My Deliverance

twinsuns

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Lily & James
Book: Lily & James, Books 1 - 6
Published: 09/10/2006
Last Updated: 12/10/2009
Status: in_progress

Voldemort's rising reign of terror, NEWTs, death attempts, a Headship, a tangled affair with James Potter, hilarity, grief, love, secrecy, maddness... it's almost hard to believe that I've survived to graduate. I am Lily Evans, and this is my 7th year.

Chapters

1. Prologue

2. Chapter One: Lost in Thought

3. Interlude I

4. Chapter Two: A Missing Piece

5. Interlude II

6. Chapter Three: Through Unveiled Eyes

7. Interlude III

8. Chapter Four: Face Off

9. Interlude IV

10. Chapter Five: Progeny

11. Interlude V

12. Chapter Six: Intrigue

13. Interlude VI

14. Chapter Seven: Polarize

15. Interlude VII

16. Chapter Eight: Sacrifice, Part I

17. Chapter Eight: Sacrifice, Part II

18. Interlude VIII

19. Chapter Nine: Bonded

1. Prologue

Prologue

It would seem to some that the year one came of age would be exciting, exhilarating, and if not that than at least memorable. And though words fail to express many of the emotions I felt that year, I would have to say that I agree with them on that account.

It was one of those few times when I couldn't seem to grasp what was going on around me, or I'd just rejected it outright. I'd look around but everything would be blurred around the edges, bent as though I was looking through unshed tears; I'd hear but the sounds would become confused with my own broiling internal thoughts, and the declarations of the world around me would just turn into garbled noise and lose their meaning. It wasn't like I was living in a void, no, far from it. I was desensitized, numb—yet undeniably overwhelmed—and so was the majority of the wizarding community in Britain, come to that. But the agony of it all was that I recognized these facts. I struggled to break back to the surface of my life, to breath again after the suffocating events I was somehow surviving. To be the carefree seventeen year old girl that I should have been. I guess it could be said that I had a lot on my mind, fraught to sort out everything that was going on in those troubled times, just trying to live again.

Well, survival, in any case, could be considered a point-of-view. Even at the beginning there was hardly anyone who was untouched by the rising of the already infamous Dark Lord Voldemort. I've survived—no, lived through; survival indicates a sort triumph, and there is no triumph when viewing the wake of one of the Death Eater raids—what seems the worst of it: Voldemort's primary ascension into power the summer before I attended my seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and then through his attempts on my own life as he discovered that muggle-borns, no matter how much he detests them, have the same capabilities for wielding havoc against his regime as pure-bloods have.

And I am one of the lucky ones. Whole families have been wiped out in a single raid (and there are multiple raids a fortnight), various of our aurors have been targeted and picked off, no one knows for certain who they could trust as even Ministry officials have become connected with some Dark deed or another, and the Dark Mark has become both a highly-anticipated and highly-feared sight. To put it mildly, chaos and destruction reign. It has even come to the point that Londoners are scared to leave their homes. I never told my family about the troubles going on in the magical world, but my parents must have suspected when with every poorly disguised “gas explosion” or “freak accident” that took countless lives that summer, I became more and more withdrawn.

None of those deaths were by an accident, and it was driving me crazy.

I was fine when I was on my own, figuring that a lone witch wasn't much of a target, but I was tainted, seemingly beyond repair. My dreams, the few I remembered, were comprised almost entirely of desolate landscapes, dark and tattered streets where no one but the vile were found. They peered at me around chinks in smoldering curse-blasted buildings, spat at me through the torn remnants of curtains in shattered windows, leered at my horrified face when I spotted the Dark Mark over my home. Dementors would glide out to meet me as I stood transfixed staring at the glittering constellation in the sky; they would swoop down to steal my soul, and I would be swallowed up into their infernal darkness.

Gradually, though, I noticed that I became increasingly paranoid when I was out with my family; I fingered my wand and threw furtive glances over my shoulder so often that even Petunia, with her nose always high in the air, could not fail to miss them despite the aura of nonchalance I was trying to pull off. I was terrified that at any moment, some Death Eater was going to apparate in front of us, notice I was a muggle-born, and Avada my family without a moment's pause. Well, if not my family, then another one. And I would be powerless to stop it.

It wasn't long before I came to the conclusion that I was maturing much too rapidly for my tastes. I needed a way to escape reality, to vent out all my feelings to someone who could understand. Writing letters to my friends in the wizarding world helped some, to know it was the world outside my window that had gone insane and not myself, but the owls were few and far between, and besides, I felt guilty with loading my troubles up on them when they surely had plenty of their own.

But you know what they say: deliverance comes in many forms. Some people find it in drugs, alcohol, writing, music... my deliverance just happened to be in the form of a tousle-haired, bespectacled young man with considerable spirit, who put up a mask of confidence and a “fight, not flight” mentality even though he was really just as lost as I was. Though that “enemy of my enemy is my friend” mindset which caused me to break down mental walls I had built up to block him out seemed natural at the time, I find it ironic that while we were fighting together, leading together, bonding, grieving, just trying to live through it all together, neither of us really realized that we were tumbling down that challenging, imperfect and sometimes confusing path towards loving each other.

Needless to say, this quirky, lively, and somewhat mischievous character called James Potter is the main reason I've made it through the Dark Lord's rising, barely, when so many others have not. I have something to hold on to, a clinging hope that someday we will be able to put this war, this embarrassing and disgusting moment in magical history, behind us and set the world straight. I guess that's the brilliance of being young: to feel you can conquer anything. And, after much deliberation in my head at night when sleep failed or when I sat silent with my dearest friends before the crackling fire in Gryffindor's common room, I decided that the thought that a better life is possible despite the odds against it... that is what I am living for.

I leave Hogwarts forever tomorrow morning; tonight is my last in this hallowed place of magical learning, my home for the last seven years, and for some reason I can't bear to leave these halls without first leaving my mark. And though the starlight through my window is dim with only the aid of a waxing crescent moon and the light from my little candle nub is growing weaker, making me squint to read the ink I am laying upon this parchment, I am determined to lay out my thoughts—to explain just how I came to be the jaded though hopelessly romantic girl who is teetering on the edge of something unforgettable, being pressed forward by an inexplicable wind, a mere chance, and nearing the moment of my leap of faith with nothing but time holding me back. I am poised, ready... because by my reckoning, this time it's all or nothing.

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2. Chapter One: Lost in Thought

Chapter One - Lost in Thought

1.1

I've come to the decision, after seventeen years of observation, that parents are funny creatures, and somewhat illogical at that. They are forever telling their children “It's time to grow up. We won't always be there for you, you know,” but when said child is an adult, they rush to rein them in, to keep them at home. They also tell their children to come to them for help whenever they need it, but whenever their children do need help and seek it through their parents, they are chastised for not trying to solve their own problems. Because, once again, “We won't always be able to help you out”. Well, I do suppose some parents, especially mine, have an excuse to be somewhat topsy-turvy with how they treat their children. In my parent's case, one daughter is only months off from getting married, and their youngest is of age in a society they don't understand, “abandoning” her parents to go stay at an inn with friends, unsupervised, for the few days she has left before disappearing off to her boarding school for seven months.

Well, I do feel guilty about leaving when I barely get to see them, but what they don't understand is that my being gone is for their own good...

I paused as I stared at the words I had hastily scribbled into my notebook, before titling the entry “August 30, 1977” and snapping the notebook closed. It was an old ratty thing I had owned since I was eleven, filled with idle sketches and my rather odd musings from over the years, something that I could always write in or flip through for a few smiles when I was feeling upset or was overcome with nostalgia. But it wasn't helping me today. With a sigh, I slipped it carefully into my trunk and attempted to banish my feelings of unease regarding current events.

It would not do to dwell on those, God knows.

In an attempt to keep my mind from wandering onto unpleasant subjects, I cast my eyes about my current form of transportation from my home in Portsmouth into London: the Knight Bus. The bus was rather full today, with every seat on each of the three levels occupied, but that only helped my situation, as the occupants were somewhat amusing to watch. I was on the lowest level, along with an aging warlock, two snoozing hags, a family of eleven, and a witch that had to be only a few years older than myself who was toting around a toddler.

I smiled at the raven-haired little girl, who was sitting on the floor by her mother's feet, singing a little song to herself. I could barely hear her high-pitched voice over the noise of the cars outside us, and could just make out the words to her song: “Patty cake, patty cake, baker man, bake me a cake as fast as you can...”

She seemed not to know anymore of the words and just kept repeating that same phrase to herself. As I watched her, the Knight Bus gave an almighty lurch which nearly made me fall off my seat, and stopped somewhere in Wales. The little girl and her mother walked quickly to the exit, and as she passed, the little girl's eyes caught mine. Awkwardly, I gave a little wave and she winked before her nose changed from a cute little button nose to a long and thin one, like mine. It stayed like that for only a moment before changing back, and then she was off the bus, only her playful laugh left behind. By the time I had righted myself enough to look out of the window for her, the Bus had rounded a corner and she was gone.

Thankfully though, I was next in the queue and didn't have to keep myself entertained much longer. The young conductor, who was wearing a freshly ironed purple uniform but still managed to look slightly rumpled, moved up slowly from the front of the bus to where I was seated somewhere around the middle. I couldn't help but notice how miraculously graceful he looked amidst the other passengers, who were all being jostled about by the jerky movements of the driver.

He gestured to me and I stood. “ 'Ello, Miss...”

“Evans,” I said, holding my hand out for him to shake. “Lily Evans.”

He took my proffered hand and shook it before bracing his hand against the wall for a rather wild turn as the driver attempted to miss a mailbox. “Paul Shunpike, at your service. Where'll it be today, Miss Evans?”

“The Leaky Cauldron; that's in London,” I said, clutching a candelabra affixed to the wall for dear life and willing the nauseous feeling in my stomach to disappear.

He grinned at me before shouting over his shoulder at the driver. “D'you `ear that, Ern? The Leaky Cauldron, that's `n London.”

With a bang, the bus disappeared from the country lane it was winding down and immediately reappeared on Charring Cross Road. We almost ran right into a building before Ernie managed somehow to straighten us out. I squealed but Paul Shunpike didn't seem the least bit bothered; he simply bent down and lugged my trunk to the front of the bus. I followed shakily behind him and was more than happy to bid both Ernie and Paul a farewell at the door.

1.2

A few hours later found me ambling down Diagon Alley, fumbling with my purchases which consisted of fresh potions ingredients, a new set of robes, my new textbooks, a few colors of ink, three sheaves of parchment, and a nice set of quills. School shopping finished, I collapsed down at a table outside Florean Fortescues ice cream parlor, looking forward to a strawberry milk shake to ward away the summer heat.

As I waited for my order to be filled, I fingered the letter that I had received from my close friend Emmeline Vance only moments after stowing my stuff in my room, number seventeen, at the Leaky Cauldron. It was already rumpled from being read so much, and even though I told myself the words hadn't changed, I couldn't help but read them again.

Lily,

Congratulations on making Head Girl! Thank God someone respectable is in charge this year—you get the arduous task of keeping the Marauders in line. I don't envy you that, but maybe if you spend all your energies keeping the Head Boy under control, Potter'll do the rest regarding his friends. Ha! Sorry, that won't happen for a thousand chocolate frog cards, but... you've still got my full support.

Actually, it may not be that hard after all. Just tell him you'll date him if he does his job, and that'll straighten him out quick.

I groaned but still managed a smile, imagining Emmeline's laugh as she wrote those words. After pausing briefly and remembering all the bollocks she'd given me over the years about James chasing me, and how the whole situation was this huge joke amongst my classmates, I turned back to the more serious part of the letter.

Well, if you've figured that my sending this letter to you means that I won't be able to make it in today like we had planned, you figured right. Unfortunately, I'm being held up at home. Don't worry, I'm all right, but I can't explain it to you now, so you'll just have to wait until I see you. I'm hoping that I can get out tomorrow morning, but if not I'll just have to see you on the train the day afterward.

Don't worry about me. Let me write it again because I know what's probably going through your head: don't worry.

I haven't heard from Alice lately, have you? Last I heard, she had booked a room at the Leaky Cauldron for tomorrow night so her voyage into King's Cross would be shorter. Frank got into a spot of trouble, her letter told me, so I'm not sure if she's able to keep those plans. Anyhow, I hope she can make it, because I hate the thought of leaving you all alone! I'm sorry.

But hey, I'm sure you can find something to amuse your time with. If you're not scribbling away in that notebook of yours, I'm sure that you'll run into someone we know.

And if those someone's happen to be a certain double-act everyone knows and loves, try not to kill them, would you? Keep in mind, dear, that besides the fact they're excellent duelers (as they are unfortunately so keen on demonstrating in the halls) and we'll need them to watch our backs sooner or later, they're also a faithful form of entertainment.

And God knows we all need a few good laughs.

Be safe, and I'll make it up to you,

Emmeline

Words can't explain the fear that runs through the mind after a letter like that, even with all her assurances of being safe. If she was safe, then what was causing her to hope she could “get out”? Get out of where? It was frustrating, the unknown, and scary.

Also, something had happened to Frank? Frank was a friend of mine not to mention Alice's “one and only”. Surely Auror training didn't include fighting Death Eaters on the front lines. But I couldn't kid myself; I had seen what Death Eaters were capable of first hand. And Emmeline's claim about needing someone to watch our backs wasn't too far from the truth. Neither was her statement about needing a few laughs. Unfortunately.

“The world isn't a safe place anymore, Lily,” I murmured aloud. Feeling thoroughly depressed, I left the ice cream parlor without ever taking a sip of my float. I dropped off my purchases at my room, and went looking for something to keep my mind off things.

1.3

Nighttime came swiftly; I hardly expected it and then it was upon me. But with nighttime, I found, brought peace. Around nine o'clock, the storeowners closed up shop, the harried and bustling families departed, and the alley was, for the first time that day, quiet. Now and then, a couple would stroll up the lane and into a restaurant, friends that were old enough to rent rooms at the inn were walking in packs, enjoying each others company, and the general mood felt throughout the alley was contentment.

I had taken up post in a small grassy lot between Flourish and Blotts bookstore and Scribbulus Everchanging Ink. It was a simple matter to conjure a blanket large enough to sprawl on, and from my dark spot on the lawn I could watch the goings-on in the courtyard outside the ice cream parlor. I spotted several people from Hogwarts, but there was no sign of Alice, Frank, or Emmeline. I did, however, spy Sirius Black and James Potter walk by a few times and eventually order an ice cream. What seemed odd to me, though, was that they didn't eat their desserts with the rest of the crowd; they instead perched themselves on the low, decorative stonewall of the courtyard and talked quietly away from the rest.

Soon, many of the customers departed as it was growing quite late, and I took my leave inside the pub for a spot of supper.

1.4

I was sitting alone at the bar waiting to be served and having quite an interesting albeit irregular conversation with Tom about enchanted muggle devices, who was surprisingly quite knowledgeable about such things, when an energetic shout from across the room broke me off mid-sentence.

“Hey, Evans!” said the voice, and I turned to find fellow seventh year Edgar Bones, a Hufflepuff, standing beside a circular booth crowded with barely touched meals and butterbeer glasses, gesturing for me to come and join his group. “His group” consisted of his fifth year sister Amelia, James Potter, Sirius Black, and a stocky brunette bloke I didn't know the name of but I thought to be in Ravenclaw. They looked lively enough, all but one. James was sitting quietly amongst the jokes, chewing slowly on his food in thought until Sirius nudged him and he plastered a false smile on his face. Briefly, I wondered what was wrong, but Edgar called out to me again.

“Lily, don't be a stranger!” He smiled at me and again beckoned me over.

I turned back to Tom, excused myself, and, butterbeer in hand, headed shyly over to their table. “I don't want to intrude...”

“Oh, nonsense,” said Edgar, amused, grabbing my elbow and pulling me to sit between himself and that Ravenclaw fellow, who's name, I learned, was Broderick Helm.

Through the dim candlelight and pipe-smoke choked air of the bar I could see James eyeing me strangely, giving me an odd look almost like he resented me being there with his friends. But then Tom delivered my meal and the moment passed; James seemed to snap out of whatever stupor he was in when I responded to Broderick's stab at conversation and answered how my summer had been.

I shrugged and used my fork to play with the mashed potatoes on my plate, which I suddenly didn't feel like eating. “Oh... it was as good as could be expected, I guess, what with someone trying to spear my heart out and eat it raw.”

The others, even young Amelia, made some sort of noise of agreement as they ate their food, but as per usual, Sirius had to put in his opinion. His stormy eyes found mine across the table and he shook his shaggy head slightly as he answered gruffly. “You have no idea.”

“I don't?” I asked, feeling slightly put out that he would presume to know what I was going through. But, ironically, it was James who kept my anger at bay.

“No,” said he, his voice taught with an emotion that I'd never thought I'd hear. Was that humility? Regret? He kept his eyes on his plate and suddenly pushed it away from himself with such force that his peas went rolling around the table. “It was rough.”

Finally he looked up at me and I could sense that he was daring me to ask just how it had been rough. I kept my silence as Sirius said, “I agree with you there mate,” and laid down his fork. “I've lost my appetite.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, feeling like an idiot.

“Don't worry,” said Edgar, running a finger pensively around the edge of his glass of butterbeer. “It isn't you.”

After a few seconds of pensive silence, Sirius told a joke and broke the tension at the table. We managed to finish our meal with light spirits, surprisingly; it seemed as though the others were far more resilient than I. While I tended to dwell on the upsetting matters at hand, they seemed to accept them—for the time being—and let them pass from the present so that the unpleasant thoughts couldn't take root and control their lives. I eagerly followed their example and brought my attention to the here and now.

Rather, I tried to.

Eventually the pub grew quiet and its patrons disappeared either out the door into the gray night of muggle London or up into their allotted rooms. Broderick, Edgar, and Amelia, sighing with weariness about their day's tiresome travels, headed for bed and left me awkwardly alone with Sirius, James, and most of a bottle of firewhiskey to share.

The three of us sat nursing our drinks in semi-comfortable silence for a long while. I mostly contented myself with my own thoughts, but every now and then an amusing joke or story by one of the others brought me back into reality. Finally, I couldn't hold my tongue any longer and sought out a way to appropriately ask the question that had been gnawing at me all day. I chewed the inside of my lip as Sirius poured each of us a fresh drink, and finally worked up enough courage to just out with it.

“So... I heard that Frank Longbottom got in a spot of trouble the other day,” I said casually.

“Oh yeah?” asked James, nonchalantly pouring a bit of firewhiskey into his butterbeer. But his air of unconcern didn't fool me; I saw his eyes quickly flick to Sirius, and I knew then that they both knew exactly what it was I wanted to know.

I stumbled on in my request. “I was wondering if you know anything about that,” I finished lamely, scratching at a burn in the tabletop.

“Ah, and why would that interest a lass such as yourself?” asked Sirius, who was sitting with his chin resting in his hand so that his face was tilted towards mine.

I almost glared at him and spat something to the effect of wondering why I needed a reason to find out about my friend, when the possibility occurred to me that I actually might have to have a reason. I sighed. “Because he's my friend and I've known him for going-on seven years, because one of my best friends claims to be in love with him, and because I care about his wellbeing. That good enough?”

Sirius raised his eyebrows at the almost-vehemence in my voice. “Touchy,” he muttered, glancing at James. “What do you think? Think she could hex us `til she gets it out of us?”

James cracked a smile. “I think she could try.”

“Well then... if it's okay with you?”

James seemed to consider, and answered slowly, “Suits me. Oh, but no specifics.”

“No, eh? Alright.”

I tried to ignore my annoyance as they spoke about me as though I wasn't there, but before it had really flamed, Sirius had already turned back to me. It seemed as though the deal, whatever that was, was settled. James' face was unreadable and Sirius stared intently at me over laced fingers.

“Okay Miss Evans,” he drawled. “We'll tell you what you want to know.”

“Brilliant,” I said quickly, before catching myself and raising my eyebrows severely at him. “I'm so glad I have your permission to hear this information.”

Sirius ignored me and stood. He stretched and peered in a would-be casual way around the pub. James followed suit before scattering a few sickles on the table and heading off for the stairs. I remained, stubbornly, seated.

“And where do you think you're going?” I asked.

James paused at the threshold of the stairs and cocked his head at me. “You do trust us, don't you?”

“Well... yes, but—“

Sirius laughed and pulled me out of my seat. “But nothing. We can't just talk about it here, can we?” he asked as we followed James up the stairs, Sirius still guiding me by the arm.

Rolling my eyes, I decided that if they wanted to treat me like a child, then I could certainly act like one. “And why not?”

“Christ, Evans. I thought you were supposed to be intelligent.”

I jerked out of Sirius' grasp and caught up with James just as he unlocked the door to room number seven on the second floor. Sirius' laugh and response followed me up the stairs. “Privacy, that's why.”

I followed James into their room and found it comfortably unorganized, what with school supplies stacked haphazardly on the floor and articles of clothing draped in a boyish fashion on the furniture. A slight city haze made its way through the grimy window at the foot of one of the beds, and the dim nature of the room seemed oddly appropriate for the subject of discussion. I chose the bed closest to the window to sink onto, and as I made myself comfortable on the rumpled coverlet, James smiled at me and that familiar hint of jest lit in his eyes.

