while I slowly reigned in my adrenaline and got my shock, fear, and pain under control. Hardly noticing that Sirius and James were still watching me, I took long, slow breaths, forcing the heart-wrenching emotions into nothingness. Sirius finally made his move, capturing a pawn, but James continued to stare worriedly at me until I met his eyes and offered a half-hearted smile.
"Watch your bishop."
His eyes flicked briefly to the board, and he raised an eyebrow at his pewter troops. "Noted."
"Don't help him," grunted Sirius, gnawing a knuckle as he studied the board, trying to determine which way James might make his play. "If you want to play so badly, I'll beat you after I've finished Prongsie here."
I snorted, but his dry humor was welcome and I was grateful for the return to normalcy.
My emotions had calmed but left me feeling weak in their aftermath, and after slowly eating my Frog and handing the card (Agrippa) back to Sirius for his collection, I unobtrusively moved to fill the space at the left end of the couch, sitting next to James with my arms encircling one of the overstuffed cushions, watching the game in an attempt to pretend that my lapse in composure had never occurred. James glanced quickly at me before casually wrapping an arm about my shoulders and drawing me gently into him.
Gratitude and security washed over me at his unasked for comfort, and I leaned eagerly against him as he commanded his rook to take Sirius' knight. His voice was not-quite neutral; there was an inflection of triumph and near-excitement in his tone that I couldn't help but hear. "Check."
"James," I murmured quietly into the side of his chest, feeling unable to properly express my thanks for his soothing presence. The rook moved to obey his command and the word was swallowed in the din the Common Room and Sirius' vanquished knight were making; for a moment I thought he hadn't heard me.
"Yeah?" he asked softly, looking down at me. He took a deep, calming breath as he did so, attempting to settle the rapidly pulsing heartbeat I could feel and hear through his chest, and this bolstered me enough to speak again.
"James… I… I don't think you're an arrogant toe rag anymore." The words were lame, far from describing the scope of emotions I felt for him, yet I uttered them shyly, looking quickly away from him with embarrassment. He smiled in answer, and leaned down to kiss me lightly and warmly on the lips. It was a quick, almost chaste kiss, but someone from across the room wolf-whistled, and a few other students laughed.
"Oy!" Sirius called loudly at them, though he sounded amused. I would have laughed myself, perhaps, but my mouth was still busy; at the cat call, James had turned his body into mine, cupping my face with his right hand as he gently forced me against the couch cushions with the weight of this second, deeper kiss. The others were probably still watching, but even though their intrusion wasn't what I had in mind for our first true kiss, I didn't care; my eyes were closed as a hot passion and thrilling chills ran through me, into James, and back again, and I hadn't another care for a long while.
7.7
After flipping my copy of Advanced Potion Making shut several days later, I leaned back in my chair to crack my back, arms raised, stretching and resisting the urge to yawn. The class around me was fidgety but working on their potions quietly, concentrating on their stirring, alternating swiftness and direction every few strokes. I sighed, watching the green surface of my potion start to simmer, and packed away my bag, impatiently waiting for the concoction to turn brown, praying that my potion would be finished before the bell and I'd be able to leave the dungeon that much sooner.
Far from a respite, Potions over the last week had become a slow form of torture, what with the combination of Bertram, who had heard of my "incident" with James and had given me a look that clearly suggested he'd never forgive me for it, and Snape, who spent more time glowering at me and glaring venomously at a reciprocating James than actually working on his potions. I hadn't yet told anyone about what had happened between Snape and myself, and the tension of keeping it bottled within my head had begun to cause nightmares and headaches, a combination that made me wake up feeling sick and more worn out then I'd felt when lying down to sleep.
Suffice it to say, my temper was rather short that Friday, when Slughorn ambled over to my table and informed me that he'd be holding a winter party for the Slug Club the following weekend and he expected me to attend. It took me a full five minutes to convince him that I would go if all of my duties and class work were completed, and after he had wandered away to check on the progress of the other students, I groaned and let my weary, congested head drop back onto the tabletop where it had been resting earlier, thinking that my day really couldn't get any worse. But that was before Bertram opened his mouth.
"I think I may suggest," he said noncommittally, staring determinedly down into his cauldron as he stirred his potion, "that you take Potter to Slughorn's party? I'm sure he'll find it ravishing."
My mouth dropped open indignantly, and frustration boiled within me at the amusement everyone seemed to find in the fact that James and I had snogged, that even students who I had never spoken to were passing judgment over me for it, crowing that James had won after all. It's not a game, I thought bitterly, abruptly siphoning a sample of my bogey-colored potion into a flask with a flick of my wand and sealing it off, and it's definitely nobody else's business.