“See, Evans,” he said, a hint of his old arrogance creeping into his words. “I always knew I'd get you back to my place one day.”

I rolled my eyes and didn't deign to respond. Instead I pulled my legs so I was sitting cross-legged with my back to the wall, and waited for Sirius, who was taking an oddly long time to get up the stairs. I could feel James' amused gaze on my face and could almost hear his grin. Finally it got to be too much.

“Oh... shut up,” I muttered, and sent him a glare. Seemingly satisfied, he crossed his arms and leaned up against the window. Sirius finally entered the room, locked the door behind himself, and flopped down on the other bed.

“You're such a gentleman James, I'm so proud,” said Sirius in a comical tone that I assumed was supposed to be motherly. “I just would have made her sit on the floor.”

I snorted. “The day Potter acts like a gentleman toward me is the day I'll date him.”

Sirius glanced knowingly at James before throwing me a wicked smile. “Is that a promise?”

I glared at both of them. “Erm, no,” I said shortly.

James coughed loudly and changed the subject. “So, Evans. You wanted to know what happened to Frank?” he asked in a noncommittal voice. I nodded. “Padfoot, care to do the honors? And toss me that bottle. If I have to listen to this story again I want to be properly sloshed.”

“That would be splendid,” said Sirius. He shook his hair out of his face and grimaced. “...if I had the bottle. Hold on. We forgot the drinks.”

He stood, concentrated, and disapparated with a loud crack.

“So, L—Evans, what brings you to the Leaky Cauldron alone?” asked James. He turned to stare out over the city, and I shrugged.

“Well, I had plans to meet Emmeline, Alice, and Frank, but they all got...delayed.”

He nodded in understanding, despite how cryptic my statement really was.

“What about you then?” I asked.

“Oh...” he said, and I got the impression he was stalling, trying to think of a good lie for an answer he didn't want me to know. His face went cautiously blank as he stammered out a response. “I, um... well, Sirius and I are here because—”

A loud crack signaling the return of Sirius saved James from his choking words, and he beamed at his friend. “Thanks, mate,” he said, reaching for the bottle. Sirius dodged him and took a swig before handing it over and returning to his spot on the bed.

“You were saying?” I prompted Sirius, gesturing with my hands for him to continue.

“Oh, right. Frank,” he said, leaning back into the shadows of the room. He looked like a giant smear of color against the lackluster wall behind him, a quiet vivacity juxtaposed against the bereavement around him, and I suddenly understood why James was drawn to him. He cleared his throat and began.

“Here's the short of it: some night a few weeks ago, the Ministry received a report that a gang of Death Eaters were planning to attack two aurors, a husband and wife, at their home—“

“Who warned them?” I demanded, alarmed. I stiffened. “Which aurors were in trouble?”

Sirius sighed. “It was an anonymous warning. Settle down and be quiet if you want to hear the rest,” he said, giving me a sharp look.

“But—” I began.

“No buts,” said James, still staring out of the window. The twinkling city lights reflecting serenely off his glasses calmed me somewhat, and after a pause I decided to comply with their request.

I sighed. “Fine.”

“Thanks Prongs,” grinned Sirius. “Finally, some one's been able to shut her up.”

I glared at him and he looked delighted.

“Er.. let's get this over with Sirius,” said James, turning away from the window with a prolonged look and collapsing onto the ground near his trunk, where he promptly conjured a set of exploding snap cards and began shuffling them absentmindedly .

“Right. So, the Ministry gets a tip about the Death Eaters and they send Frank and his partner to the aurors' house to warn them. And when—”

“How did you find out about this?”

“Evans!”

“Sorry.”

Sirius swiped a lock of hair out of his eyes and gazed at me steadily. “Are you quite finished?”

“Yes,” I said, barely managing to hide a smile at his temper but at the same time knowing somehow that this wasn't exactly the time to mess around.

“Good.”

I saw James hastily cover a grin as his impatient friend continued, and I felt relieved that he seemed to look a little livelier than he had previously. It was possibly a side effect of the firewhiskey, or maybe a combination of his friend's presence and my own. James' eyes caught mine and we both rapidly turned away from each other, embarrassed to be caught looking. I turned my attention back to Sirius, who didn't seem to notice the blush creeping across my face.

“...and when Frank and his partner showed up at the aurors' home,” Sirius was saying, “the place had been ransacked. A few stragglers, who had been rifling through the aurors' possessions, jumped Frank and his partner as they arrived. Frank's partner died and Frank, as the only remaining target, got messed up pretty badly. He was in St. Mungos for a while and released a few days ago. Turned out the whole thing, even the tip, was an ambush.”

My skin crawled and I felt bile threatening to choke me. “And... the aurors?” I asked shakily.

“Tortured and killed,” said James, all signs of cheerfulness suddenly erased. With an angry slash of his wand, he vanished the cards before taking a deep breath and pounding his fisted left hand onto the top of his trunk. “I could kill those sons of bitches for doing it.”

“My thoughts exactly,” finished Sirius. “The Ministry'll sort it out though, and those responsible will be sent to Azkaban.”

“That's not good enough for those bastards!”

Though I was inclined to agree, I flinched away from his anger and even Sirius recoiled. As James spoke, the window shook in its pane, the mirror wailed and rattled before crashing to the floor, and the empty firewhiskey bottle in his right hand exploded. Only when I gasped in surprise did he seem to remember he wasn't alone, and he promptly took a deep breath, repaired the damage from his emotions, and gingerly set the bottle onto the top of his trunk. He muttered an apology and I felt the need to say something, to say that I understood the hurt and anger of hearing that decent people were killed trying to do what was right, but I couldn't think of anything to say.

Contrary to what I originally thought, both of them seemed to be very affected by this war, and I wondered what they had been through recently. Certainly an experience much worse than my own, for them to act like this. I felt nauseated, and I apologized for bringing up the topic. They both shrugged it off, but as I left and prepared for what I was certain was going to be a horrible night of sleep, I damned my insatiable curiosity.

1.5

I jerked awake the next morning, feeling as though I hadn't slept a wink. I laid in bed a moment staring at the way the virgin rays of the sun tentatively bent their way around the window curtains, illuminating the dust particles in the air where they collided, and creating gray areas which melded the difficult night passed with the promise of a better morning. With half-lidded eyes I stumbled out of bed and pushed the curtains open and out of my view; it seemed like the prior day had been it as far as fair weather was concerned—the skies today were layered with dark clouds of varying thickness, though here and there a sunbeam had managed to push its way through the building moisture and shine down upon London and Diagon Alley. The image gave me hope and I clung greedily to it.

I donned some of my more comfortable muggle clothing and grabbed a cloak just in case before leaving my room. I had just resigned myself to either breakfasting alone or seeking out the occupants of room number seven for company, neither option which really appealed to me in my present mood, when a loud squeal from behind me startled me so badly that I forgot what I was thinking about, and before I knew it Emmeline Vance had grabbed me into a lung-crushing hug.

“Lily!” she cried, releasing me and holding me at an arms length away so she could study me. “Lily, it's so good to see you! What're you doing awake so early? It's only seven—I wanted to surprise you!”

I smiled into the brown eyes of my longest-time friend. “Is that what time it is? I couldn't sleep.”

I grabbed a handle of her trunk and together we lugged it up to the third floor, chatting merrily, and dumped it in my—our—room on the floor at the foot of her bed. Then we apparated out to Diagon Alley and set out to enjoy the last freedom we would have before school started the next day.

“So what did you find to do yesterday?” Emmeline asked as she finished off a toffee she had produced out of the pockets of the dark blue robes she was rather keen on wearing.

I tossed a look at her. She didn't look bad—she was thinner than I was used to, and she had slight worry lines around her finely chiseled face, some scrapes, but other than that looked hearty. As per usual, her moderately long dark hair was pulled away from her face, and she looked relieved to see that no harm had found me.

“Oh... not much,” I answered with a shrug. “I ran into Edgar Bones and his little sister Amelia, Edgar's Ravenclaw friend Broderick Helm, Sirius Black, and James Potter at dinner yesterday.”

“Ah, I'm sure that was interesting,” she said, waggling her eyebrows at me.

I snorted. “`Interesting' is an understatement,” I sent her a sidelong glance. “They, ah, told me what happened to Frank.”

She looked surprised. “I'm amazed you got them to talk about it.”

“Me too, and I thought it was horrib—hang on. You know?”

She sighed and looked down at her feet. “Guilty as charged.”

“How does everyone know everything but me?” I wailed, looking up into the sky as I spoke as though demanding an answer from the cosmos.

Emmeline rolled her eyes and summoned a Daily Prophet from a trash bin nearby. “The paper, if you'd prefer to call it that. Seems more like a rumor mill to me though,” she said. Her dark eyes scanned the headlines and she thumbed in a few pages. “See? `Young Boy Accused of Murdering Father!' `Dark Mark Incantation Known? Look inside.' I wouldn't waste my time if I were you.”

And without another word she vanished it.

“Why d'you read it then?” I demanded hotly, feeling stupid that I had never bothered with a subscription.

“I had nothing better to do.” She paused, and then pulled me off to a secluded corner of the nearest shop, which happened to be Gambol and Japes Joke Shop. There were enough laughing and screaming children in the shop to keep us from being overheard, and again the need for secrecy nearly overwhelmed me.

“It really wasn't that bad, was it?” I asked nervously, and we both knew I was referring to what she had just been through. Whatever that was.

She squeezed her eyes shut and vigorously shook her head, and I wrapped her into another tight hug. I let her cry on me for a few moments before she withdrew, sniffing and wiping at her eyes.

“No.. no it wasn't completely awful. For me,” she said, pulling herself up to sit on a spare barrel of dungbombs. I dragged another barrel closer to her own and perched myself on it before taking one of her hands in mine.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I couldn't help but notice the uncanny way her eyes flickered around the store, like she was constantly on her guard. It brought tears to my eyes as she involuntarily jerked away from the laugh of a young boy who was testing a joke item near her, and I suddenly realized how utterly out of place the two of us were. It was unbearable and I just wanted to grab Emmeline and pull her out of the shop before we smothered all of the remaining embers of happiness from those innocents that were our future.

But... I didn't scream or throw a fit. I sat very still and waited from Emmeline to answer, suddenly hoping that Sirius or James would pop out from behind the pay counter and announce that everything happening lately had been a royally planned joke, a fabrication.

This all went through my head in a second as Emmeline composed herself. “Well, I told you I'd tell you, didn't I?” she said, trying to sound cheerful. But the dark rings under her eyes and the muskiness of her voice did nothing to help her illusion of normalcy.

“Emmeline, if you don't want to—”

“No, it's fine,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Where to begin?” Suddenly she bit out an unnerving laugh, grimaced, and sobered. “I guess the beginning...”

“The night before last I had just finished packing and I was making Da and I some supper, when I looked out of the kitchen window and saw a... a duel or raid or something going on outside, across the street at the Lawrence house. I could tell right away that the attackers were Death Eaters because of their long black cloak and masks, and I knew it wasn't bloody well going to be a fair fight. And it wasn't—many streamers of curses, some green and purple but no red, were being fired into the house, and only one color was coming back out: green.”

She paused, took a deep breath, and continued. Her voice was low and flat, and I had to lean in to hear what she was saying.

“See, Mr. Lawrence is—was—a pureblood who married a muggle. They had a three-year-old, little Laura, a half-blood. And I guess the You-Know-Who didn't like that. Anyway, when the Death Eaters blew the walls of the house in it attracted a lot of attention, both muggles and wizards. Everything went crazy after they killed Mr. Lawrence and sent up the Dark Mark. My Da ran outside to help, but he was just a lone wizard and not even an auror. Not too much he could do. He told me to stay in the house.

“I had my wand but... I was numb. I just stared out of the window as my front yard became a war zone; you should see it now. My da banded with a few other wizards until the sides were pretty much even, and I just stood there until...”

She closed her eyes again and took another breath, and when she began again her voice was shaking. “Until I saw one Death Eater Avada little Laura. She was reaching out for her dead papa and then, whoosh, snuffed out.”

By this time tears were streaming down both our faces, but she wasn't yet done. I had a sudden mental image of the adorable girl from the night bus imitating my facial features with painstaking accuracy before falling to the floor amidst a green light. I shivered and thankfully Emmeline continued.

“That's when I screamed, that's the first time I did anything. I ran across the street and I... I killed that son of a bitch.”

It was like the dam had broken, and tears of empathy poured down my cheeks. “Oh, Emmeline. I'm so sorry it came to that.”

She crossed her arms and sniffed. “The bastard deserved it. Anyway, I couldn't come yesterday because I was in processing.”

“Processing?” I asked blankly. “For what?”

“My hearing next month. I used an unforgivable, Lily. I'm a murderer.”

Her statement hung in the air for a moment as I sat in shocked silence. It hardly seemed to me like killing a Death Eater could be considered a crime. After all, wasn't the Ministry hunting them down? I voiced these thoughts to her, and she smiled grimly.

“That's why it's only a hearing, not a trial. At the worst, I could get expelled. That's all.”

“At worst!” I exclaimed, wringing my hands together. “But, that'd be horrible...”

Emmeline shrugged before squeezing my hand. “When I said don't worry about me, I meant it. Da's representing me; I'll be fine. I did learn one thing though,” she stated as she pushed herself off of the barrel and led me outside.

By now the clouds had broken and existed only in scattered clumps, dotting the skyline. The breeze was still slightly chill and I got goose bumps up my arms as it hit me. Suddenly everything appeared in a different light as though viewed through twisted logic and it made me dizzy: friends could be murderers, troublemakers could be positive influences. The untouchable could be touched.

I closed my eyes and flashes of my own scarring experiences flew before me: a gang of Death Eaters parading in downtown Portsmouth, wands drawn and using them to levitate helpless muggles for sport, to destroy property, to torture half-bloods and muggleborns like myself, to kill anyone who stood in their way. Bright curses popped before my eyes, and I heard the dark silhouette of a Death Eater laugh as he spotted me and pointed his wand at my chest, I saw his hate-filled eyes, I remembered the rush I had felt as I quickly apparated home, and recalled the choke as I threw up on my bathroom floor. I still felt the fear, the disgust—both at the Death Eaters and at myself for fleeing. I couldn't forget that feeling of being marked, and in fact it was my very nightmare.

I mentally shook myself to keep the focus off of those old wounds. “And what did you learn?”

Emmeline's touch was cold on my arm. “That I'm never going to just stay in the house again.”

I clenched my jaw in silent agreement, vowing to never run again but to stand and fight, as I knew she would do.

“And you Lily, how have you been holding up?”

I shook my head slightly. Emmeline didn't need to be burdened by any of my problems if I could help it. Even Emmeline, with her irrepressible sense of humor, would crack under the strain eventually. Let me bear the weight. It's the least I can do.

“I... don't know,” I answered truthfully.

If only anyone knew.

1.6

I apparated to the roof of the Leaky Cauldron that evening to escape people; their stares, their judgments, their problems, if only for a little while. Emmeline seemed to understand my need to sort things out, and left me alone stating with a twinkle in her eyes that she had seen a nice fellow in the bar and she expected to get him to buy her a drink. I furrowed my eyebrows as I thought about how strange it was that people could just bounce back like that. Or maybe it was all anyone could do to just forget about all their shite for a moment so it wouldn't rule their lives. At the moment, it seemed that I was the only person in the world with the inability to distract myself; jokes and company would only last so long, and then my thoughts, memories, and imagination would consume me. I longed for the hectic regime on school, for the heavy course load I had planned that would keep me absorbed and my mind from fingering the same sore spots over and over, preventing them from healing.

It was peaceful, being up on the rooftop. With only the large expanse of sky stretching for billions of light-years above my head, a refreshingly cool breeze wafting across my cheeks, and the heat-baked roof-tiles pressing warmth into my exposed skin, it was easy to get lost in my thoughts. Which, at times, was a dangerous thing.

Naturally, my thoughts were dwelling on the understandable fear that at any second a shout of alarm would cut into my peace like a knife, followed by that glittering green constellation, and screams. Eventually my thoughts passed over Frank and his experiences, considered how Alice would hold up if Frank died, wondered if Emmeline would be expelled, and finally settled on James Potter. It was an uncharted territory that these musings were leading me into, but I tentatively forged on anyway.

James Potter... I could go nowhere without either catching a glimpse of him or hearing his familiar laugh, could not go one day without someone mentioning him to me. And I found that these revelations were quite comforting. I would always have someone to jest with, banter with, argue with, and, when the occasion was appropriate, flirt with. He had the strange ability to both flatter me and enrage me without cause and, it seemed, effort. I could count on that. In this uncertain time, James Potter was a tremendously needed constant. Even his friends, no matter how trouble making they were, offered lighthearted moments we all so desperately needed.

But these thoughts, as thoughts often seem to do, turned toward the negative and I remembered how angry James had been the night before. Though Sirius seemed, ironically, to be a surprisingly positive influence on his friend, still, the two of them were risk-takers, and I didn't find it hard to imagine that the pair of them would go off and do something stupid. I wondered what I'd do if James weren't there, if he was killed trying to end this madness and I didn't do the same; I wondered how I'd feel if his bright personality in my day disappeared. I suddenly felt deprived and empty, as though some spectral entity like a dementor was sucking all the life out of me. It was heart wrenching, this loss, and unexpected tears welled in my eyes for the hypothetical death of the person I never expected to mourn.

Five minutes later, I appeared, disheveled and slightly out of breath, at James Potter's side. I had found him on one of the huge marble slabs that comprised the entryway stairs into Gringotts. Surprisingly, he was alone, dark eyebrows furrowed in thought. He didn't appear to have noticed me, and I took this time to study him.

Rays of gold, rose, and peach from the sunset were reflected in his glasses and in the depths of his hazel eyes; the breeze, which suddenly picked up in an effort, it seemed, to blow me over, tousled his hair, gently flopping the locks into his eyes. The night before he had been fidgety and nervous; this afternoon his lanky posture emanated complete relaxation, and he was sitting so still now that it was unnatural. It worried me, the possibilities of what he was dwelling on, and I remembered the reason I had run out to talk to him.

“Potter,” I said quietly, but with an urgency stemming from my anxiety.

He jerked as I jarred him from his thoughts, and his focus was turned on me so fast it was unnerving. He jumped up and pulled his wand quickly from his back pocket.

“Evans?” he asked, eyes meeting mine and finding the harried look there. “Is everything alright?” He scanned the alleyway, looking for signs, I assumed, of a riot.

I sighed and motioned for him to sit. “Everything's fine. It's okay.”

He slowly sunk back onto the steps and I took a seat on the cold marble beside him. He hung his head and rubbed his temple. “I guess it's just the mark of the times,” he muttered.

I nodded and pulled my legs up to my chest, encircled them with my arms, and rested my chin atop my knees. As I spoke, I stared off at the sun, which was sinking rapidly behind the rooftops. “Hey, Potter?”

“Hmm?”

“Promise me something, would you?”

He shifted his weight so that he was turned toward me and stretched his legs. His right hand went up automatically to his hair while the other mindlessly twirled his wand. “And what's that?”

I paused and kept my eyes on the spot where the sun had been seconds ago. “Just... don't do anything stupid.”

He snorted. “Pardon?”

I tossed him a dirty look. “Don't get yourself killed, alright?”

“Well, I don't plan on it. But I do admit I never thought I'd hear you say that.”

I was just about to snap at him about how I was being serious, and retract my statement, when I spotted a small grin spreading over his face and realized he was flirting with me.

“I mean it,” I said, and shoved him back against the marble step.

“I know,” he retorted, and returned the favor. I felt a smile tugging at my lips and opened my mouth to make a witty remark about how he'd most likely blow off his buttocks if he kept his wand in his back pocket, or about his very ungentlemanly conduct of shoving a woman, something, but the words didn't come. So I settled on shaking my head and chuckling at his antics, marveling at how fast he could change his face. He seemed almost to be a different person than the one I had spoken with the night before; this James was not distracted with anger at the moment but was even playing with me. Like the two sides of a coin, he was. Or maybe just a superb actor.

“What're you laughing at?” he asked, looking at me sideways out of the corners of his eyes and fighting to keep a straight face. “What?”

I didn't want to outright tell him that I was enjoying his presence, so I lied. “Oh, just imagining everyone's faces if they saw us—“

He cut me off. “Flirting?”

“Talking civilly,” I shot back, trying not to blush.

He cocked his head sideways, considering. “Yeah, I suppose that works too.” He lapsed into silence for a moment before chuckling himself. “Yeah... we do have an interesting relationship.”

“Hmm...”

Again, another awkward moment. Thankfully, though, one of Gringotts Goblins came and shoed us away on the premise that the bank was closing for the night and, as the Goblin so grumpily informed us, there was “no trespassing past dark!”

I shrugged, and, wrapping my arms around myself for warmth against the blustery wind which, as I was sure to comment, was probably a storm front moving in, we set off down the lane.

We walked around the alley for who-knows how long, generally keeping away from the others and talking every now and then about some random thing or other. The topic of Frank, Emmeline, or other current events never sprang up, but we both knew the other was thinking about it... contemplating what it would mean to loose someone close. As we walked we took each corner wand first, especially around Knockturn alley, and kept up an air of casual vigilance, I guess you could call it. And when James and I separated on the stairs of the inn sometime past midnight, he pulled me into a brief embrace and muttered fiercely into my hair.

“And you bloody well better make sure not to go and get yourself killed, either.”

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3. Interlude I

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The London air was damp and cool, fresh from an early morning downpour which had left shining puddles on the sidewalk, shallow mirrors that pedestrians had to dodge, skipping over them like the bits of newspaper the wind sent skittering between them. But it seemed that nothing—not even the rain—could wipe away the supreme sense of hustle and bustle of the London streets: it was nearing afternoon, and already the traffic had rushed itself into a creeping gridlock and a press of swiftly moving people had taken to the sidewalks.

All of these pedestrians were too preoccupied, or too rushed, to notice that the old mannequin in a run-down department store was talking, or that there was a slightly punctured stream of people walking both directions through the window pane. Two of such people—a tall, clever-looking young man wheeling a trunk, hand-in-hand with a lithe young woman with inquiring eyes—slipped right through the glass and joined the flow of Londoners without anyone so much as sparing a glance at them.

“Remind me again,” said the girl lightly, smiling at her companion, “why we didn't take the floo over to the station?”

He looked sideways at her, registering the crush of people around them, reading the look in her eyes, and somehow knowing what she wanted him to say: You were right. He took in a breath, trying to think of a better response. He finally decided on a grunted “I don't trust the floo,” before looking away from her, hiding a smile, to survey the crowd. He spotted a fellow Auror across the street, pretending to scan a cafe menu, and another taking a smoke on the bus stop bench. He wouldn't have been surprised if a handful of the pedestrians traveling around him were Aurors. Or if they were Death Eaters. He clenched his jaw at the thought, determined to get to the station as quickly as possible. At the back of his mind, he could sense an attack coming; the tension was just too high, eventually it would have to snap.

His companion sighed as they quickly slipped between two oncoming pedestrians and were jostled a bit. “They probably have anti-apparation wards up, but what about the Knight Bus, Frank?” she nettled, leaning into his arm, enjoying her little game. “Though I suppose I know the answer to that already.”

Frank snorted, momentarily relieved from his strained frame of mind. “Alice—have you seen the way Ernie drives? And in this traffic, too.”

She laughed and glanced at her watch. “We're going to be late,” she said in a singsong voice, contentedly squeezing his hand, and he felt heat rush through is body at the touch. He vaguely heard himself argue with her as his thoughts were tugged away, transported back to the safe house, to the good-bye they had shared the night before. He smiled at the memory, yet at the same time he felt sick in his gut, knowing that he'd see her off on the train to Hogwarts and be unable to go with her.

“Yes we are,” she said, contesting his claims that no, they weren't going to be late, unaware of his momentary lapse from the present.

“Well,” he said determinedly, mentally shaking himself and trying to conclude the playful argument as quickly as possible so that she wouldn't be able to tell through his voice that he was upset. “It's better to be safe than sorry.” And with that he kissed her on the top of the head, slipping his hand from hers and letting it come to rest on the hidden wand in his pocket. No, he knew. No one was safe...

It wasn't long before the station loomed before them, and Frank wanted nothing more than to just keep walking right on past it, to keep his love with him. But, inevitably, they slowed to a stop outside the station door, and prepared to part.

“Not bad,” she said quietly, once again checking her watch. “I've still got a few more minutes...”

“It's odd,” he mused, placing her trunk on a trolley and letting a hand rest on the handle as he turned to face her. He noticed the veil behind her eyes, knew she was at the point of tears and probably had been from the second they walked out of the safe house door, despite her cheerful air. “To be going to the station, yet not getting on the train.” He nodded, feeling miserable, and coughed, trying in vain to clear his suddenly thick throat. But his words sounded so hollow. “Well, you should get inside. Before you miss it.”

“I'm going to miss you,” Alice said suddenly, reaching up to embrace him and trying, uselessly, not to sound like she was about to cry. That part was the worst: her crying. His stomach clenched dangerously.

“Alice...”

But as he spoke, Frank caught a sudden movement in the corner of his eye, a flash of light. Before he could move, before he could even think of putting a shield around them, the two buildings across the street exploded. The force of the blast threw the pair of them roughly against the station wall, where, winded and bruised, they were peppered with stinging particles of wood and brick.

Though his ears rang loudly and the flash-shadow of the explosions danced in his eyes, Frank, his paranoia justified, only had one thought on his mind. Before the rubble had really settled on the ground, just as a chorus of screams split the air and beams of colored light began to scorch the wall behind them, he was pulling Alice to her feet. A second set of explosions rocked the station as they ran through the door.

“Alice, run!”

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4. Chapter Two: A Missing Piece

Chapter Two - A Missing Piece

2.1

The next morning passed in a sort of surreal blur—the memories of packing up and flooing over to Kings Cross with Emmeline seemed so far away, and yet in reality they weren't quite memories and still the present. And as I got nearer and nearer to Platform 9 3/4, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was it: if I set foot on that train, I was on my own, my childhood gone forever. Sure I had whiled it carelessly away as a child, but now, faced with adulthood so inescapably, it was all I could do to step through the barrier.

The re-introduction into the magical world hit me full-force. The Platform was crawling with life: children ran to meet friends, trolleys jangled, owls hooted, parents sobbed, and, as though balking at being left out of the activity, the Express itself hissed, clanked, and whistled loudly. With morning sunlight glaring sharply through the high windows of the station, everything seemed bright and normal; this cheered me somewhat even as I spotted prowling Aurors and other Ministry Officials looking nonchalantly around the platform, reminders that there was a war going on and we were all vulnerable.

The moment finally came when I was face-to-face with the scarlet Hogwarts Express. I stood motionless for a moment on Platform 9 3/4, considering the vessel that would inevitably carry me away; then, with a little prod from Emmeline, I held my breath and crossed over the threshold.

Emmeline seemed to feel the same way as I. “It's... strange, isn't it?” she asked as we moved clumsily through the aisle with our trunks, heading steadily toward our usual compartment.

“Yeah,” I agreed heavily, the threat of tears pricking my eyes. I opened the compartment door, moved in and deposited my trunk on the ground, and bent to rummage through it. Under the premise of grabbing my uniform and some notes for the Prefect meeting that I had prepared in my notebook earlier, I dabbed lightly at my eyes with the hem of my cloak before straightening.

Emmeline tossed me a smile and plucked the gold badge off of my folded school robes. “All right, Head Girl? Ready to take on the school with none other than James Bleeding Potter?” she asked, breathing on the badge and then polishing it on her jacket.

I chuckled weakly as she replaced the now shiny badge, and made for the door. “Don't remind me...”

“Alright then. How about this?” she asked as we retreated back the way we had come. “Remember when we ran into each other as first years and I told you that when we got to school we'd have to fly a dragon up to the gates? Your eyes went so wide...” reminisced Emmeline, laughing.

I glared at her to cover up my own amused grin. “What a way to scar a young and impressionable muggleborn for life, yeah?”

We parted at the engine of the train: Emmeline hopped off to go keep watch for Alice, and I slipped inside the Head's compartment to change into my uniform.

The Head's compartment was the same size as any of the others, the only thing that set it apart was the furniture. A large wooden desk had been placed by the window, and two overstuffed maroon chairs, which reminded me of the ones in the common room, had been placed on either side of it. An iced down bowl on the edge of the table held carafes of water, pumpkin juice, and butterbeer, and small basket of assorted snacks had been placed beside it. In the center of the table was an ink well, a stash of quills, a bit of parchment, and a sealed letter from Dumbledore. To the left as you entered the compartment was a door that connected the Head's compartment to the larger Prefect's compartment on the other side.

I set my notebook next to the letter and changed quickly, a blush creeping to my face as a horrible scenario came to my mind where James—and worse: the rest of the Marauders too—sprung in on me half-dressed. I barely made it in time: I had just folded my muggle clothes and left them in one of the chairs when the locked door of the compartment rattled. I froze for a second as I heard James swear through the thin wood about the door being jammed, before the handle began to shake more violently. The thought struck me that this would be the first time James and I would come face-to-face since our rather uncharacteristic encounter the night before, and I seriously considered performing a “Colloportus” charm on the door and letting him carry on with the thought that it really was jammed.

...with me on the inside?

Clenching my teeth, I darted forward to unlock the door just as James gave an almighty heave and wrenched it open. He looked surprised to see me standing there, his eyes widening for just a second before he recovered with a gruff “'Lo, Evans.”

I pointed my wand at the handle and muttered “Reparo!” to buy myself time before speaking and then leaned casually against the jamb, trying to regain the composure that I had somehow lost in the last five seconds. “I was just—just changing into my robes,” I said, trying not to sound breathless with nerves.

He looked me up and down, taking in my polished badge. I didn't squirm under his glance, and this seemed to satisfy him. “Ah, I see. Mind if you let me in?” he asked politely, almost distantly.

“Right,” I said awkwardly, backing out of the way and retreating to perch myself on the arm of my claimed chair. James was already in his uniform, but the first thing he did after lifting his trunk onto the luggage rack was to loosen his tie. I watched him, silently, finding nothing to say. His appearance, though, spoke volumes.

He looked worn again, tired, but the anger I had witnessed a few nights before had been carefully hidden in his eyes until it was barely noticeable, a mere shadow behind the burning flame. He moved silently around the cabin, draping his cloak over the back of the other chair before glancing out of the window onto the platform. His eyes then found our letter from Dumbledore, and my notebook.

He reached out and slid his fingers over the parchment envelope before touching the worn edges of my notebook curiously. “Mind?” he asked, sitting on the surface of the table and picking it up.

“A little,” I said quickly, leaning over to him and somehow smothering the urge to jerk the notebook out of his hands.

He didn't say anything, but merely shrugged and passed it to my waiting hands before playing with his tie again. I frowned a bit; in the old days he would have opened it, or run off and hidden it just to spite me. But now...

“Thank you,” I mumbled, placing it on top of my pile of clothing. “You wouldn't have been interested in it anyway, it's just a bunch of idle thoughts and sketches...” I trailed off as he eyed me strangely. I sighed; he'd been doing that a lot lately. “What?”

“It's only,” he said slowly, propping his left elbow on his knee and then dropping his chin to rest in his palm. “Everyone's changed. Like you: you look so... forlorn. You never used to look that way before.”

I rolled my eyes and smiled playfully. “I know one bloke I could say the same thing about, only with him it'd be an understatement.”

He tilted his head pensively to the left and turned his neck so that he was looking up at me, his free hand coming up to scratch the back of his head. “It's just been...”

“I know,” I said softly, reaching out and gently squeezing his shoulder before realizing what I was doing. At my touch he stiffened, and I quickly snatched my hand away.

The Head's compartment filled with a painfully loud silence for a time, another one of those typical uncomfortable moments that seemed to last hours and that neither one of us could quite break. I opened my mouth to ask him just what, exactly, the night before had meant, but before I could James cleared his throat, slid off of the table, and cut my words short. Just like that, the moment passed. He took a deep breath, tightened his tie, replaced his mask of confidence, and announced that he was going to go find something useful to do.

Before he left he paused in the doorway and I got this silly romantic notion in my imagination of him turning back to me, inviting me into his arms and kissing me upon the platform amidst steam from the engine and the roar of the train, not caring who saw. But then I banished the thought, reminding myself that this was Potter, the man who'd tormented me for the last six years. I told myself that these thoughts were probably just the product of highly charged emotions due to the war. I will not yield to them.

So when he did turn back to face me, illuminated by the sunlight streaming into the compartment, I met his stare unflinchingly, even daringly.

But he didn't ask me out again, and he didn't confess whatever undying love his imagination claimed he had. He stood there, with is hands in his pockets, biting his lower lip almost sheepishly in an attempt to hide a grin. And in his eyes glimmered something long forgotten, almost unrecognizable—was it triumph? A daring hope? His hazel irises twinkled mischievously at me as though he knew what I was thinking, and I didn't like the thought of that at all.

“Oy, Evans,” James said boldly, his voice filled with ill-disguised mirth and yet tinted with a fleeting caution toward the known recklessness of saying something unwise. Even as I noticed him catch himself mid-breath, I raised my eyebrows at him in response, somehow knowing that he would finish his statement regardless of how much tact it lacked.

He hesitated for a split second before continuing arrogantly: “Don't kid yourself.”

And then, infuriatingly and with another half-hidden smile, he sauntered down the loading ramp.

“So I guess it's back to business as usual, Potter?” I called heatedly to his retreating form, answering my own unspoken question. He either didn't hear me or pretended not to, and after a moment more he was out of sight.

I gritted my teeth, feeling both dismayed and like a first-rate idiot. Lily, Lily, Lily, I thought sourly, staring in the doorway where James had been standing moments before and hating myself for letting James Potter get to me. When will you ever learn?

2.2

To both pass the time and keep from brooding about James, I kept myself fairly busy loading the train and helping nervous first years to find someone to sit with. In fact I didn't even notice that my parents had arrived until, when levitating a trunk onto the train, I caught, in the glossy scarlet side of the Hogwarts Express, the slightly distorted reflections of two timid muggles peering around the platform from the entrance barrier.

Upon finishing with my task, I whirled around and dashed with a squeal into my dad's warm embrace, inhaling the recognizable scent of pipe smoke on his jacket and effortlessly falling back into my role as the youngest, more playful daughter. “Ah, Lily girl,” dad said fondly, stroking my red hair that was so similar to his own. “We missed you.”

“And I missed you,” I said truthfully, releasing my dad and hugging my weeping mother, burying my face into her warm neck as I used to when I was a little girl and I was seeking comfort. “Mum,” I said earnestly. “Don't start that again—we always go over this. I'll be fine, I'll see you in a few months...”

She sniffed and drew away, smiling. “I'm not sad,” she said, and dad and I snorted at her in disbelief. “Really, I'm not. It's just this is the last time we're ever going to wish you off at this amazing platform... and you Head girl... honey, I'm so proud of you,” she wailed, jerking a tissue out of her purse.

“Really? You don't sound it, you sound horrified,” I said with a wry smile. I peered cautiously around my mother, half-dreading who I would find. But I didn't see Petunia—instead in the distance my eyes found the tall, lanky, and messy-haired form of James Potter, who was doing an almost-satisfactory job of pretending he wasn't watching me while at the same time presumably listening to Sirius rant about something, and propping his leg up on a stack of trunks so he could tie his shoelaces. I didn't have the energy to glare at him like I sincerely wanted to, so I paid him no never-mind and, acting as though I hadn't spotted him at all, I turned back to my parents.

“We seem to be missing one blonde,” I said, pretending to check my family members off on my fingers. “Where's Petunia?”

Mum and Dad exchanged a look. “Well, she's off with the Dursleys looking at china patterns for the wedding,” my dad said, as if trying to recall some long-lost and difficult fact from the cobwebs of his brain.

“Oh right,” I said, my smile faltering. “The wedding...”

“She wanted to see you off,” said my mother quickly. “Really she did, but this sprang up and—“

“Mum, you don't have to lie for her. I know she didn't want to come and that's fine,” I said shortly, frowning at a dirty look that another parent had just shot mine. I was suddenly grateful for the Aurors on the Platform that would keep anything from happening to my parents, even as I realized that it was safer for them not to be around this dangerous prejudice at all. Damn, any time I start to feel happy about something, the war has to come and mess it up, I thought glumly.

Unfortunately for me, my parents thought I was frowning at the memory of Petunia.

“Now Lily,” my mum said sternly. “I know you two haven't gotten along lately, but it's high time for you to mend your differences. You are sisters, and if you don't bridge the gap soon, someday you'll never be able to.”

I sighed and bit my lip. “I know mum, and I try, but—“

My dad shot me a look. “No buts. You'll speak to her at the wedding of course?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that...” I trailed off, wondering how to word what I wanted to say. I couldn't just go barging off saying, We're in a war with someone who hates muggles and muggleborns and I put you in danger by showing up so I'm not coming. No, I had to have more tact than that so they wouldn't constantly be worrying about me. The way I am constantly worrying about them.

“Now Lily!” said my mother, pained. “You can't miss it—you're supposed to be one of the bridesmaids!”

Was that Petunia's idea or yours, mum? I forced a smile onto my face. It was better to placate her now and write her a letter explaining everything later. “Sure thing, mum.”

I glanced at my watch with the old sense of paranoia stabbing at my intestines like a knife: there were still thirty minutes until the train departed; best to send my parents home before the platform became too crowded. I stood on my tiptoes and gave each of my parents a kiss on the cheek. “I'll see you later, mum, dad. I have to go, er, to a meeting with the Head Boy before the train leaves.”

They nodded, and after one more hug each, I ushered them off of the platform. As they left something in me left with them, and I stood there staring at the brick wall they had disappeared through for what seemed an eternity, trying to figure out what that missing piece was. But I couldn't.

2.3

With departure time drawing steadily nearer, Emmeline and I took up station along the back of the train outside our compartment, standing on the metal grill walkway that protruded from both sides of the compartments and leaning up against the railing... waiting. A few compartments down, all four of the Marauders were doing the same. I was definitely beginning to get worried: there were only five minutes left until the train departed, and Alice still hadn't showed.

Trying to suppress butterflies in my stomach, I tossed Emmeline a look, and her wide eyes and slight shake of the head told me not to say my worries out loud lest they come true. The still quiet was becoming oppressive—all the students were on the train, the parents that remained were waiting solemnly for the train to pull away, and no one spoke.

With four minutes left, Alice still hadn't shown up. I began to pace the walkway irritably. “Come on, Alice,” I muttered under my breath, praying that nothing serious had happened either to her or somewhere else in London.

“She probably just got a late start,” said Emmeline definitively, her fingers betraying her nervousness as she tapped them rhythmically against the railing as if it was a piano.

“Yeah,” I agreed hopefully, albeit hesitantly.

With three minutes left, James and I met on the walkway halfway between our two respective “groups”. I had fallen back to the clipped, businesslike way of speaking to James that I generally used at school, the friendly, intimate way of the night before seemingly forgotten in my undeniable confusion of how he wanted me to “properly” associate with him.

“We're going to have to send Dumbledore an owl straight away...” said James quietly in a strained voice, not bothering to finish his sentence.

“D'you think anything's happened since we've been on the Platform?” I asked, eyeing the prowling Aurors.

“Hard to tell. Even if it had, those Aurors wouldn't leave their places,” responded James, glancing at his watch. “Two minutes.”

“I know but—“

Suddenly a shout went up on the platform and I jumped. The Aurors had all crowded around the entryway excitedly with wands drawn before a burly Auror with a Scottish accent cleared it by bellowing, “They're clear—let `em through!”

I waited a heartbeat, hoping... and then suddenly Alice and Frank burst through onto the Platform, Alice looking panicked and Frank pushing her trolley along behind her. In an instant, James had vaulted the railing and run to meet them and I leaned out over the rail, telling Alice to hop on and motioning her toward me.

“Can't somebody help with this damned trunk?” yelled Frank as James reached him, and from the corner of my eye I saw both Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black fire levitation charms at the trunk and Remus Lupin reach out to receive it. Emmeline darted to open our compartment door and all the while I was frozen, staring at the bruises on Frank's cheeks, the anxiety and shock on Alice's once round and cheery face, the small particles of dust and rubble that had settled in their hair and clothing. I could barely register what must have happened—the obvious, an attack—and at the same time I was winded by the thought that my parents hadn't made it out in time...

Numbly, I found my voice again and called Alice to me, but she moved closer to Frank and clutched his hand. Frank and James were talking very rapidly now, something I could somehow recognize even though it seemed like everyone was moving in slow motion. A loud jet of steam blasted from the engine, and I thought vaguely One minute left, as James moved away from Frank to let the couple say goodbye.

I knew I shouldn't intrude but I couldn't keep my eyes off of them; Alice grabbed the front of Frank's jacket and shook it slightly and said something that I couldn't hear over the roaring and creaking of the train wheels as they prepared to move. And then, as if my life was a film that was being fast-forwarded, all of the sudden they were kissing and the train was slowly pulling forward. James nipped forward to take Alice's arm as she and Frank separated, but she wouldn't let go of Frank's hand. They kissed one more time, quickly, before James tugged Alice toward the train and Frank drew his wand and sprinted back off of the platform.

Once on the train, Alice fell into my arms whey-faced, and we sunk slowly onto the walkway, Alice trying vainly to hold back tears and clutching me to her. Giving Alice the best welcome that I could, I held her to my chest, rocking her back and forth and trying to calm her down. By now, the train had gained considerable speed, and over the top of Alice's head I could see the other Aurors on the station barrel through the entranceway of the Platform right on Frank's heels.

I glanced at James and he knelt down and threw one of Alice's arms over his shoulder.

“Come on,” he said gently as we brought Alice back to her feet. “We need to get you inside.”