"You know what?" I asked Bertram heatedly as I Vanished my remaining potion and slung my bag over my shoulder. He glanced up at me, surprised and slightly taken aback at my tone, and I was secretly proud that I could unsettle someone who was so physically imposing. "Maybe I will ask him to go with me-he's been a sight pleasanter than you've been lately."
And with that, I pushed back my stool, handed in my potion (which I knew would only earn an Acceptable) with a terse "I think I need the Hospital Wing," and marched out of the room.
But I was trying to escape from something unidentifiable, and so had nowhere to run.
7.8
"Emmeline and Alice are worried about you."
Somehow, I was not surprised to hear that voice. I remained where I was, laying curled in my bed where I had been napping on and off though out the afternoon, hugging my pillow to my chest. Rosy light from the sunset diffused into my otherwise darkened room, and I sighed, feeling utterly miserable. But I didn't answer, not wishing to raise my voice to the level required for James to be able to hear it through the door; I feared losing my voice, and vaguely wondered how long it'd take me to get over the worst of the damned cold that had settled into my system, taking advantage of the mal effects that stress and lack of sleep had on me.
"I'm worried about you, too." James paused before trying again, his voice low. "I've brought you some roast beef and pumpkin juice from dinner, and some Pepperup Potion…"
His thoughtfulness would have made me smile if my involvement with him hadn't been an indirect cause of my present torments, but I lazily waved my wand in the direction of the door anyway, hearing the lock turn with a click and the door creak open. It wasn't fair to punish James for the failures of my old friends.
I rolled over to face him, scooping my disheveled hair out of my face as I did so and checking to make sure that my dressing robe was securely belted. He hesitated a moment before walking over to me, handing me a tray of food, and taking a seat on the edge of my bed. "You look ill," he said after surveying me for a moment. I opened my mouth to thank him for stating the obvious, but he cut me off. "I think some food might do you good."
I rolled my eyes at him as I sat up, but diligently pushed some of the meat onto my fork. "Yes, mum…"
"Lily…" He ignored my quip and glanced down at his hands, lacing his fingers together between his knees, before meeting my eyes. "Have I done something to upset you?"
"You?" I took a long sip of juice, raising my eyebrows at him. "What would you have done? This is good, by the way." I added before draining the goblet. "Thank you, I think it'll do the trick."
He shrugged uncomfortably and watched me cut into my roast beef. "It seems that ever since we, er, kissed again, you've been acting a little oddly… and I was wondering if you were regretting it? Kissing me, I mean."
Surprised he thought so, I stared up at him, taking in the way he wet his lips with his tongue nervously, noting the faint blush in his cheeks at the topic. His brow was raised quizzically, and his eyes lingered on mine, kind, but afraid for the answer. Abruptly, feeling bold, I shoved aside my tray and grabbed the collar of his robes in my fists, pulling him roughly toward me, his lips crashing down upon mine until he had steadied himself, his hands braced against the bed on either side of my pillow. The kiss was untamed, pure passion and feeling, and I relished the sound of the excited, quick breaths he managed to take whenever our lips briefly broke contact, loved the way he had closed his eyes to savor the experience. After a moment I released his robes, my fingers rising to absently trace tracks on his jaw, his throat; several moments more passed before he slowly pulled away from me and righted himself on the bed, constraining his desire with obvious effort.
"So," he breathed heavily, grinning at me, his voice slightly husky. "I take it I was wrong."
"Need me to tell you again?" I laughed weakly, breaking eye contact embarrassedly and blaming my sudden dizziness on the head cold. "No… I don't want to make you sick..."
He reached over, his nervousness gone, and rested a hand consolingly on one of my sheet-covered knees, but before he could say anything I had made up my mind to tell him everything, my history with Snape, how Snape had wrecked my relationship with my sister, what had been pressing on my mind for the past week, everything. It had suddenly occurred to me that if I could share these secret little pieces of me, these follies and fears, hopes and desires, with anyone, that person should be James.
"Listen, James." I fished the vial of Pepperup Potion from where it had rolled into my sheets and placed it on my bedside table before pushing myself farther up the bed until my back was resting against the wall. He cocked his head at me, considering, but didn't reach out to touch me again.
"Lily?"
"I need to tell you something. I think this might make a few things clearer to you, even though you won't like some of it." I blew out a sigh and motioned for him to get comfortable, and as he shifted on the bed to better see me, I began, pressing my fingers against my eyes for a moment as though that would help recall the memories. My hands were shaking. "I've been able to do magic for as long as I can remember, but I never knew that it was actual magic until I was about ten, and I met a boy at the playground near my house…"
I couldn't help but cry before the end of the twisting tale-upon re-examining the past, my naivety, my sister's pain, and Snape's hypocrisies were all so definite. Despite everything though, at the end of it all, someone was there holding me, going through it with me… and that made all the difference.