2.4

I reluctantly left Alice, five minutes later, in the care of Emmeline, Remus, Peter, and Sirius, and made my way slowly up to the head of the train, glancing up at the tormented sky as I did so.

The storm front that I had promised James the night before had finally rolled through, black clouds twirling with sickly green, being ripped up by the wind. I thrust my face into the strong air stream surrounding the train for a moment, reveling in the blast of clarity that the cool air and sprinkles brought as they struck my face, whipped my hair, and jarred me out of the nervous daze I had sunk into after hearing of the attack. Suddenly my life was brought back into a painfully sharp focus, and I realized how lucky we all were to have been sidestepped by that catastrophe.

Upon re-entering the Head's compartment, finally out of curious eyes, I leaned against the wall with my eyes shut, feeling very disheveled and just taking a moment to breathe.

I heard the scratching of a quill, someone clearing their throat, and then: “How is she?” asked James, his voice coming from somewhere near the table.

“We wrapped her up in our cloaks, she was shivering so badly, and now she's sleeping,” I responded without opening my eyes. “She was really upset though, first at almost being blown up and then having to leave Frank when she's almost lost him once already.”

He paused and then asked, “She'll be alright once we get back to the school?” I got the impression that he wasn't only referring to Alice.

“Yes,” I said heavily. “She's a little shaken up and shell-shocked, but she'll be fine.”

“Did you notice the ring on her finger?” he asked, his voice betraying no surprise.

I opened my eyes and walked over to the table, noticing that James was just finishing up a letter to Dumbledore. I plopped down in my comfortable chair and leaned back in it.

“Yeah, I did,” I mumbled, grabbing a chocolate frog wrapper from the basket and opening it. I left the frog in the wrapper and vacantly turned the card over in my fingers. “But what's that got to do with anything?”

James shrugged as he folded up the letter. “It's just a dangerous thing to do, these days.”

I looked quickly from my chocolate frog card to James, a scandalized expression on my face. “What, get engaged?”

He nodded. “Those bastards tend to go for the ones you care about, rather than straight to you.”

I gagged but recovered quickly. “And you know this from experience?” I snarled sarcastically. He didn't answer, only pursed his lips and sealed the letter with wax. “Listen, it's just an engagement ring, not some sort of bloody target. I mean, isn't anyone allowed to be happy for once? They're in love for God's sake, and if I was in their position I wouldn't let anything stand in my way either.”

“Nor would I,” said James, glancing up at me. “I never said they made the wrong choice—only the dangerous one,” he added quietly.

My vocal rage ended abruptly as my throat choked up. Determined not to cry in front on James, I wiped furiously at my eyes and said nothing. He noticed my silence but thankfully decided not to comment on it, and I leaned my head against the cool window of the compartment. From our position several compartment away, I could see half of the engine of the train through the abrupt downpour and the smattering of raindrops that landed heavily on the window before streaking off. Bullets of rain pelted the scarlet engine, only to evaporate with a vehement hiss on contact. The rain seemed to mimic my thoughts exactly: crazy and half-formed, disappearing in the blink of an eye before they had really been established.

I took a sharp breath and mentally shook myself. You've got to get it together, you can't keep falling to pieces all the time, Lily, I told myself, lifting a hand to trace the path of a smearing raindrop on the window gently with my fingers.

After a moment James poured two glasses of butterbeer and spoke. “In the letter, I just told Dumbledore what Frank told me: that there was an attack in London. A gang of Death Eaters blew apart a cafe and some stores right outside the station, probably as a diversion so they could infiltrate the platform, but there didn't appear to be any Hogwarts casualties. I did warn that Alice is in a right state and that Madame Pomphrey should be expecting her.”

I swallowed and nodded shortly, dimly noting how controlled James looked, and sipped on my drink. Even chilled, the butterbeer seemed to fire me up and alleviate my tension at... everything. I got wearily to my feet and headed over toward the door of the Prefect compartment.

I fixed up my wind-blown appearance as best I could before saying, with what I hoped sounded like confidence, “You send that letter off with an owl, Potter, and I'll start the Prefect meeting.”

James smirked knowingly at me. “I knew you'd get round to issuing orders soon enough,” he said, placing the letter under his robes in the breast pocket of his shirt, pulling on his cloak, and preparing to run out into the downpour. “Good thing I don't mind a bit of rain.”

He stared at me intently as he waited for a response, and again I got that feeling of him knowing what was running through my charged thoughts. I looked determinedly at the floor, biting my lip and wanting more than ever for someone to hold me, someone to kiss me and tell me everything would work itself out. But that someone I wanted was steadily drawing away, becoming cooler with each step. That's not logical, Lily. It's just emotions drug up by the war, they don't mean anything in the long run and they won't help you out of a tight spot, I repeated to myself. After a moment the hail of longing dimmed, and I could meet his glance again.

“Yeah, good thing,” I said faintly, walking over to him and opening the compartment door. The rain had gotten heavier, with thunder rolling a split second after flashes of lightening. The blurred landscape looked like a wash of gray as we speed by in the premature darkness.

“Mind you don't get the letter wet,” I said with the air of naming the impossible, shaking my head at the tempest. James rolled his eyes hopelessly at me and started through the door but I yanked him back.

“What, Evans? Would you like to go in my place?” he asked suggestively, though with a hint of impatience.

I considered him for a moment before holding my hand out for the letter. Suspicion evident in the way he moved, he pulled out the letter and handed it to me. I tapped it with my wand, muttered “Impervious!” and stuffed it hastily into his pocket, trying to ignore the disappointment written on his face.

Suddenly, he chuckled. “For a second there I thought you were going t—“

I cut him off, not daring to listen to what he had thought I'd do lest he said something along the lines of “fling yourself into my arms”, even jokingly.

“Don't kid yourself Potter,” I said quickly, and with that I shoved him out of the door.

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5. Interlude II

---

The adrenaline of the attack had long past, leaving the churning feeling of exposure, of unease, in its wake. Frank felt outraged, like a blind idiot, for not expecting an attack of this magnitude to occur.

He gave a last lingering look at the dead witch laying at his feet before lifting up the opaque plastic blanketing her and covering the cold, frozen features of her face. Task finally completed, he stood slowly, struggling wearily, as if he was working against the weight of the world forcing down his back.

There was a fine dust permeating the air, remnants of cement or brick buildings that had been whole before the explosion; Frank could see sunlight shining through the grit, illuminating it, could see where the wind currents caught it and sent it swirling, tumbling to land on any possible thing, to invade any possible space. It graced the twelve body bags lying in a crescent around him, just as it clung to the scarred or skeletal remains of this block of London.

Frank coughed but made no move to clear the dust from his hair or eyelashes; he was far too preoccupied. He ignored, for a moment, the way the wooden beams of wounded buildings jutted off at sharp angles into space, the way the still-smoldering brick walls wafted smoke lazily into the air, the way his companions tripped over hot and twisted metal fragments on the floor and eyed the weakened foundations of standing structures suspiciously.

He instead focused on the men and women who appeared ghostlike and grisly through the gloom of dust, letting his gaze drift over them as he searched for a certain man. There were many witches and wizards milling about (probably more than was necessary or safe), all with hurried intent: the Healers tended to the remaining wounded, Aurors searched nearby buildings or spoke with witnesses, over one-hundred muggles were getting their memories erased, and Aurors-in-training such as Frank scuttled about on varied assignments, such as Frank's recently completed task of gathering and identifying bodies.

Finally, as Frank's eyes passed over the gaping hole in the side of King's Cross Station, did he spot the man he was looking for. The man was barking something to a junior Auror, who, Frank was amused to see, looked slightly startled at the man's intensity, or perhaps it was the deep scars crossing the man's face and cutting harshly into his features, recent acquisitions that Frank had admittedly not gotten used to. If the man noticed the woman's apprehension, he didn't appear bothered by it. At last the woman went away, and Frank motioned the senior Auror over.

“Hope the smell's not getting to you, Frank,” growled the man upon reaching Frank's post, his beady eyes whirling to look around the scene.

Frank shrugged. “It'll take a hell of a lot more than a sour smell to get to me, Moody,” he responded, more confidently than he felt, planting his hands lightly on his hips and pointedly forgetting to add a respectful title to the end of his statement, challenging the playful insult.

Moody laughed, and Frank was bewildered that the two of them were speaking of death so lightly. He shook himself as the Auror spoke. “Wouldn't doubt it for a second, son. Now, what did you need?”

“Well, Sir,” said Frank, kneeling once again among the dead and gesturing to the bodies. “I've finished gathering the bodies; those seven over there are muggles, and then there are three witches, and two wizards. We got off relatively easy on this one, though I think these three at the end had just escorted their children to the train.”

Moody was silent for a moment. “We'll have to alert the school, then. Get these bodies to St. Mungo's for inspection...the Minister'll have a job sorting out the muggle deaths with the Prime Minister, I don't envy her that,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

Frank nodded. No, you'd rather be sorting out the Death Eaters than sitting around talking about the problem, and I agree with you there, he thought with an inward smile, albeit a grim one.

“Was that all, Longbottom?” asked the senior Auror, beginning to turn away.

Frank paused for a moment; it was probably nothing, side effects of the explosion, flying shrapnel... and then, “N—no, Sir. I noticed something...”

“Well, what is it then?”

With some trepidation, Frank fumbled with the plastic shroud he had just done up, slid it from the woman's face, from her shoulders, and gently rolled her over onto her stomach.

Moody didn't say anything, he merely inhaled before going utterly still. This unnerved Frank more than the evidence staring at him: the deep gashes down the woman's back, bite marks on her shoulder, the wounds partly concealed by coagulated blood... after a moment, Frank pulled the plastic back up and let the woman gently rest on the ground.

“Sir,” he ventured tentatively, “is it what I—“

“Be thankful she died, and that's for sure,” said Moody, cutting Frank off hurriedly and leaning down to whisper gruffly to him. “When you deliver these bodies safely to Mungo's, stop by the Dai Llewellyn ward, see if anyone has come in with strange bites or marks like these.”

Frank nodded, standing. “Yes, Sir.”

“If any have, you let me know. Then I want you to go back to your desk and start researching known werewolves. I want a dossier of each one in the United Kingdom on my desk by morning.”

With that, Moody left. Frank sighed, glanced down at his watch. It was barely noon. Resignedly, upset that this job should have to be done at all, Frank took out his wand and disillusioned the bodies before levitating them and letting them drift aimlessly a few feet off of the pavement.

He bit off a tired curse. Nobody had ever told him the proper procedure for bringing dead bodies into St. Mungo's.

---

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6. Chapter Three: Through Unveiled Eyes

Chapter Three - Through Unveiled Eyes

3.1

Despite the looming threat of Voldemort and his Death Eaters in the rest of Britain, the atmosphere at the Hogwarts grounds the evening of the first night back was just as it should be: homey and serene. The sun slid gently down below the Forbidden Forest in an explosion of gold, peach, and lavender rays, sharpening the shadows of the forest and sending them knifing towards the castle; the stars shone with brilliance, having gusto enough to dare try to outshine the first quarter moon, and a gentle breeze was determinedly carrying with it the coolness of autumn.

Inside the castle all was proceeding as normal: friends were settling down before roaring fires to finish up their summer homework, the ghosts were still trying to figure out ways to control Peeves, Dumbledore paced in his study, and I was sitting at the desk in my room, puzzling over what to write to my parents.

The day had overwhelmed me, though I was too proud and too stubborn to openly admit it to anyone but myself. I could not deny, however, that the ordeal at Platform 9&frac34; had me worried, and the tension of the train ride, plus dealing with fifty new responsibilities thrown in my face all at the same time, had officially hung me out to dry. It's not that I minded the responsibilities per se, it was more that there seemed to be other more important things that should be occupying my mind than if this second year had found her rat, or questioning how and why that fifth year had smuggled Devils Snare onto the train. Needless to say, when the sorting was over and the members of my house were safely into the tower—despite an incident with Peeves on the stairs that completely terrified most of the first years—I was glad to take a breath. Alice went off to bed, and Emmeline and I commandeered the squashiest armchairs next to the roaring fireplace in the common room. After talking for a while in hushed tones about her trial date and marveling over what strings Dumbledore must have pulled to let her come to school before that date, we both retired from the common room.

I was a bit surprised to learn that I had been given my own room at the top of the girls' spiraling staircase of the tower, but then again, throughout my tenure at Hogwarts there had never been a Gryffindor Head Girl. To me, the room-at-the-top-of-the-stairs had always appeared to be some sort of broom closet. Now, much to my amusement, it wasn't.

It wasn't a large room, but it wasn't small either; decorated in gold and red, it held a queen-sized four-poster bed without the curtains, a dresser, a desk, and had a fireplace, two largish windows, and enough room for me to breath. A door (with lock) led off into a cozy bathroom, complete with all necessities and even a much smaller version of the prefect bathtub. But what really got me were the two sinks, and upon further inspection an explanation of the locks—hopefully alohomora-proof ones—became evident when I realized the bathroom was a sort of throughway between my room and the Head Boy's.

But even if I wasn't subconsciously dwelling on the stark fact that I would be sleeping merely paces away from James Potter, prankster of the century—which I was—I would still be having quite a hard time trying to concentrate on a letter to my parents. My mind was a flutter after the day's activities, and I soon realized that I would have to sort it all out to myself before I even attempted to explain the current ways of my world to my parents.

I sat chewing on the inside of my lip, staring off out of my window as I rolled this concept around in my brain: acceptance... Suddenly feeling smothered, I burst out of my chair, crossed my room, wrenched open my window and thrust my face into the sky, eyes closed. “Breathe...” I whispered to myself.

“Oy, Evans?”

I very nearly fell out of the window with surprise. I clutched the window ledge for a full minute, trying to get my adrenaline back down to normal levels, before I poked my head farther out of the window, turned to the right, and looked slightly up.

“P-Potter?” There he was, perched dangerously on the upper rim of his window ledge, tempting fate. His feet were dangling before the pane, and he was lying back against the slanted thatched roof with his hands clasped behind his head and a look of contentment on his face. My stomach lurched with empathetic vertigo and I nearly died looking at him. “What in the name of Heaven are you doing out there?”

He inclined his head toward me and scratched his hair lazily with one hand, sending dark locks flopping about his glasses. “Oh... lounging,” he said, as if it were an ordinary thing to practically dangle off the side of a castle tower.

I thought for a moment of chastising him, of telling him that falling off of a tower roof was not a good way to go about not getting himself killed as he had promised, but with a pang I remembered the awkwardness and near-intimacy of the night he had made that promise, so I settled on staring at him blankly instead. “I... see.”

“No, I don't think you do,” he sighed. He gestured empathically toward the treetops and rising moon beyond, to the stars. “Look... just look.”

I followed his hand with my gaze, my eyes alighting over the familiar constellations of the sky above Hogwarts, constellations which, over the last six years, I had cried at, brooded, talked, and laughed at. I closed my eyes, but the blazing pinpricks remained before me, burned into the darkness behind my eyelids.

“No, I really do see,” I repeated earnestly.

James chuckled suddenly, and I turned to face him once more. “Care to join?” he asked politely, before I could ask what he had been laughing at.

For one reckless moment I almost agreed. “Er... no,” I said quickly. “It's a bit chilly outside, and I much prefer the fire.”

He gave me a knowing look, one that said “Ah, so, then why'd you stick your head out of the window a minute ago, if not to get some air?”

Knowing that my previous answer was a lie, and a blatant one at that, I came up with another lame excuse: “I'll fall.”

He sighed. “You know,” he said, drawing out his words with staged pain. “One day you're going to have to trust me. I mean, I'm just not the type of gent to let you plummet to your death.”

My lips twitched into a thin smile. “You're so considerate,” I said sarcastically.

“Yeah, well, keep that little nugget to yourself, it might just ruin my reputation,” he said smugly, taking care, as he spoke, to wrinkle his nose just enough that I knew he was joking.

I snorted. “Right. I'll be sure to keep that in mind, because even though you wouldn't think it, your reputation secretly governs all of my actions.”

There was a short silence. Then, “Are you sure you don't want to join me? It's a bit awkward having a conversation this way.”

I shook my head. “Thanks, but no. I, um, I'm in the middle of a letter to my parents that I should probably finish up,” I said in a final sort of way.

“Ah... right,” said James, furrowing his eyebrows. His voice sounded off-balance, tilted away from our light moment, into shadow. “I guess... good night, then.”

“It will be if you don't pull a prank on me or something while I'm sleeping.”

“Ouch, Evans,” he said in mildly affronted tones as he cocked his head to one side.

I raised my eyebrows at him. “I'm serious. Well, good night to you, too.”

He nodded and shifted on the tiling, turning back to lay his head flat against the roof and stare into space. His chest rose and fell with a quick but heavy sigh, and I once again found myself wondering what was going through his mind.

I thought about turning away from the window, but one thought struck me before I could. “Hey, Potter?”

He gave me a sidelong glace, but didn't turn his head to look at me fully. “Can't a bloke get some peace?” he muttered good-naturedly.

I responded with all seriousness before breaking into a grim. “Well, no, you know, not with me around,” I said, shrugging casually.

He rolled his eyes. “I don't even think you comprehend the half of that statement,” he said, sounding long-suffering. “So... what is it, Evans?”

I took a deep breath, before blurting out, “Good job.”

“Eh?”

I grimaced; he was going to make me elaborate, something by pride was not keen on doing. “Good job handling everything today, on the platform, and... everything,” I said quickly, rushing, trying to get it all out before I lost the nerve to say it.

Caught off balance by the compliment, he only mumbled “You too, Evans.”

I quickly ducked my head inside the window, but before I had managed to close it James called one last thing to me.

“Don't worry, the locks won't open with the Alohomora charm,” he said slyly. “I've already tried it.”

As I pulled the window closed and latched it, vague disbelief kept me from doing anything other than shaking my head. But I couldn't decide what, exactly, I was denying: that James had tested the locks in the first place... or that he had failed.

3.2

The next morning was cold, dull, and gray, colored by a wet fog that hung in the air, clinging to the foliage and leaving the castle stone slick with moisture. It was the type of fog that would linger well after sunrise, the type that permeates into ones very bones and leeches all the warmth from them. If I had had more sense, I would have stayed inside, knowing that a good day hardly ever follows a thick fog.

But I didn't. Bidden by restlessness and a mad desire to clear my mind, I rose at approximately five-thirty the next morning and, wand tucked accessibly into my pants pocket, set out for a jog.

The mud squelched underfoot and the fog swirled around my body as I made my way toward the greenhouses in the predawn darkness, letting my mind wander and my feet guide me where they would. The air was thick, heavy, immediately clustering on my skin and dampening my clothing, but I didn't mind; the freer my body felt, the easier it would be to let go.

I waved a hello to young Professor Sprout as I passed her on the well-beaten paths between Greenhouses Two and Three, and then another to Hagrid the Gamekeeper—when he materialized out of the fog—as I passed down a stony path that led to the lake. Bolstered by the resounding “Mornin' Lily!” he greeted me with, I gradually picked up my pace from a jog to a run and prepared sprint along the lakeshore.

The water was calm as it lapped along the rocky shore, nipping at my heels, urging me on. With a smile, I plunged through the fog that clung thickest near the surface of the water, watching it swirl before me, watching the stones pass as blurs under my feet, wishing that I could go so fast as to make the lake itself turn into a blur, one large smear...

I skittered to an abrupt halt, sending pebbles flying. My short circuit along the lake had led me toward the Dark Forest, and, as it was hidden by the fog, I had nearly entered it. I always had the sense of being watched when I was near these woods, a feeling that unsettled me no end; who really knew what was in there? I had never entered those woods, and certainly wasn't eager to do it now, alone.

After an uncertain moment, I shivered, and turned back, deciding to skirt the edge of the vegetable patch, traverse back through the greenhouses, cross the main path to the castle, and jog around the Quiddich pitch, anything to get away from the ominous, fog-shrouded, and altogether too-menacing forest.

The sun was barely rising by the time I reached the pitch, the light diffusing softly through the fog and doing nothing to dissipate it; if anything, now the fog seemed brighter, denser. I was hard-pressed to see farther than a few meters in front of my face, and I reveled in the absolute solitude.

Until, that is, a bludger whizzed just over my head, pursued closely by a maroon-clad, club-wielding Quiddich player, who swore violently and swerved just in time to avoid colliding with me. After tossing an incredulous look at me, probably wondering what the blazes I was doing there, the Beater whizzed back into the fog. Jolted by my near escape from severe pain, my heart pounding with a spike of adrenaline and growing anger at the fact that an accident like this should never even have come close to happening, I stood stock still, staring up into the air with growing displeasure, waiting....

I didn't have to wait long. As expected, James dove toward the ground, breaking through the fog as though it didn't exist and leaping impatiently from his broomstick, landing steadily a few paces from myself in a swirl of dampened maroon robes. Thick locks of his hair were plastered to his forehead from either fog or sweat, his cheeks were red from exposure to the morning chill, and his chest heaved from the exertions of handling the Quaffle with undoubtedly all the speed and skill he could muster. He would have looked quite at ease if only his eyes lost the shrouded irritation they now gleamed at me with and the look on his face didn't accuse me of being some sot of intruder.

“Evans,” he said wearily, though tinted with confusion, throwing his broomstick across his shoulders and striding quickly over to me. “What's all this about?”

I raised my eyebrows at him and, defensively, crossed my arms, wondering what his Beater had told him. “What's all what about, Potter?” I asked suspiciously, fighting to keep my breath under control.

He narrowed his eyes. “You. Coming here and disrupting my Quiddich practice.” I could see where all this was going in an instant, and although James Potter was a force to be reckoned with when it came to his prized Quiddich team, I wasn't about to let him walk all over me.

I snorted. “Me, disrupting your Quiddich practice? One of your Beaters just nearly killed me!” I said hotly, jabbing my finger to point somewhere up in the fog.

James tilted his head at me. “Come on now, Evans,” he said in an edgy sort of voice, a frown beginning to slide across his face. “Don't exaggerate. And how was Mischem supposed to know you'd be there, eh? Most people normally don't jog on the Quiddich pitch.”

I stared at him, dumb-founded, as some sort of pressure began building in my chest, no doubt a consequence of my growing vexation. “So you're trying to say that this is my fault?” I asked, viciously swiping a piece of flyaway hair from my eyes and glaring at him. Why couldn't he just apologize?

He gaped at me and then furrowed his eyebrows in frustration as he massaged his temple with his left forefinger and thumb. “No, will you relax? I'm not saying that anything is your fault because nothing happened! All I said was that you'd do well not to frolic around the Quiddich pitch when there are teams that need to practice.”

“I wasn't frolicking, I was running,” I stated, trying valiantly—and failing—to get my temper back under control, still managing to sound exasperated. Sometimes James Potter just made me want to scream. “And I wouldn't even have come over here if there had been a note of practice on the notice board, or if you had told me about it.”

“I wasn't aware that as Quiddich Captain I was under any obligation to report to the Head Girl about team practices,” James said flatly, his eyes boring into mine as he crossed his arms, leaving his broom to hover patiently a meter or so off of the ground.

I was a bit taken aback by his words and scowled at his unyielding and almost too-protective demeanor as I mentally steeled myself to be just as stubborn as he.

“No, but you do have an obligation to speak with Professor McGonagall about them, and, forgive me, but I doubt she'd approve of five a.m. practices without a supervisor,” I reasoned, slowly and coldly.

James raised his eyebrows. “A Supervisor?” he repeated. “Why don't you say what you mean—a babysitter,” he snarled, the pitch of his voice rising to match his disbelief at my statement.

“Well, don't you think that with everything going on, someone to oversee your practices would be for the be—“

“No,” he said brusquely, before hollering up into the pitch. “Oy, Loring, Mischem. I'm letting out the last bludger!” He whipped out his wand and angrily jabbed it at an old trunk laying some way away, and as the lid opened, a dark sphere exploded out of it and disappeared into the gloom.

“Now, if you excuse me, I have a team to run,” said James with forced calm as he turned back to me. “There's a time and a place for everything, Evans, and this isn't either of them. I'm asking you—as politely as I can at this moment—to leave, okay? Just leave. Dumbledore and McGonagall seem to trust that I know what I'm doing. So why don't you?”

“It's not a matter of trust; believe me, I didn't come here to supervise—” I began, but he cut me off with an exclamation of utter frustration as he mounted his broom.

“You don't understand, do you?” he asked, shaking his head at me.

Stung, I furrowed my eyebrows as he savagely kicked off of the ground and left me staring off at him, alone but for my conflicted thoughts.

“No, Potter, I don't understand you,” I yelled into the sky after him, before turning away. I jogged back up to the castle, damning the foul mood James had gotten me into and pretending that with every footfall I was stomping on James Potter's big, hard, head.

3.3

My course schedule didn't do much to cheer me up over breakfast. Noticing my scowl as I read it, Emmeline abandoned her oatmeal to whisk the small piece of parchment from my hands. She raised her eyebrows as she read over the noise of a thousand breakfasting students:

“Today: Potions, Arithmancy, History, break, Transfiguration, all N.E.W.T level. Tomorrow: Herbology, break, Ancient Runes, Charms, Defense... all N.E.W.T. level.” She slid the paper back into my hands. “Rough Monday, eh?”

I shoved the schedule down into my bag and returned to my breakfast. “Perfect classes for the perfect day,” I muttered in response, tearing off a bite of bacon with my teeth and then brandishing the remaining piece at Emmeline, jabbing it at her to somehow try to enunciate my words. “You know, he almost got me killed—twice!—and then the berk had the audacity to lecture me!” I said passionately.

“Don't you mean Mischem almost got you killed?” asked Alice, poking her head out from behind a partially completed letter to Frank, somehow sensing that all my anger was targeted not at the young Beater, but at his Captain.

I sent her a look. “Oh, Potter, Mischem—they're all the same,” I said with slightly exaggerated exasperation.

Emmeline rolled her eyes at me as she buttered some toast. “Yes, yes, you've told us several times already. But Lily, honestly? It just sounds like a big misunderstanding—”

“Well that doesn't make him any less of a prat, does it?” I exploded in a frenzied whisper, sending a look of death down towards the end of the table, where James sat surrounded by his fellow Marauders and Quiddich team, seemingly unaware of my wrath.

Emmeline and Alice burst out laughing. “You know, with everything going on in the world, it's amazing to see that some things never change. It's kind of refreshing,” mused Alice as she sucked thoughtfully on the end of her quill.

“I'm so glad I can provide a comfort to you, Alice,” I said distractedly, never taking my eyes off of my offender even when he caught me looking and stared stubbornly back. He inclined his head at me, as if challenging me, before Sirius tore his attention back to a slip of paper they were poring over.

“If looks could kill—” Emmeline began with a grin,

“James would have been dead ages ago,” finished Alice for her, covertly winking at Emmeline. “Come on, Lily, don't you think you should lighten up? You know, cut him some slack; this year has been rough enough on everyone as it is.”

I snorted, nearly choking on my pumpkin juice. “Hah, lighten up. This coming from the girl who—”

But I didn't get to finish my statement. The morning post flew in just then, and with the hail of owls and feathers came the Daily Prophet, bearing news of attacks and disappearances from throughout Britain. Two students received tidings of a death in the family and were called from the Great Hall.

Whatever was left of my appetite—and my self-righteous resentment toward Potter—disappeared. I felt suffocated, as though everyone's eyes—especially James'—were not only on me, but boring into my soul, discovering how self-centered and horrible I was. For the first time in a long while, I was ashamed.

3.4

Potions was my one saving grace, a class I just seemed predisposed for, one that I didn't loose much sleep over and that I almost considered easy. It was slow, methodical, forcing me into a peaceful frame of mind that required me to think objectively. Though it didn't afford me the comfort of straying into my own thoughts and getting lost in a self-induced haze of emotion (before I finished my potion, anyway), that was, admittedly, for the best. Potions made me focus, reminded me what I was at school for. And, I thought with a little smile, there was a certain appeal to my childhood image of what a witch was like... slaving over a frothing cauldron, stirring in all sorts of fairy-tale ingredients... I was just thankful I didn't have the warts or long crooked nose that fit in with that image.

“Lily?”

I jumped, tearing my eyes from the surface of my simmering cauldron, where a potion was slowly thinning out from turquoise to clear, the turquoise escaping as a wafting colored steam. In the heavy quietness of the potions dungeon, my partner's voice cut into the air like a knife, sending me flying out of my musings and my heart racing, startling me just enough to make me uncomfortable.

“Yes, Bertram?” I asked, turning to the Hufflepuff sitting on my right. He smiled and a wisp of mousy brown hair fell into his eyes.

“Sorry—did I scare you?” he asked, resting his chin lazily in one hand as he used the other to slice up a piece of frog heart. I saw him glance quickly at me—a flash of gray irises—and then back down at his knife as he finished his task. For some reason I blushed slightly at the glance. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, a half-hidden one that craved to be more than friends, or perhaps it was the way I suddenly noticed how he had grown up and filled out in the torso and jaw over the summer, childhood only claiming a slight hold on him now.

I cleared my throat, thanking the ever-increasing turquoise smoke filling up the dungeon for hiding my face. “Yeah, a little. So, um, what did you need?”

Our Potions Professor, Slughorn, had assigned me to partner with and tutor Bertram Aubrey the previous year in order to bring him up to scratch the N.E.W.T. level course, and when we entered the dungeons for class this year, the seating assignment had just stuck. I handed over the ingredient he asked me for, watched him curiously for a few moments more, and then let my eyes wander past him, to the rest of the class beyond. I played a game with myself for the rest of my lesson, trying to note the changes that had come over my peers since I had first met them. In most cases, it was as though a veil had been lifted from my eyes.

With a start, I realized that many of the students in there with me were slaving over their potions with the heartfelt desire to do well so that they could get a N.E.W.T. and become Aurors or join the Ministry in another department. My eyes welled as I wondered how many of them would be alive to make it to our five-year reunion.

3.5

One of my favorite aspects of Hogwarts was, understandably, its hallways. Lined with amusing portraits, moving staircases, trick doors, hidden tapestries, animated suits of armor, and, in some places, expansive windows that overlooked varying landscapes, the hallways never ceased to offer a distraction. Needless to say, Emmeline and Alice thought my wanderings though the halls were completely insane, but for me, they were a chance to relax, to not think, to just react, and I reveled in it, trying to suppress the guilt I was feeling after the conversation I had just had with Professor McGonagall about Quiddich in the Teacher's Workroom. This break-time wandering led me, surprisingly, to my eventually-planned destination: the doorway of my transfiguration classroom.

I had been following Sir Cadogen (stalking him, rather) as he meandered from painting to painting on spontaneous “quests”, smiling at the reactions he got from other portraits when he barged in on their scenery and laughing at the diatribe that followed. I turned away from Sir Cadogan's most recent conquest once its occupant, a very grumpy-looking troll, had knocked him senseless with its club.

Deprived of my amusement, I left my bag at the door and crossed to the window opposite the painting, leaning up against the stone wall adjacent to it and looking out across the expanse of the Hogwarts grounds. I stood motionless for some time, absently tracing the perimeters of the stones in the wall with a finger until the echoing footsteps of a confident stride tore my attention away.

It was James.

I bit my lip, not knowing how to react with him after a fight anymore. In the past I would have ignored him, glared at him, something... but that seemed so childish now. Besides, I honestly had no idea what my constantly-changing relationship with him was—a hardly tolerable acquaintance, a confidant, a friend?—and it was truly unnerving. Not knowing what to do with myself as my pride would not allow me to apologize yet, I settled on throwing him a curt nod.

“Potter,” I said simply by way of greeting, careful to sound stoic.

“Evening, Evans,” said James distractedly as he walked by. I frowned. Either he wasn't frustrated and resentful toward me at all... or he was pretending not to be. Based on his history, I decided it was the latter. I groaned inwardly; I honestly didn't know. It was so hard to tell, with him.

I watched silently from my post as he crossed into the shadows shrouding the door, yanked on the handle, found that the door was locked, and swore.

“She's in the Teacher's Workroom,” I suggested stiffly, turning back to the window.

“Damn it,” he sighed, setting his books down next to mine. “I wanted to tell her that we found a new Chaser...” he trailed of. Quiddich, again. The knot of guilt in my stomach grew. I could feel the tension, the un-spoken words, hanging the air between us, and I began to seriously doubt if there would ever be an appropriate time or place for Potter and I to finish up our last conversation. “But I suppose I could just tell her after class,” he finished abruptly, before walking back the way he had come.

“Right,” I muttered, my face so close to the pane that my breath fogged the glass. Suddenly I stepped back, opened my mouth to call him back... and my voice died on my lips. It was simple: I was afraid to face him. I vaguely wondered if, when I did, it would be the last time James Potter would deign to speak with me.

3.6

It was well past dinner that night when the storm between James and me finally broke. I was sitting on my bed staring vacantly at the numerous lighted candles floating around my room, trying to memorize a concept in my Transfiguration text, when James burst into my room by way of the bathroom, clutching a piece of parchment in his hands. Shocked at his sudden entrance but knowing what this would be about, I calmly set aside the book and stood to meet him.

He marched right up to me and thrust the parchment under my nose.

“What's this?” he demanded in a deathly quiet voice, his hand shaking as he clutched the paper. I glanced down at it.

“It looks to be some sort of notice,” I said carefully, gently taking it from his hand and reading it. It stated that the Quiddich pitch would now be out of bounds except during official practice sessions, which would now only be held under the supervision Madame Hooch.

“And...?” James prompted, his eyes squeezed shut as though trying to block out the worst: my response.

“And, I think it is a fine idea.”

James' eyes flashed open, and he looked for a moment like he was going to explode. When he spoke, however, his voice was calm, flat, and controlled but for a slight tremor of distress. “Of course you do,” he bit out slowly. “But why did you have to go do something like this?”

“It's not like the world is ending, Potter,” I snarled, thrusting the paper back into his hands, trying to make him see reason and understand where I was coming from. “I mean, you didn't just get informed that members of your family have disappeared or been tortured and killed, did you? Or that Who-Know-Who has killed the Minister of Magic or taken over the school!” He flinched slightly at my words, as though they had stung him, and took a step back from me. I took a breath before finishing, “Your practices will just be safer, that's all. Doesn't your safety mean anything to you?”

“But we're banned from the field when there isn't practice!” he protested, as though this was of paramount importance.

“Why is it such a big deal?”

“Because!” he began loudly, and a glass vase holding some flowers on my desk exploded, flinging glass shards across the room. I tried not to look intimidated, but the truth was besides that night at the Leaky Cauldron when Sirius was telling me of what happened to Frank, I had never seen James so angry, and then his anger had not been directed at me. He caught himself though, perhaps noticing my apprehension, and after quickly repairing the vase he started over again, quietly. “Because... you just...” he trailed off, and I sensed what phrase was coming next.

I wouldn't understand.

I clenched my teeth. “I've already admitted that I don't understand your obsession with that bloody game, so why don't you enlighten me, hmm?”

James paused, gathering his thoughts before answering. “It isn't just a game,” he said, putting his hands on his hips, tilting his head casually back, and taking a breath. As he exhaled, he seemed to loosen all of his muscles; I could see the tension flow from his shoulders, from his jaw, from his hands... from his mind. When he spoke next, he stared into my eyes, refusing to let me escape the old pain and resentment still lingering there from his recent past, forcing me to hear. “We need it—I need it,” was his final, simple response.

“Need... what?” I asked softly, suddenly very aware that I was about to be shown a side of this man that few others had seen. The room grew very still, before:

“The... the freedom,” James finally settled on, using his hands to articulate his meaning. He began to pace the room, continuing to use his hands to help himself speak. “The escape from all this shite that's going on. You just said that the world didn't end today, and you're right—it's already ended! But when I'm up there, just like the rest of my team, I forget everything but the game. Is that so terrible?”

I hesitated, weighing his words, his emotions, and beginning to come to terms with just how deeply I had unintentionally wronged not only him, but the rest of the team as well. Embarrassed, the guilt beginning to make me feel nauseated, I stared at the floor.

James finally ceased his restless roaming and threw himself into the chair by my desk, straddling it and facing me. He lowered his head to hide his face, clenching his hair with his fists, and muttered, “Christ. It seems so... stupid, to say it out loud.”

“It isn't,” I responded quickly. Sensing that he needed—though perhaps didn't want—someone nearby, I tentatively went over to sit on the edge of the desk, knees drawn up with my arms wrapped loosely around them. “I think I understand you perfectly.”

He looked up and smiled sadly at me. “Do you, now? Well, that's too bad.”

“You know, I think we're both stupid,” I said suddenly after a dry sigh. “Despite all of our misunderstandings, we really aren't that different. Maybe our experiences are, but other than that...”

“Hmm,” he chuckled weakly, sitting up. “We're pathetic. Model students, eh? Can't even get our own acts together. Or, we're just cursed with highly selective hearing,” he suggested, as though he couldn't help himself.

I snorted and shook my head. Like two sides of a coin, he is... we both are... I mused. But life keeps playing us in a game of chance, and sometimes our best face doesn't come out on top.

Suddenly, a thought struck me. “I...” I swallowed, trying to come up with the words. “This isn't just about the Quiddich, is it?”

James frowned slightly and scratched his jaw, a natural movement that somehow betrayed his hesitation at voicing his thoughts. “No, it isn't.”

I tilted my head and raised my eyebrows at him, silently prodding him to elaborate.

James' adam's apple bobbed as he considered, and he finally nodded. “This school thinks I'm a joke,” he said, staring off above my head, his fingers nervously twirling his wand.

I blinked. “What?” That made no sense. “The majority of this student body adores you—“

“Yes, that or they hate me,” he said wryly. “Either way, I'm not getting any respect. I've spent too much time playing pranks and causing trouble. If I tell someone off, they'll think I'm not being serious, either that or brand me as a hypocrite. And I keep thinking back over the past six years... sometimes I was such a fool...” he didn't meet my eyes, and he wasn't finished. I got the impression that he was surprising himself by telling me this much. “Now, it's like I use my humor as defense mechanism, trying to call my old self back. It was the one constant thing in my life, and now I just think... that the old James is beyond recall.”

His somewhat poetic introspection gave me pause; I had always expected that James thought in absolutes. I remembered his previous words, the world has already ended, and was more aware than ever that something really wrong had happened to him over the summer. I wondered bitterly why no one had yet invented a spell to heal a broken spirit.

“It's true that there aren't many constants left, James,” I said reflectively. We both were surprised that I used his first name, but anything else, I decided, would have mocked his sincerity. The air was still, his eyes intent, as he listened to me. “But there is one thing for certain: once this war ends, the real victory won't be which side won, because by that point, the whole affair will be tainted with death and despair—it already is. No, the real victory will be in those who failed to loose themselves along the long, bloody way.” I hesitated, not aware of where my insight had come from but knowing it was the truth. I took a breath before continuing.

“We've... we've all been fools, one time or another,” I said gently, but with appropriate grim reality. “Like me, today, not bothering to ask you about this notice and going straight to McGonagall—“

He cut me off with a harsh laugh as he stood. “Don't even get me started on that one, Evans.”

I bit my lower lip and nodded, my face burning with shame. I deserved that jab. “Listen, I really shouldn't have gotten so worked up as this is so small in the scheme of things. I'm truly sorry about this whole thing—“

“Oh, don't bother with sorry,” James sighed dourly, dismissing my pleas as though they were something beneath his time. “It's done. Sorry is overrated these days anyway. It was always going to be a shit time, end of story.”

I narrowed my eyes thoughtfully at the bluntness of his statement, and couldn't hold back a sharp, somewhat morbid laugh when I thought about it. “Thank you, for that.... oddly refreshing statement,” I told him as he got heavily to his feet.

James grinned ruefully, as if he thought I was being sarcastic. “Yeah, well, sometimes the blunt truth is the best truth,” he said lightly as he absently placed a hand on either side of my upper waist and helped to pull me off of the desk, pulling me to stand awkwardly within an arms-reach of himself. “It's best to get the bollocks out of the way up front and stop fooling yourself, if you know what I mean.”

His eyes caught mine, and once again, I got the feeling that he wasn't only referring to the spoken topic at hand. There was a hidden meaning there, one that I was afraid to step forward and find. This time, though, I wasn't the one who broke the eye contact first. No, after a moment or two of intense scrutiny between the two of us, James glanced away and caught sight of the partially completed and extremely slipshod draft of the letter to my parents that I had been working on the previous night.

“You haven't mailed it, then?” he asked, reaching out to brush a finger gently over the dried ink of my thin and slightly muddled scrawl.

I shook my head. In an attempt to articulate my thoughts, I stammered, “Er... no. No, I just... haven't found the words to explain... everything.” I splayed my hands in defeat as a fresh wave of anxiety rolled over me regarding that letter.

James shifted his hand from my letter and brought it to rest on my arm. “I know `everything' is hard to discuss, but it needs to be done.”

I sighed at his reminder and simply shrugged. At my action, his hand slipped from my arm and brushed my own briefly before coming to a stop, limp at his side. He didn't move away from me.

Suddenly it was like the tension snapped. I was painfully aware of the lingering touch on my hand, of our close proximity, of his hot breath on my cheeks, of how the candles on my desk displayed our shadows on the wall behind him, where they danced and flickered, melding into one. James' face was partially thrown into shadow, the candlelight swimming in his irises and upon his glasses. The passion between us was palpable as we stood apart, needing to touch yet not daring to, both afraid to cross the threshold that had been presented to us so unexpectedly. And we breathed.

“Do me a favor,” he whispered, seemingly unwilling to raise his voice and desecrate the moment. In that heartbeat of time, I would have done anything—everything—for James Potter.

“Yes?” I asked expectantly, my low strangled voice betraying my frayed nerves. I hated the control he had over me, how he could turn me from the hardest steel to a mere puddle of mercury with just a few simple words.

“You send that letter,” he said firmly, before brushing lightly by me and striding quickly from the room. I stared blankly at my lone shadow on the wall, trembling, as the moment passed through me.