7.9
Near the end of the train ride home, at the end of my short rounds (so many students were staying safely put at Hogwarts for Christmas that the train was only a quarter full), I found James outside the last compartment, leaning with his arms casually braced against the railing of the causeway, staring back over the miles of track we had traversed. The sun was setting behind the rolling, ice-covered hills surrounding us, but I didn't think that was what had him transfixed; his head bowed and tilted slightly to one side, he seemed, instead, to be lost in memory. I studied the curve of his shoulder blades beneath the folds of his Muggle jacket, watched the way the wind flattened his hair against his head, and fondly remembered the way I had run my hands along such paths the night before.
During the course of exams and our near-month of secret nightly rendezvous, we had gotten over the initial awkwardness and shyness of being fairly intimate; now, we were eager to explore one another, to touch and kiss both frantically and tenderly, driven by our newfound and seemingly bottomless passion for one another. Perhaps others might think that this intimacy was progressing too quickly, but I didn't think so; to me it was natural. We gravitated to each other, left one another gasping and contented, embracing tightly and brimming with such overwhelming emotion that behind my eyelids, my world spun. We weren't officially "together", but that was beside the point; it was the loyalty that mattered, not the title.
Merely a step away from him, I regarded him admiringly for a few moments more, giving him some last bits of peace before,
"Bang, Potter," I whispered triumphantly into his ear, brandishing my wand harmlessly as he whirled around to face me in surprise. I grinned evilly. "Got you."
He ran a hand edgily through his hair but smiled, relieved that it was only me. "Damn," he muttered half amusedly as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the compartment wall, his wand held loosely in his fingers. "I need to pay more attention."
"No, that's what you've got me for," I said lightly, moving to stand beside him at the far railing. I lounged back against the railing's vertical support, relishing the wind whipping against my face as I turned into it. The sun had by now fallen behind a rising of the earth and the walkway lights cut on, throwing half of James' face into shadow as he chuckled dryly.
"Really?"
I nodded, tucking my wand into the back pocket of my jeans and propping my chin on a railing-supported arm. "But you have to return the favor."
He playfully eyed me up and down, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at him-men-as he said, "This should be fun." He took a step toward me, but his stride faltered as I began my request.
"Remember that I told you all about my sister?" I hesitated, drawing in a breath, trying to force the words out. I looked sideways at him, embarrassed to be asking. "Well, you could accompany me to her wedding-two wizards keeping a look out are better than one." The words came out in a rush now, tumbling out of my mouth. "The rehearsal is Boxing Day and the wedding is the 27th-"
"But Lily," he interrupted, solemnly taking my hands in his. My apprehension growing, he looked me in the eyes and said very gruffly, "I can't go-I don't have a thing to wear."
A smile broke over his face and he laughed at my un-amused glare, pulling me irresistibly into the circle of his arms, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin lightly on the top of my head. I couldn't help but notice how comfortably warm he was in comparison to the weather tearing at us, and I greedily nestled into him. It had begun snowing again, but we both ignored, for a moment, to flakes pelting us.
"You bugger." I tilted my head back so that I could see his face, my eyes narrowed, sending another glare at him for good measure. But my words and the sting in them were weak, a bare whisper against his neck.
"Oh, I know," he agreed pityingly. He leaned down and offered an apology, but the kiss didn't last long; the train, bewitched so that no Muggles would notice it, had entered the fringes of London's gridlock of city blocks and buildings, and the platform was drawing ever nearer.
"Time to get back to business," I sighed, wanting to stay in his arms, in the warmth, a little longer. "Constant vigilance, right?" I muttered dryly, cracking a smile at the reference.
I felt him nod. "Be on your guard," he said, pulling unwillingly away from me.
After one last smile he turned away from me, and I couldn't help but wonder whether "watch your back" and "be on your guard" were just public ways of professing more than just his concern for my safety.
I didn't get a chance to truly dwell on the thought.
The train screamed, an earsplitting sound of metal wheels grating against the track, and we shuddered to a stop. I yelled, as did all the other students, as my inertia flung me forward, only allowing me to stop when I had come crashing down upon the metal walkway, landing roughly on my hands and knees. James had caught himself, barely, on the railing; as I began to push myself to my feet, frantically pulling my wand out of my back pocket and searching for the cause of our halt, he looked over his shoulder to address me, his wand already trained on some target yet unknown to me.
"Lily, it's-" but at that same moment, a jet of red light hit him in the side of his head and he dropped heavily to the floor, crumpling under himself like a marionette whose strings had just been cut.