“I will,” I agreed quietly, biting my lower lip and fighting against sudden, unexplainable tears.

-->

7. Interlude III

---

The office was silent as Frank sat at his desk. It was dark but for the halo of light surrounding his workstation from a solitary candle floating midair above it. At that point in time, it would have been hard to tell just what time it actually was—he had been awake for hours pouring over files of werewolves who had either been seen in London on September 1st, or who had business there.

A small stack of manila folders were tossed messily on one corner of the desk's wooden surface, with multicolored requisition forms and other legal documents slipped arbitrarily in between. One file still remained to be scoured. Frank stared at it for a moment with distaste before sighing deeply, leaning forward, and flipping the folder open.

He froze. Staring pleasantly up at him, smiling sheepishly and shrugging in would-be casual way, was a picture of Remus Lupin. Frank laughed.

“You're starting to see things, old man,” he said, rubbing his eyes before looking at the picture again, expecting Remus' image to suddenly morph into someone else's. It didn't.

Perhaps Frank was too tired for it to sink in; perhaps nothing would surprise him ever again. All he did was frown slightly. “That's... intriguing,” he mused, before immediately remembering the close proximity Remus had to Alice...

“Oy, Frank?”

Frank jerked out of the sleep-deprived stupor he had suddenly fallen into and turned to find Fabian Prewett standing before him. He was wearing a favorite pair of maroon robes, the ones that his brother Gideon always made fun of him for because the maroon clashed horribly with Fabian's red hair.

“Yes, Sir?”

Fabian smiled sympathetically at Frank before motioning for him to stand. “It's time.”

Frank's stomach seemed to drop from his body. Right, he had almost forgotten: the trial. The trial.

“So, they've reached a verdict?” Frank whispered to Fabian as they slid into the back row of the Wizengamot ten minutes later.

“'Bout to announce it, yeah,” said Fabian, settling down onto the wooden bench and leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. “Been talking it over since you left.”

“Doesn't seem like there'd be much to discuss, does it,” Frank responded darkly, unconsciously holding a hand to his ribcage, recalling the uncomfortable twinge of broken ribs—a rather low-priority injury in comparison to his rest, as far as his Healers had been concerned—that he had lived with for days after the ambush. Though, admittedly, he was grateful that the Healers had decided to put a stop to the sudden seizures which had left him momentarily paralyzed, and figured out why he was breathing up blood, before they tackled such a minor injury, uncomfortable or not. “I'll show them all these bloody curse scars all over my body if they need any more convincing.”

Fabian shrugged powerlessly, and Frank settled back onto the bench, taking in the Wizengamot. The room was filled with people: members of the Wizengamot, mostly, but a few Ministry personnel, like Frank, had been given access to the trail. The room's stone walls, combined with the three chain-bearing chairs in the center of the room and the sinister attitude of those present, created a very tense atmosphere. Frank shivered before spying his old Headmaster, Dumbledore, across the other side of the room, sitting with Moody. The Headmaster gave Frank a brief smile before his attention was torn to the three manacled men entering the Wizengamot floor, but it was enough to bolster Frank for what was to come.

The three men, dressed in dirty and ragged clothing, were each seated in a chair. The chains snaked up the men's bodies and held fast, and the men did not pull at their shackles. They were pale, surly...

“Sure sign of guilt if there ever was one,” whispered Fabian, gesturing to the body language of the three prisoners. Frank nodded, choked on some rising bile in his throat, and fervently wished that Alice was seated on his other side.

“Rosier, Avery, Mulciber,” demanded Crouch, who was presiding from his high bench before the prisoners, looking every bit as grim and strained as he always did. The three men did not look at him.

“You have been charged with fraternization with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, with becoming his spies and his Death Eaters.”

At this, the man in the center, Rosier, raised his head and stared unblinkingly around the room.

“You have been charged with planning and carrying out an ambush targeting two Aurors and two Aurors-in-training.”

The three men sat up straight, their motions pulling against the chains and causing them to rattle loudly. Crouch began speaking again, tried to raise his voice over the noise, and was hardly heard. At this, Mulciber and Avery began tugging at their bonds in earnest, leering at Crouch, making the chains rattler louder.

“You have been charged with attacking and injuring the Auror-in-Training Frank Longbottom,” yelled Crouch over the din. Somehow the eyes of the three men found Frank, and they stared at him, smiled disconcertingly at him, still pulling on their chains. “Enough!” shouted the presiding ministry official, pointing his wand at the bindings of the three men, his spell tightening the chains so that they dug into the convicts' skin, forcing each man rigid against the back of his chair.

By now, all the spectators in the room were leaning forward intently, varying degrees of disgust on their faces. Avery spat as best he could toward Crouch, though some of the spittle ended up running down his chin, which was now alternately blotched purple and white from the way the chains were blocking his circulatory system. Crouch ignored him.

“You have been charged,” he continued, “with the murder of the Auror-in-Training Samuel Hage by way of the Killing Curse, and of the torture and murder of the Aurors Ewan and Greta Peakes.”

Frank recoiled slightly, brought his hands up to his eyes to try to block the rushing memory.

“Frank! Frank, they're dead! It's an ambush—”

“Samuel, behind you!”

A shout, a blast of green light illuminating the young Auror as he crumples to the ground, a look of concern on his flushed face, his eyes blank—

Frank felt the heavy weight of Fabian's hand on his shoulder. He stiffened, recalled his courage, and forced himself to look into the doomed men's eyes as the verdict was announced.

Crouch's voice trembled and Avery, panting slightly from fighting against his bonds, his face flushed and his eyes bloodshot, crowed triumphantly. “Don't think this is the end. Don't think for one second that by capturing any of us, the Dark Lord's work is finished. You may capture some of us, but you will never weed out the Dark sympathizers hidden in your midst!”

“Silence!” roared Crouch, finally disconcerted enough to crack. “For these charges so named, you have been found guilty.” He pointed his wand threateningly at the three men as a group of Aurors prepared to take them away. “May you rot in Azkaban forever!”

---

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8. Chapter Four: Face Off

Chapter Four - Face Off

4.1

Several days passed—nearly a week. I found myself locked in an uncertain stalemate with James, as hesitant and awkward as a first year. Yet this awkwardness was exhilarating, and, heart pounding, I began looking for opportunities to seek out the bloke. I don't know whether he sensed the change, or was too busy to be bothered, but James seemed to stay as collected as ever, though I did spot his eyes quickly darting away from my glance more often than not, only to catch him, a split second later, with my peripheral vision, staring broodingly at me once my full gaze had shifted from his direction.

The completion of my letter to my parents that Saturday evening created the long-awaited opportunity. With the sealed parchment scroll clutched nervously in my hands like a talisman, I sought him out to collect my “promise-kept.”

I didn't have to look far, and, when I found him, my lips twisted into a slight grin at the picture of academia I was suddenly presented with: he was lounging at the desk in his room, leaning so far back in his chair, with his ankles crossed and heels resting on the desktop, that I feared at any moment the pull of gravity would be too much for his delicate balance. His Transfiguration book was spread open on his lap, and he looked quite content, popping Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans into his mouth as he read.

“I thought you said to sod studying,” I nagged casually as I leaned in the doorjamb of his room, arms crossed incredulously. “I thought you said you already knew it all.”

He didn't turn to face me. “How do you know,” James drawled, lazily turning the page and tossing another bean into his mouth, “that I'm studying for class? I could be... teaching myself how to turn into an animagus, for all you know.”

I snorted. He seemed to take it as a legitimate response.

“No, you're right,” he said, snapping the book shut and letting the front legs of the chair fall heavily to the ground. He stood to face me and spoke again, voice dripping with a sarcastic sort of long-suffering superiority that ended in a sigh. “I'm beyond that level.”

“You're beyond believability,” I retorted, rolling my eyes, mentally appraising the increasing size of his head and trying to counter this teasing arrogance. He took a few steps toward his bed—and, as it was, towards me—and I began feeling that sickening mixture of eagerness and anxiousness all over again. I stiffened as he reached out, before sagging a little as I realized that he was only reaching for his cloak, which had been flung onto his coverlet. “Anyway, I just came to tell you—”

“That you've cancelled the Quiddich season?” he asked jokingly as he fastened his cloak under his chin and straightened up his Head Boy badge, preparing, I assumed, to head to dinner.

“Err, no...” I said bashfully, remembering my mistake from the week before. “No, I, uh, just wanted to show you...” I thrust out my scroll, reluctant to leave the doorway, and, one hand in his hair, he reached out and took it.

“What's this?” he asked, turning the parchment over in his fingers, a pleased expression on his face as if he could make a particularly good guess on the subject.

“The... letter.”

“Ah.” His eyes held mine and I forced myself not to look away; it seemed that I was finding myself doing that more and more often, these days. “Off to mail it, are you?”

“Well, yes—”

“Then I'm coming with you,” he interrupted firmly, passing the letter back to me.

I rolled my eyes. “Of course you are,” I stated doubtfully, accentuating the comment with a raised eyebrow; I hated to admit—even to myself—that I had wanted and expected him to tag along, though I couldn't help but wonder why he would.

“I want to see you send it,” he explained, raising his eyebrows at my own look of incredulous surprise. He smiled. “Just give me a second to tell my mates where I'm off to.”

I nodded, and headed back to my side of Gryffindor tower. I was halfway down the stairs to the common room, when I realized: he had known the whole time what I was there for. I clenched the letter in my fist and blushed at how well he could read me, resisting the urge to hate him for it. I took a deep breath, forcing my heart out of my throat and back to its proper place.

4.2

We met up at the portrait hole, quite by accident on my part and by great timing on his, because by the time I had gotten down the stairs, I had decided to leave without him if only to regain my grasp on some semblance of spontaneity, no matter how weak. He met me without a word, only a passive inclination of the head, a formality of one Head to the other. It was then that I realized that the majority of the older students in the Common Room were watching, half with partly concealed looks of amusement, the other with tense looks of contemplation, as if wondering what James and I were doing together.

I waited until the Portrait Hole was firmly closed behind us and we were out of the earshot of the Fat Lady before speaking.

“As if the two Heads aren't supposed to meet,” I said sourly, looking briefly over my shoulder to find that the Fat Lady's portrait had opened a hair and someone was peeking out at us. I heard a strangled yell from inside the room—it sounded like Alice—and the portrait banged shut. “I bet you anything that they were betting on whether or not we're going to start bickering.” I shot him a daring look. “Or whether or not you are going to ask me out again.”

James laughed as we turned a corner, our feet automatically tracing the route to the west tower, our destination. “I wonder who's going to end up winning.”

I shrugged indignantly. “I guess it's up to you.”

He looked askance at me, before saying, with a smile, “Speaking of dating—”

“No!”

He ignored my interruption. “—we need to plan out all the Hogsmeade days.” He tossed me a pointed look. “You know, for all of those lucky bastards who do have someone to go with.”

I laughed at the way he had laid the issue on the table, despite my unpleasant mood. “Okay,” I said, blushing, feeling like a grand idiot for making such a completely wrong assumption—and yet, my mood lightened significantly. “We'll do that tomorrow.”

We didn't speak again until the smell of feathers and owl pellets began to permeate the air; instead, we walked side-by-side in a sort of newfound companionable silence. Suddenly I was presented with the impression that I was very much an adult: there I was, Head Girl, striding along the castle corridors as confidently as if I owned the place, accompanied by—well, James Potter, but that couldn't be helped.

The impression was marred by the smell fouling the air, however, and upon reaching the wooden door that led into the owelry, I wrinkled my nose with distaste.

“Filch really needs to clean this place,” I commented dryly as we passed into the owelry, ending up on a rickety, pellet-strewn wooden landing that was connected to a criss-cross of stairways that headed either down to the ground floor or to another floor's landing, though not in any particular order. Stairs from the third floor landing, for example, reached only the second floor or fifth, and only from the sixth floor were stairs that reached the first. It was painfully apparent, by the way the stairs creaked and swayed unexpectedly, that magic was the only thing holding up the woodworks.

I glanced into the crush of owls, shaking my head when I spotted the school owls far out of reach, roosting on perches stretching across the second floor, opposite the landing. Though here and there an owl, its feathers ruffled irritably at our intrusion on its sleep, stared accusingly at us with an amber eye, the school owls were decidedly ignoring our entrance.

“Stubborn creatures, aren't they?” James asked wryly, smiling and leaning over the railing. At his motion the whole landing lurched, and I leaned back against the stone wall nervously. He held out an arm, made a clicking noise with his tongue, and a spotted owl soared silently from across the circular room to perch on James' forearm. “But you can borrow Icarus, if you'd like.”

“Are you sure you don't mind?” I asked, reaching out to stroke Icarus' dark feathers uncertainly. He turned his head to look at me, his dark eyes boring steadily into my own. Then suddenly the owl cocked his head before nipping my fingers and holding out a foot expectantly.

James laughed. “No, as Icarus doesn't seem to.” He scratched the owl's head in a friendly way as its claws closed tightly over the scroll, before sending Icarus off with an upward lurch of his arm. “Don't fly too high.”

I sighed as the bird soared away into the yellow evening sky, suddenly feeling so much lighter—so much freer. I turned to face James, who was staring unseeingly at his hands as though debating with himself.

“Thanks,” I said awkwardly, giving him a small smile that he didn't see. “Promise kept, right?”

He grinned despite his suddenly preoccupied mood. “You're right.”

“Now it's my turn to ask a favor,” I said hastily, catching him off guard. “Can you answer me one question?”

James looked at me quizzically before nodding. “Of course.”

“What are you thinking,” I said slowly, trying to word my question just right, “when you're staring at me, and you don't think I'm looking?” I felt the tingling of heat in my cheeks, and forced it away.

He snorted unbelievably, though his attempt at nonchalance was destroyed as I noticed the nearly imperceptible tensing of his body as he tried to think of a response. I nearly smirked with the thought that perhaps I could read him almost as well as he could read me, though I worked my mouth furiously in order to keep my amusement from showing on my face.

“Do you seriously expect me to answer that?” he asked spryly, crossing his arms and turning to face me so that one side of his body leaned up against the railing. His face was blank but for a raised eyebrow, yet his eyes were very much alive.

I planted my hands on my hips and looked at him pointedly.

“Alright, alright,” he said quickly, raising his hands as though fending me off. “Well... I think about how worried you are about your family, and that gets me thinking about my mum, and my dad, and the war.” He paused, took the time to run a hand through his hair. “The war generally causes me to sidetrack to thoughts about my friends and future, but either way, it comes back to you. And I wonder at how you came to be such a—” he hesitated, but at a gesture from me, spat it out. “—a strong, beautiful woman, and I remember how horrible it must of been for you, the way I pursued you all those years like a blind, staggering idiot—sorry for that, by the way.” He paused again, this time just long enough to smile. “But just remember that it's the thought that counts, yeah?”

I responded with a long-suffering sigh that was softened by a smile.

“Yeah. And that's about it,” he finished, shrugging. “My thoughts go in circles: the war and my future in it, my parents, my friends, you.” He glanced down at his feet, before adding boldly, “But it's when I force myself not to look at you that you should really wonder what I'm thinking.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, my face feeling flushed from his previous compliments. I narrowed my eyes, peering up at his face intently to try to discern meaning behind his bespectacled hazel eyes. “Why?”

He raised his head. “Because when I won't look at you,” he said, in the tone of a man walking boldly into a do-or-die situation, ready to face the consequences, whatever they may be, whatever the cost, “I'm trying to keep from...”

“From...?” I prompted expectantly, forcing myself not to tap my foot with impatience; he had strung this out too long not to finish it off. Curiously, I felt both scared and thrilled at the unwavering look I found in his eyes.

“Well, since you asked,” he said vaguely, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice we contemplated each other. “From... this.” And with a swift, eager motion he stepped toward me, cupped my face in his hands, and he was kissing me, thrills chasing up and down my spine. Just as suddenly—just as I was registering what was happening—James pulled away, apologized, and retreated from the landing. I glimpsed a shadow of pain in his eyes before he vanished, heard him cursing himself as he fled.

4.3

The next morning I arrived to breakfast earlier than normal; the previous night's tête-à-tête with James had left me feeling restless and unable to lay thinking in bed as I normally would have done upon waking early on a Sunday morning, curled and comfortable in warm sheets. I burned to find James, to tell him that I wasn't sorry for his action, but at the same time, I was dreading meeting him—and why had he left so quickly? I wanted to scream. I kissed Potter. I kissed James Potter—no, he just kissed me. Looking back on it hours later, I still couldn't decide whether to be pleased or furious with myself, and decided that I had suffered from a complete lapse of judgment either way. Though I wouldn't have minded if he tried it again.

So, with these thoughts in my mind and after blinking into the rising sun for a few moments, its tendrils of light reaching through the windowpane to warm my face, I gathered the energy to roll myself out of bed.

Stifling a yawn with my hand and once again pushing all thoughts of James from my mind—rather, attempting to—I plodded heavily down the stairs and into the Common Room, stopping briefly to conjure a blanket to lay over a fifth year who had fallen asleep over her studies; no doubt she had worked into the night, worrying about her O.W.L.-year workload. Smiling, I crept out of the common room as quietly as possible. After apologizing to the Fat Lady for waking her, I slowly made my way to breakfast, reveling in the way the early morning sunbeams shone across the marble floors, and relishing the quiet solitude of the castle. It was times like this when nothing could bother me—it was a beautiful morning, and I could sense magic and greatness reverberating through me, could hear a steady thrumming in the back of my mind, the heartbeat of this revered place.

As I padded down the shifting staircases toward the Great Hall, passing through patches of morning light and dimness, I almost—almost—wanted to cry at the thought of leaving in June. Almost.

Lost in my own thoughts and memories from the past, I didn't notice what was happening in front of me until I was bearing down upon the scene, in high danger of stepping on Remus Lupin's head, which was poking out of the next-lowest stair. I furrowed my eyebrows at the sight, my brain momentarily at a loss for explanation. In the split-second my brain had no control over my faculties, my nervous system took control, and saved me from tripping into a headlong plummet to the foot of the stairs. Barely.

“Remus?” I asked in astonishment, trip-skipping over the exposed uppermost part of his body, still uncertain of what I was seeing. Steadying myself on the stair below, I turned to stare incredulously at him. “What are you doing?”

“Hello, Lily,” he said, struggling to climb the rest of the way out of the trick step. “Looks like you found me out.”

“I suppose,” I said, smiling, taking hold of myself and reaching down to grab his robes and help him out. As I hauled him onto my own stair, I glanced down into the hole he was climbing out of and saw a few stone steps vanishing away into the darkness. “Interesting... I never knew these trick steps led to secret passages.” I looked expectably at him, waiting for him to expand on the subject.

He shrugged, getting to his feet. “You'd be surprised. Not all of them are more than nuisances. This one only opens half the time I try it, but it is a nice shortcut when it works. Shall we?” he asked nonchalantly, gesturing for us to continue on our journeys to the Great Hall.

“Where does it go?” I asked curiously, ignoring a vague suspicion that Remus wanted me to change the subject. I glanced over my shoulder as we trouped down the stairs to find that the opening had sealed itself.

He grinned mischievously and I rolled my eyes at his air of “that's for me to know, and you to find out.” If anything was the trademark of a Marauder, exhibiting that aura was it.

“Oh, come on,” I nettled, trying not to smile; his grin was infectious. “It's going to be annoying, letting myself get stuck in every trick step just to see if it leads anywhere.”

“A marauder does what he has to do,” he said simply, pausing to hold the door to the Great Hall open for me.

Though I appreciated the chivalrous (and very un-marauder like) gesture, I crossed my arms, sulking. “Well, I'm not a marauder.”

“Too right you aren't,” Remus retorted, baiting me. “Then I guess you'll never know where it leads.”

I glared at him, trying to keep up pretenses and not smile at the banter, but Remus snorted and shook his head amusedly—he knew me too well—as he followed me through the doorway.

4.4

Stomach rumbling, I intended on grabbing some toast and heading back to the common room to wake Emmeline and Alice, but to my surprise, when I arrived at the fairly empty Gryffindor table, Emmeline was already there.

She was sitting at the far end of the table, hunched over a letter, her bacon seemingly forgotten on the tabletop next to her. When Remus and I slid into the seats across from her, she didn't glance up at us, but only greeted us with a drawn “'G mornin'.”

“Morning, sunshine,” I said cheerfully, reaching down the table for a few pieces of toast. “I didn't expect you'd be awake so early...” I trailed off at her uncanny silence, and glanced up at her. Absently, I accepted the jar of jam that Remus had fetched from down the table, and began fixing my toast as I searched her face, pausing as I spotted the down-turned corners of her lips, her effort of hiding a frown. “What's wrong?”

Emmeline sighed and slid the rumpled letter across the table to me, face down. “They pushed it back.”

“Who pushed what back?” I asked curiously, whipping the parchment from the table and reading it.

Dear Miss Vance,

Due to the increasing amount of court cases of late, we regret to inform you that your hearing, originally scheduled for Sunday, September 21, has been rescheduled for Saturday, November 19...

The letter ended with directions on where to go and at what time, and I furrowed my eyebrows as I folded the parchment up and gave it back to her.

“But they can't do that,” I protested, glancing at Remus, expecting him to support my argument; unfortunately, judging by the blank expression on his face, he had no idea what Emmeline and I were talking about, and then it hit me—I was probably the only person that Emmeline had told about her situation.

Emmeline bit out a laugh. “But they have. Looks like some bigger cases have come along.”

“What's bigger than—” I began, my voice rising dangerously. Realizing what I was about to say, I winced before adding, bracingly, “Well, at least that's more time for you here, if things go badly—”

“More time for me here?” Emmeline asked mildly, though there was the threat of tears in her eyes. She leaned across the table toward me, whispering quietly. “Don't you see that I want this off my plate? I want to know, one way or the other, so I can prepare for the effects. How long do you think it'll take, once I'm gone, for them to find me? It's not that I'm afraid of dying, it's just that I can't do anything if I'm dead.”

Beside me, Remus crunched on his bacon loudly and appeared supremely interested in designing patterns in the scrambled eggs on his plate; poor bloke must have felt awkward, but he had the sense not to intrude upon this particular type of conversation. Emmeline didn't seem to care that he could hear, so, after a quick glance to my left and right—Remus was still absorbed with his food, and there was no one on my right—I leaned in toward Emmeline so that we were almost nose to nose, our eyes boring into one another's.

“Emmeline, Dumbledore won't let th—”

“Do you really think he can stop them—”

“Do you really think he won't try?” I countered, interjecting just as fiercely as she, and she bit her tongue. We stared at each other for a few moments more, a shadow of a smile touching my lips when I remembered the game we used to play, the one that proclaimed that the first person to look away had the weaker will of mind. Neither of us looked away, and suddenly Emmeline began to smile.

“Which `they' are we talking about, again?”

I grinned, leaning back in my seat. “Doesn't matter. You might have done something illegal, but it was nothing wrong. You're not leaving the school, end of story.” Feeling triumphant and suddenly ravenous, I bit happily into my toast. I won't let anything happen to her.

“Dumbledore takes care of his people,” concluded Remus quietly from my side, still poking at his plate. I smiled at his statement and sent Emmeline a knowing look; she contemplated him for a moment, biting her upper lip, and then, finally, nodded.

As the Hall filled slowly, we talked amiably of the first week of school, laughing, as usual, at the antics of the first years. When Alice, Sirius, and Peter joined the group (James, I was told, was off by the lake, writing his dad), the conversation became even more rambunctious.

“So I'm holding this first year by the scruff of his robes, trying to keep him from kicking me,” Sirius said once we were done eating, finishing yet another story and holding up a clenched fist as he spoke, as if to illustrate his words, “Peter's got his mate cornered—the lad was so angry at being caught—and James is down the hall, dealing with the girl they hexed. Poor girl is hysterical—well, who wouldn't be, with worms for hair and boils springing up everywhere—and no matter what James tried, he couldn't set her straight.”

“In James' defense,” interrupted Peter quickly, laughter in his voice, “Who knows what hexes those boys used?”

“The spells were probably just made up,” I agreed, crossing my arms, slightly put out that I had not been informed of this scenario right after it happened, yet surreptitiously amused as I pictured the scene in my mind.

“Yeah, but he still looked like an idiot,” continued Sirius, and both Emmeline and Alice laughed as he glared at Peter and me for interrupting. “Anyway, then Peeves showed up and bollixed things up even more. He started pegging her with butterbeer bottle caps, and it must have been her first encounter with a poltergeist, because she went crazy. James ended up stunning her and taking her to the hospital wing.”

“Poor thing,” said Alice, glancing around the Great Hall as if hoping to find and comfort the particular first year.

“He stunned her?” I asked a split second later, horrified. “Stunned her, a first year...”

“And muggleborn to boot. I bet she never wants to come back...”

4.5

We continued in this fashion until the mail arrived. The situation felt very surreal, almost like a dream because it couldn't possibly be happening yet; yesterday, it seemed, I was only a first year—but now... now we were adults, about to be thrust out into a turbulent world, and nobody would let us forget it.

“Oh for Merlin's sake!” exclaimed Emmeline, bursting into the babble, spooking her owl half to death, and effectively chilling the mood at the table. She had just opened her copy of the Sunday Prophet, and I leaned forward to view a picture of the moon cycling through all its phases accompanied by the article “WEREWOLVES ON THE PROWL,” by Rita Skeeter.

“What does it say?” asked Alice nervously, fearing, I assumed, a new danger to Frank. Emmeline's eyes scanned the article, quickly, and the others gave her their full attention.

“Listen to this: `Sources report that numerous victims of recent raids and attacks have been found with bites and gashes, one survivor identifying his neighbor, a registered werewolf, as his attacker, despite the waxing moon. Healers are still unsure what werewolf characterizes victims will exhibit.'”

“If they exhibit any at all,” muttered Alice, a finger broodingly tapping against her lips, at the same time that Remus roughly pushed away his plate.

“That's horrible!” he exclaimed, looking very upset, his thin face wrinkled as he furrowed his eyebrows and frowned.

Emmeline ignored him, shaking her head as she continued reading. “`Some extremists argue that all werewolves, because of their temperaments, will inevitably enter the service of You-Know-Who, and are proposing more stringent anti-werewolf legislation—'”

“Rubbish,” growled Sirius, who was glaring daggers at the paper as though he wanted to rip it apart and shove the pieces down the extremists' throats.

“I don't understand, Black, you can't believe the Ministry will just abide these attacks? It's awful,” I gasped, siding with Remus' viewpoint. “Attacking people, not even as a full wolf—”

Sirius' mouth dropped open as though I'd said something utterly inane. “Werewolves are only wolves one night out of thirty, Evans, and many of them don't even—”

“That's what I just said, you pillock—” I interrupted, trying to explain that that was the reason these attacks were so horrible. But he didn't let me get that far.

“Don't be so close minded, dearest,” he spat sarcastically. “Werewolves are normal people the rest of the time—”

“Black, normal people just don't go around attacking—”

“Blimey,” muttered Sirius unbelievingly, crossing his arms and leaning forward as he spoke. “Are you insa—you're not serious, are you?”

I opened my mouth, searching for the words to justify myself. It was difficult, the way he took the conversation and leapt all over the place with it. “...what's wrong with me being afraid of a person who turns into a wolf, a person who might attack me and turn me into a wolf?”

He dropped a first to the tabletop, the motion expressing his dubious agitation. “Are you afraid of all animagi, then, Evans?” he countered. “Because they turn into animals too, and not all animals are friendly.”

“But that's different, Black—”

He laughed. “Oh, really? How?”

“The control—”

“So you're basically saying that all werewolves should be discriminated against, because a few crazy ones have joined You-Know-Who's side?”

I clenched my fists, frustrated that Sirius wasn't listening to a word I said, yet telling myself that he wasn't attacking me, per se, just defending a position that he obviously felt strongly about. But that didn't help lower my heart rate or take the mocking sting out of his words. And it humiliated me to concede that he made a good point. I sighed, trying to explain myself coherently.

“No, will you listen? I—”

“Because then shouldn't all wizards be discriminated against, too? I seem to think that we do most of the damage—”

Peter coughed loudly. “Emmeline, can you go on to another article, please?” He was squirming in his chair, tossing anxious looks at Remus, who had his eyes closed and looked as if he was imagining something from a nightmare. Alice, for her part, was taking it in turns to stare at first me, and then at Sirius, who was still sitting with his arms stubbornly crossed, one eyebrow cocked dubiously at me, before glancing back to me again. I fervently hoped that I looked at least half as confident and unruffled as Sirius did.

Neither Alice nor Peter seemed sure of what to say, and I was thankful for the distraction when Emmeline grunted and tore her eyes to the next meandering column of writing on the front page.

“Oh, here's some good news...” she paused to absorb the information in the next article. “They sentenced the Death Eaters that killed the Auror couple: life in Azkaban.”

Peter snorted at the sentence (“There's no way those dementor are going to keep the Death Eaters locked away,”) but Alice leaned forward with interest.

Emmeline furrowed her eyebrows as she continued to summarize the article. “It says... the two aurors were tortured... one had the Imperious curse put on him, and he was made to torture and kill his wife,” she said, her eyes widening with shock at every word. “He was then tortured by various curses—including Cruciatus—until he couldn't move, and was left to suffocate on his own blood.” She swallowed, looking vaguely sick. “Who could do such a thing?”

“Those are the Death Eaters that attacked Frank and his partner, right?” I asked, feeling nauseous and throwing a look at Sirius. He nodded in conformation, our squabble seemingly forgotten in the wake of this more important news, and I turned my attention back to Emmeline. “I didn't know they had any suspects.”

“The two aurors were dead before Frank and Samuel arrived,” supplied Alice with a strained voice, before she compulsively began chewing on a fingernail. “Frank was the only witness to their identities. D—does it have their names? The ones who did it?”

“I'm sure it does,” said Emmeline faintly, holding the paper up in front of her face and squinting at the very bottom. “Yes, there it is.” She bit her lip before shooting a glance down the Slytherin table and continuing. “It was Misters Mulciber, Avery, and Rosier.”

As soon as the names were out of Emmeline's mouth, Sirius seemed to prick up. He narrowed his eyes and looked past me, scanning the Slytherin table beyond, just as Emmeline had done.

Remus sent her a surprisingly stern look. “Did you say Avery and Rosier?”

“That little git!” Sirius growled before Emmeline could answer, springing over the table. I turned in time to see him dart across the aisle between tables and wrench a sixth year from his seat.

“Sirius!” yelled Peter, who was close on his heels, trying to get a grip on his robes and hold him back. “Don't!”

I shot a worried glance at Emmeline and Alice before jumping to my feet and pulling out my wand. Sirius had forced the sixth year against the wall and was pressing the tip of his wand into the poor lad's forehead.

“You!” Sirius spat, grinding his wand into the boy's skin, making him wince and jerk his head away so that it knocked against the window beside him. A few Slytherin jumped to their feet in surprise and reached for their wands. “You knew all along, didn't you,” he pressed.

“Black, stop it,” I demanded, directing my wand at Sirius' torso and trying to keep my hands from shaking. At this, the other Slytherin paused, wands pointing toward the floor. My heart was pounding in my throat, but at my words both boys stiffened, and, though neither of them looked at me, they wore the same looks of loathing, squared their shoulders the same way. And I realized, this was Regulus, Sirius' younger brother.

“You're going to regret this,” snarled Regulus quietly, staring into his brother's eyes.

“No, I'm going to quite enjoy it,” retorted Sirius, leaning in closer to Regulus' face.

“Sirius!” warned Remus sharply from where he was standing by the Gryffindor table. Sirius frowned, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor for attacking a fellow student,” I said, voice shaking, though it was with adrenaline, not fear. From the corner of my eyes I saw a stream of rubies flying upward out of the Gryffindor hourglass. “Keep going and it'll be fifty more and I'll have you cleaning the owelry, without magic.”

Sirius paused for a moment, and considered his brother before stalking away, Remus and Peter right behind him. Cursing Sirius under my breath, I filled the vacancy before his brother. “Are you alright?” I asked Regulus, glancing at the black mark on his forehead, a remnant of Sirius' anger. He ignored it.

“Filthy mudblood and blood traitors,” he muttered grimly before turning away. I stared agape for a moment, wondering what the boy was thinking, tempted to finish what Sirius had started despite the grinning Slytherins surrounding me. But then I froze, noticing, through the window, the scene that must have commanded Sirius' attention a moment earlier.

“Bloody hell,” I cursed, turning away from the window and dashing after Sirius, motioning hastily for Emmeline and Alice not to follow.

4.6

The morning sunlight shone brightly upon me as I raced down the path toward the lake, wand out and hoping that the image of James—based on Sirius' reaction, it had to be him—standing utterly still, wandless, tensed before a crescent of four Slytherin seventh years, all poised to strike, had only been a trick of the light.

A sliver of the fathomless sage lake came into view as I neared Peter, Remus, and Sirius, who all had their wands out by this point. I followed the three of them as they turned off of the path to cut across the actual grounds, trusting that they knew of a short cut to the lakeshore. The knee-high grass I ran through grabbed at my ankles, threatening to trip me, before turning abruptly into leafy brambles as we entered the fringes of the Forbidden Forest. Surprisingly, I made no qualms at our entrance.

The wind picked up slightly, adding the chorus of innumerable rustling leaves to the cracking and snapping of undergrowth and twigs that pulled against, and inevitably yielded to, our footfalls. The trees here were young, their trunks thin, and I got the impression that I was moving faster than I really was as the tress flashed by so quickly that the movement opposite the trees seemed punctuated, as though the scene was a slideshow of pictures taken at quarter-second intervals.

The three Marauders closed in behind the four Slytherins—who I now identified as Severus Snape and his three friends, Rosier, Wilkes, and Avery—just as Snape fired a curse at James that caught him across the chest, forcing him a step backwards.

“Same bloody curse again, eh?” snarled James, through teeth clenched with pain. A second later, Sirius had disarmed Snape and barreled into him, both James and Rosier had dived toward James' wand, which was partially hidden in the grass several feet away, and Remus and Peter had entered some sort of disarming duel against Wilkes and Avery.

Staying out of sight behind the trees, I leveled my wand at Rosier, but paused a moment before firing a spell at him; it was a moment when my muggle upbringing collided with my newer sense of magical normalcy, and my thoughts on what I was witnessing—James, wrestling on the ground for control of the wand—went haywire. I was dumbfounded for a moment, wondering, on the one hand, why two grown men were fighting for a stupid stick, and on the other, why they were on the ground anyway—shouldn't Rosier be attacking James via magic?

The moment lasted only a heartbeat before I regained control of my senses, and, gritting my teeth, I concentrated as hard as I could on the incantation “Petrificus Totalus!” before aiming at the grappling pair and hoping that I'd just hit Rosier.

I cringed as they both froze, but didn't have time to worry about it; upon bursting from the trees, I took two steps before placing another full body bind on both Wilkes and Avery, neither of whom knew I was there, and turned, taking a final step before bearing down on Snape.

Snape was sporting a swelling eye but had regained his wand, and he and Sirius were dueling among the trees, flashes of light slicing through the air, tree bark blackening into smoke and ash where the curses ricocheted. Snape spotted me as I raised my wand, and, almost as an afterthought, flicked his wand in my direction. Reflexively I jerked behind the nearest tree and grimaced as the unspoken curse whizzed a hairsbreadth beside me to my right, its whine pitching from high to low as it passed. By the time I glanced back over at him, he was frozen, stilled in the process of bringing his wand back to bear on Sirius.

I exhaled, glancing through the soft green light of the grove to make sure that all every Slytherin had been taken care of. They looked ominous in their dark robes: like flesh-colored statues made of stone, which time would never weather down. I shivered at the image despite the summer heat. Sirius, Remus, and Peter were all lowering their wands, each with a determined scowl on his face.

“Evans?” asked Peter, turning toward me and wiping his brow. “Where the bloody hell did you come from?”

“Twenty points from Gryffindor,” I said quietly, gripping my wand so tightly that I almost thought it would snap. I turned to look at the three of them, taking in the sweat dripping from their faces and the dirt plastered to them, though the fight—I refused to think of it as a battle—had only lasted a few seconds. “Each.”

Remus stepped forward “But, Lily, we were only—”

“You still attacked a fellow student, Remus,” I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “That's intolerable.”

“But James—”

“I suggest you get back to the tower.” I stood there, unmoving, as they glanced at each other. Perhaps it was the expression on my face, but eventually they set off back the way they had come, Sirius unable to resist tapping Avery as he passed, causing Avery to topple over into the grass. Once they were out of sight, I collected all four Slytherin wands, having to jerk Snape's from his rigid grasp.

As I released Avery, Snape, and Wilkes from the bind, the back of my neck tingled as though a horrible danger lie just around the corner. Ignoring it, I turned to face the three stiff men, each of whom was glaring at me.

I took a breath before speaking. “Fifty points from Slytherin, all four of you, for attacking a student four-on-one.”

Avery spat. “Filthy mudblood.”

I ignored it, pointing toward the castle with my fistful of wands. “You can collect your wands from Professor Slughorn later this evening. Doubtless he'll want a word.”

None of them moved.

I sighed, pointing my wand at the knot of them. “Or would you prefer to stay out here all night in a body bind? I hear the werewolves are on the prowl.”

At this, Snape's face contorted with anger, his face looking even more sallow than usual, despite his blackened eye. Without a word, both he and Wilkes set back off toward the castle, but paused as Avery did not follow.

“And what about Rosier, eh?” Avery said stubbornly, crossing his arms. “I'm not leaving him alone with the likes of you.”

Gritting my teeth, I turned my back to the lot of them and headed over to where James and Rosier were still frozen in their tussle. Rosier had James on his back, one knee pressing onto James' injured chest, pinning him to the ground, the other pressing down on James' thighs, holding his legs down; a fist was pulled back, ready slam into James' face. As for James, his jaw was clenched shut, his lip was split, and his face was frozen as he winced in preparation for the blow, but James had one up on Rosier: in the struggle James had gotten hold of his wand, squeezed it between Rosier's body and his own, and aimed it at Rosier's gut.

“Rosier is fine,” I said, poking him with the tip of my want and muttering the counter curse. Sighing and rubbing his back, he straightened, tensing once he noticed the position of James' wand. When he noticed that my wand was still trained on him, he spat, just as Avery had done, and glared.

“Now get back to the castle,” I ordered, not even blinking until they were up the path and out of sight, and even then, waiting another two minutes more before lowering my wand.

I turned my attention back to James, who now looked quite ridiculous, and squatted beside him. I chewed the inside of my lip as I peered at his wounds, taking my time, knowing that every second of the bind was growing more and more uncomfortable and tiresome for him. It was the least he deserved.

After convincing myself that his wounds weren't life threatening, I stood, making sure that he could see me through his narrowed eyes.

“I thought you promised not to go do something stupid,” I said simply, before turning my back on him and heading north toward the castle, my eyes staring straight ahead, my feet unconsciously negotiating the loose rock path heading upward along the edge of the cliffs that Hogwarts rested upon. After several steps, I flicked my wand casually, smiling with satisfaction at the curse I heard as James was released from the spell.

4.7

“Evans, wait,” James called from behind me, his voice echoing among the numerous trunks of oak, yew, and pine.

“I'm not interested,” I said shortly, tucking the captured wands into my robes and continuing my trek back up to the castle.

“Maybe not, but I bet you are interested in staying out of a full body bind yourself.” He paused, before adding, “That was a good bit of magic, by the way.”

I took a few more stubborn steps before sighing and stopping. I still refused to look at him, but I heard him jogging through the underbrush to catch up to me, and when he was close enough, I began walking again. He fell into step with me. “What, Potter?” I asked tiredly.

James glanced at me before cracking his neck and stretching his arms pointedly, working out the kinks in his muscles that my spell had put in, wincing as he stretched his wounded chest. “Look, Evans, I'm sorry if you disagree with my methods, but—”

“Your methods?” I choked, before rounding on him and jabbing my wand vehemently at his face. “You are single handedly tying to turn this place into a battleground. And it's not a war zone—at least, not yet.”

“Their fathers—” he began, but I spun away, cutting his words short.

“They aren't their fathers,” I said determinedly, picking my way back up the trail.

James scoffed. “They're of the same mold. Do you honestly believe that they won't grow up to be exactly like dear old dad?”

I hesitated. Noticing this, James bounded forward with a frown on his face, reaching out to grip my upper arm and hold me fast to the spot. “Do you know what they were talking about when I came across them?” He asked, coming to a stop facing me. We had passed high enough up the trail that it skirted under overhanging branches of the Dark Forest, and the dappled shadows of the trees played across his face, darkening his eyes.

His grip was like iron, and I didn't try to pull away. “No...” I said, uncertainly, frowning.

“Avery and Rosier were throwing around Frank's name,” James said, “wishing they could have `silenced' him before he gave testimony against their fathers—like they'd be much of a match for Frank,” he said grimly. “And Wilkes and Snape were sympathizing with them! They were talking about taking the Mark, all four of them! What would you have done? Let them walk away?”

I narrowed my eyes. “There is a certain line that—”

“What line?” He gave my arm an exasperated squeeze, shook it slightly as though trying to shake sense into me. “Lily, if we don't kill them now, they'll only try to kill us later.”

My heart began beating fiercely at the thought, and nervousness clawed at my stomach as I remembered my narrow escape from the raid in Portsmouth. The midday heat was oppressive, lying heavily upon us, and I suddenly felt out of breath. “I...”

“So you see my point.” He released my arm, and I clutched it with my free hand, trying to massage the pain away.

“You can't make that call, James—”

“And why can't I?” His eyes were fierce, almost enough to unnerve me, but not enough to still my tongue. He opened his mouth to say something, hesitated, and finished with a stubborn, “I guess we agree to disagree, then.”

“You can't go around trying to kill students!” I said, throwing up my hands in agitation and beginning to pace.

“There is a bigger picture in motion than just `school', Lily.”

“This is ridiculous,” I said, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear in agitation. “I can't believe I'm even discussing this with you.”

Again, James opened his mouth to speak before catching himself, apparently deciding that I didn't need to hear it. He shrugged, ran a hand through his hair, and set off again, veering off of the path to remain alongside the forest, heading in the general direction of the Quiddich pitch. I hesitated, biting my lower lip, tempted to follow him.

I didn't. Sagging against the nearest tree, I rubbed my temples weakly, trying both to catch my breath and settle my frayed nerves. I had never enjoyed confrontation, and I liked it less, now, in a time of war.

More questions and never the answers I seek, I thought resignedly as, world spinning, I headed back to the castle.

4.8

Later that night, Alice, Emmeline, and I shoved aside our homework, vowing to stay out of the library for as long as possible, and settled down next to the fire in the Common Room to enjoy the end of our Sunday. I curled up with a book in an armchair as close to the fire as I could tolerate, listening amusedly to Alice and Emmeline's repartee—they were playing a game that allowed them to speak only in non-rhetorical questions—as Alice thoroughly beat Emmeline at Wizard's Chess.

“Emmeline, how many games are we going to have to play for you to realize that I'm simply better than you are?” asked Alice, smiling as she closed in on Emmeline's king with a rook.

“Was that a rhetorical statement, Alice?” growled Emmeline, studying the board unblinkingly.

“May I offer a suggestion?” Alice shifted on the pillows that she was lying on so that she could reach out and signal to Emmeline's pieces where they should move.

Emmeline swatted Alice's hand away. “Do you want to loose those fingers?”

“Why are you such a horrid loser?”

“Rhetoric! I'm up one point!” Emmeline crowed triumphantly, and Alice sat back abruptly as she realized that she had walked straight into that abmush. Emmeline beamed. “So you thought you are the only one who can play at strategy, eh?”

I shook my head, laughing, and turned back to my novel just as a piece of parchment was slipped onto the pages. The script was small and cramped, but from the glistening ink I could make out a list of dates.

I glanced up, surprised to find James standing over me. “Those are my suggestions for the Hogsmeade dates,” he said abruptly, scratching tensely at his temple. He was speaking quietly, hardly loud enough to be heard over the din the rest of Gryffindor was making, and I had to lean forward to hear him.

“Okay, thanks,” I said slowly, irked that I had forgotten to write out the dates, and slightly touched that he had remembered. I folded the paper into quarters and closed the pages of my book onto it. “I guess I'll take a look at them, later, and turn this in to Dumbledore the next time I see him.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said, nodding and turning away. He froze halfway through the motion, looking over his shoulder at me to say, “but, erm, you might want to re-write it because my handwriting is somewhat...” he paused, searching for the right word. “Unreadable.”

I smiled thinly at his awkwardness, hugging the book absentmindedly to my chest. “It looks legible enough to me.”

He ran his tongue nervously over his split lip, and I had the mad desire to dash across the room and kiss him, to run my hands through his hair, to tread the dangerous frontier I knew he'd, unwittingly, take me to. He must have seen the change in my eyes, for he raised his eyebrows nearly imperceptibly, and froze, daring me to look away.

I blushed, taking a deep breath and clenching my book with my fingers so hard that they turned white with my attempt to appear impassive.

“Right.” He nodded again, the shadow of a knowing smile upon his lips and the impression `forgiven' in his eyes, and turned away, heading back over to his friends.

“Right,” I echoed faintly, furrowing my eyebrows and glancing back down at my book, where the rumpled edge of the timetable was poking from between the pages. Tapping it absently, I became highly conscious that both Alice and Emmeline were staring at me, mouths open.

“What the bloody hell was that about?” asked Emmeline, raising her eyebrows.

I turned to stare out of the window, not daring to let them see my face lest they notice the blush. “It's nothing,” I said absently. “Head duties.”

But if it is nothing, I thought vaguely, staring out over the lush peaks of the forest trees, losing myself in the mountains of purple clouds that stacked heavily down upon one another, hiding the sunset, then why do you feel like you just ran a marathon?

I shivered and sank back into the chair, reliving the way he had closed his eyes and seemed to smile when he had kissed me. Yet I still hadn't figured out... why had he run off, why was there pain in his eyes?

“It's much less complicated,” I muttered to myself as the sunset faded to darkness and I was left staring at my own reflection in the windowpane, “to just be mad at him.”

I tossed a look past Emmeline and Alice to watch James and Sirius coaching a third year who was facing off in a “championship” round of gobstones against his best mate, who was, in turn, being egged on by Remus and Peter. James was laughing, pounding the lad on the back for pulling off a particularly stunning gob. As expected, I hadn't been watching for long before James looked casually up at me and caught my eye, a smile lingering on his lips. Our eyes met for only a moment—one that spoke volumes, filled with meaning that I could not quite understand—before the third year was squirted in the face with a seemingly unending spray of foul-smelling liquid from this mate's gobstone set, his surprised shout nearly overwhelming his friend's victory whoop. The boy abruptly sat back in his chair, knocking into James with surprise and breaking our eye contact.

“Tough luck, Alban,” consoled James, fighting a smile, as Sirius called for a rematch. A split second later James conjured a rag for the sputtering lad to wipe his face, and, beaming, young Alban accepted it, chattering the whole time of a strategy that he would use the next time, but James had to watch.

The corners of my mouth curled into an irresistible smile as I shook my head with amazement. Talk about a change of face...

James Bleeding Potter.

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9. Interlude IV

---

Alastor Moody was not the type of man to yell, or sulk, or throw some sort of tantrum; he was quieter than that, his subtle rage reaching to the very marrow of the cause of his anger. But he strived for excellence and never hesitated, if someone was found lacking, to fix the problem with a simple session of what the more experienced Aurors dubbed “an exercise in building character”.

Frank was still smarting, hours later, from a tongue-lashing that had not only bruised his ego, but left his stomach clenched with shame; this particular verbal exhibition of Moody's displeasure had been accompanied by the rhythm of Moody pounding a fist upon his desk—a fist that had been clenched around the day's Prophet.

Even though the man had been sitting down and Frank standing, Frank had still stiffened his back and clenched his teeth as the words barreled into him, Moody's steady, even tone making the fierce lecture all the worse: Rita Skeeter writing articles about information that is supposed to be behind locked doors! How did she find out, Longbottom, eh? Oh, you don't know—you don't know! Do you want to be an Auror or not, son, this is supposed to be your specialty—I reckon you better get your arse in gear and find out how she did it or you'll find yourself out of the bloody program, and until you do I'll have you tailing these werewolves until you can't stand the sight of a dog—

It suddenly occurred to Frank that, while the entire Auror department regarded Frank's new assignment as an obscure form of punishment, Moody had simply reacted to the circumstances in a way that allowed Frank to more efficiently gather information for the fledgling Order of the Phoenix. In fact, aside from the harsh reprimand, Frank didn't regard this new situation as a punishment at all, but rather as a sort of premature promotion; shadowing, spying, gathering intelligence on the enemy.... this was the sort of work that Frank had signed on for, and Moody knew it.

The Order.... Frank drew in a long breath. He had gotten himself into something very dangerous—plunged headfirst into it, actually. Fellow members estimated that the Order was outnumbered by Death Eaters three to one, and Voldemort was beginning to catch on to their existence: attacks targeting Order members were happening, now, with increasing frequency. The Order was a gamble, a long shot conceived by Dumbledore himself—but there was so much at stake anyway that making a distinction between just life, or life as an Auror, or life in the Order, was futile.

Frank grinned, shaking his head at his own foolhardiness. And I decided to wager in all three arenas.

The air of the pub that Frank found himself in was suffocating, choked with pipe smoke that created a haze over the candlelight. It was dim, the pub's patrons existing simply as shadowy figures through the gray miasma, silhouettes shrouded in dark garb, hoods drawn, eyes gleaming. It seemed that the wizards who frequented this place preferred a dark and edgy atmosphere; Frank, when deciding which werewolves were suspicious enough to tail, had chosen wisely.

This werewolf really is twisted in the head, thought Frank grimly as he sipped his drink, covertly studying the bloke through the reflection in his once dusty glass. Though he only knew one werewolf to use for comparison—Remus—the contrast between the two was startling: Remus was quiet, slight of stature, a perfectly respectable gentleman; Frank's target was a large, loud man with a history of violence who had miraculously found a job at the Ministry as a liaison to St. Mungo's, counseling recent victims of werewolf attacks on how to handle their situation. Frank shivered, watching the man bite ravenously into a bleeding steak and savor the flavor, licking the taste from his lips and fingers with a smile, letting the juice dribble through the long stubble on his chin. The man kept his nails long, using them to spear his steak as he ate, and it was painfully obvious that he reveled in his plight. It appeared that Frank was the only person in the pub who seemed to mind.

He wasn't sure that he was comfortable with the thought that this man, Fenrir Greyback, was the person adjusting other werewolves to their new lifestyle.

At long last, after several dice games and many more drinks, Greyback finished his meal and tossed a few coins to the barkeep. “S'you t'morrow,” he slurred to his cloaked companions before staggering drunkenly from the pub, flinging the door open only to let it slam shut behind him.

No, you won't, thought Frank with a hidden smile as he quickly knocked back the remainder of his drink, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes at the motion. The next night Frank planned on borrowing Moody's invisibility cloak—if Moody's anger had blown over by then—to walk as Greyback's unseen right-hand man.

Frank gave the werewolf a seven-second head start before rising and slipping unnoticed to the door, pulling his wand from his robes, and fervently hoping that the steak had satiated Greyback's blood lust. A quick mental shake, a quiet breath, and then he was out the of the pub, onto the deceivingly calm street.

He slunk along the shadows near the sidewalk, edging away from the lamppost lights, calmly dogging Greyback's heavy footsteps. It was only a matter of time before Greyback took advantage of the chaos of an attack and struck again, or—Frank thought, his heart rate spiking—before he was called upon by the Darkness itself. Setting his teeth, Frank vowed to be there when it happened. Do it, or die.

---

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10. Chapter Five: Progeny

Chapter Five - Progeny

5.1

It always amazed me how alive Dumbledore's office seemed to be: on the walls, the portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses studied me askance as they flicked from portrait to portrait, chatting merrily; Fawkes crooned contentedly as he preened his bright, sweeping feathers, glancing up every so often to grace me with new a melodious warble; various silver contraptions clicked and whirred as they worked, powered by energy created by their own motion; before me, a cluster of orbs floated in a tall crystal vial, each orb bearing a number and filled with a different brightly-colored oil, which, through some combination of density and pressure, determined the temperature. The orbs seemed to glow in the soft morning sun, light bending through glass to splay bold shadows across the dark wood of the Dumbledore's desk. These dancing shadows captivated me as I waited for my Headmaster to return, thumbing the parchment James had given me restlessly.

The greater part of a week had passed since I agreed to take the Hogsmeade dates to Dumbledore, though it wasn't as if I was putting it off. The man simply eluded me; during meals (rather, the meals he attended) he was always in a deep conversation with another Professor that I dared not interrupt, and he never seemed to be in the Teacher's Workroom or in his office, no matter how long I waited for him to show. I couldn't help but wonder, nervousness flittering in my stomach, what was going on outside of school that would occupy his mind—and his time—so completely.

Finally, as I had approached Professor McGonagall after breakfast the following Thursday, she sighed before I even opened my mouth to ask after Dumbledore, and pointed vaguely off in the direction of Dumbledore's office.

“If you hurry, Miss Evans, he should be able to see you—”

“Thank you, Professor!” I had called over my shoulder as I took off down the hall, running as best I could with a textbook-filled bag slung over my shoulder. Though she shook her head sternly at my rush, silently admonishing me to walk, I saw the shadow of a smile upon her lips as she turned away. Several shortcuts later, I was puffing my way up the spiraling staircase guarded by two griffins; the office had been empty, the door ajar, and I had collapsed into the chair behind his desk.

Still waiting—rather impatiently—for Dumbledore to arrive, I reluctantly tore my eyes from the orbs' glittering shadows and forced myself to lay the folded parchment on the desktop. With a sigh, I reached down into my bag to proofread my Herbology essay one last time just as the door opened.

“Ah, Lily, I was expecting you,” said Dumbledore pleasantly as he entered the office, his eyes twinkling as he motioned for me to stay seated. As he crossed the room and draped his cloak delicately across his chair before lowering himself into it, I felt myself comforted; he did seem slightly strained, but his deep, dry voice was strong. “Professor McGonagall mentioned that you were very eager to speak with me. I trust that these first few weeks of school have gone smoothly?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said lightly with a brief smile, sliding the parchment across the desk. “Sir, I don't want to keep you from any other business you might need to attend to. This is a list of potential Hogsmeade dates that Potter and I would like you to look at… when you have the time…” I trailed off, studying him for any reaction that might indicate what sort of things were running through his mind. But he merely smiled.

“I assume that Hogsmeade isn't the primary reason for this visit, Lily,” he said, opening the parchment and scanning its contents with a satisfied nod of his head. “You could have given this list to Professor McGonagall at any time.” Fawkes fluttered over to perch on the back of Dumbledore's chair, while the Headmaster turned his attention to me. The air surrounding him was of the utmost patience, as though he would wait hours, silently staring, for me to elaborate.

I glanced into his eyes sheepishly, embarrassed that I had been so easy for him to read; it was true—there was another matter that I had debated asking him about. I took a breath, deciding how to word my request. “When—when Emmeline goes to her hearing,” I began carefully, “can I please—can I go with her?”

Dumbledore tilted his head thoughtfully as he picked up a quill, readied it with ink, and wrote “approved” in a delicate, thin script across the parchment I had given him. “Are you worried for her?” he asked as he wrote.

“No,” I announced confidently. “She didn't do anything wrong, and Mr. Crouch is sure to see that. I just thought it would be nice if she had some… moral support.”

The look Dumbledore gave me was unreadable, but he hesitated, considering my request, and a swelling of hope rose in my stomach. As he appeared to reach a decision, I leaned forward eagerly. “That decision lies with Emmeline, and with her escort. If they both agree, I will excuse you from duties for the day.”

I nodded, slowly, accepting the parchment back from Dumbledore and folding it into squares. “Thank you, Sir—”

“Lily, are you sure there is nothing else that you wish to discuss with me?”

The words were unexpected, but it was as though he had triggered an automatic subconscious response for all of my repressed concerns to suddenly rise to mind, and I leaned back in my seat as the realizations hit me. One particular thought, aside from the silly notion of Dumbledore reads minds, sprang instantly to my tongue. I debated whether or not to speak for a moment, remembering the mess I had made out of the Quidditch practice situation, before timidly nodding. “May I ask you something concerning James Potter?”

Dumbledore smiled down upon me over laced fingers, illuminated by the beams of sunlight streaming into the room from the window behind him. “And what about Mr. Potter do you wish to address, Lily?”

I squirmed in my seat, forcing the words out of my mouth. “Forgive me, Sir, but why was he chosen to be Head Boy?”

The words were hardly out of my mouth before one of the portrait Headmasters, a sour-looking man with a dark goatee who had been pretending to read a book, glowered at me. “The impertinence!” he drawled thinly, turning toward Dumbledore for support. “In my day, students never challenged the authority of this institution…”

I blanched, and one glance at Dumbledore's eyebrows, which were raised in amusement, made me rush to finish naming my concerns. “I mean to say—Potter and I have talked about this before, briefly… he told me that he didn't think he was the right person for the job.” I suddenly stopped talking, not wanting to sound as though I was questioning Dumbledore's judgment. As I waited for Dumbledore to respond, I couldn't help but wonder if in my anxiety
over James' “methods”, I had overstepped my bounds.

“If I may ask,” began Dumbledore as he fished a piece of hard candy from a bowl on his desk and popped it into his mouth. He gestured to the bowl, offering me a piece, and I reached out to take a shrink-wrapped lemon drop, if only to give my hands something to do. “Why do you believe that Mr. Potter was inappropriately selected?”

The blunt question gave me pause. “He is so… impulsive. I'm afraid he's going to do something stupid without considering the consequences,” I finally admitted, before the betraying thought flittered across my mind: when he does consider his actions, though, he handles things very well. You said so yourself, didn't you, Lily?

Outwardly, I was controlled, my voice low and conversational; on the inside, my stomach was rolling as the part of me that wanted this niggling question answered battled with the part of me that, suddenly, didn't want to jeopardize James' headship. “The other day I had to stop a fight between him and four Slytherin boys whose fathers…” I trailed off and raised a hand to massage my throat, wishing I suddenly didn't feel like throwing up.

“Go on, Lily,” Dumbledore prompted quietly, staring at me quite intently. The sunlight still blazed white behind him, and awed shivers ran through my body at the sublime sight. I felt like I could confide anything in this man. He was Dumbledore, after all.

“He said that if we don't kill them now, they'll only try to kill us later.” This time, I didn't sputter at the uncomfortable thought. Yet for some reason, I couldn't meet Dumbledore's gaze; I glanced down and spoke to my hands as I unwrapped the candy. “I despise the Death Eaters and everything they stand for with every fiber of my being, and I'll do what I can to oppose them, but there is a line that we can't cross. Isn't there?”

I bit my lip and raised my head, not knowing how my Headmaster would answer. Indeed, his response threw me completely off balance.

“Lily, I believe that you need to see something.” Seeming undisturbed by my bewildered stare, he summoned a large stone bowl from one of the shelves of his bookcase, letting the rune-covered basin hover in the air for a moment before lowering it to settle onto the desktop. “Please, stand. Do you know what this is?”

“Your Pensieve?” I asked quietly as I got to my feet and looked down into Dumbledore's swirling memories. As he nodded and nudged the bowl, the silvery thoughts seemed to become agitated, spinning faster within the bowl until they appeared to be a shimmering liquid mass, a glass in which I could see the foggy form of a dark-haired, bespectacled student growing clearer. I furrowed my eyebrows as I recognized the lanky figure. “James?”

Again, the Headmaster nodded. “You see, Mr. Potter and I have already spoken of the incident that you just addressed.”

5.2

I let the force of hundreds of class-bound students and their professors propel me toward the Great Hall, falling into their ranks thoughtlessly as what I viewed in the Pensieve replayed itself in my mind, its implications ricocheting around my skull.

Ignoring the loud crush of students pressing in on me, I slipped unseeingly through the cavernous doorway at the end of the Hall and lit upon the familiar path to the greenhouses, faintly noting autumn's touch, a cool wind that rattled the Hogwarts grounds, whipping through the grass and tearing at trees and students alike as it journeyed ever southward.

Normally I would have particularly enjoyed the weather, but I only shivered as I slipped into the shadow of a passing cloud. My eyebrows furrowed with the thought that sprang irresistibly into my mind…

James was seated before Dumbledore's occupied desk, still in his Quidditch practice gear, arms crossed loosely and an intense air of concentration about him as he stared blankly, seeming to look through the Headmaster. Dumbledore's face was unreadable as he watched James sigh and run a hand through his hair, before shifting so that he was leaning forward in his chair, hands clasped and his forearms resting on his knees. I was watching, unnoticed, from where I had landed alongside Dumbledore's desk.

“It's hard to find the words,” James said slowly, bracingly, whetting his lips with his tongue. “I know I shouldn't have attacked Snape, Avery, Rosier, and Wilkes, just as I know that what I said to Evans was rash, but I can't help but think that Rosier and Avery's fathers indirectly…” he trailed off, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

“You blame them for causing your mother's relapse,” stated Dumbledore softly, a strange expression, mild horror tinged with sorrow, crossing his face as the thought occurred to him. James didn't appear to notice.

Angrily, as though all his pent up feelings were suddenly erupting, James used his palms to scrub at the tears gathering in his eyes as he jolted upright in his seat. His voice was hard when he spoke, defensive. “The Peakes were close family friends. The day she heard about their murders she was back in the hospital, in worse condition than before. Two days later—”

I was struck my Dumbledore's presence as he met James' stare, his eyes fierce, though compassion rimmed his irises as he said, “James, I know it was hard to watch your mother struggle with her illness, and I can't condone what their fathers did—but you will not attack fellow students, especially while you occupy the position of Head Boy. Do you understand me?”

“But she relapsed!” burst James as he exploded to his feet, his fists clenched. Startled, I jumped back, closer to Dumbledore. “Head Boy be damned, my mother is dead because of them,” James breathed as he stared down at the Headmaster.

“James…” warned Dumbledore firmly. Each word was the hardest steel, yet a whisper that somehow reverberated around the room, washing out my horrified gasp.

With a start, I realized that the chill I was feeling came not from the combination of Dumbledore's memory and recalling James' impassioned “the world has already ended”, but from the small drops of rain landing lightly upon me. I threw a glance up at the gray sky, squinting up into the rain as it peppered my face; frozen in my tracks, I closed my eyes, letting the rain streak unhindered across my brow. I felt unsettled, like I was spinning in circles despite my firmly planted feet. Trying to wipe my mind clean of the Pensieve's shock, I concentrated on discerning the squelching footfalls of my peers through the cascading rainwater now gracing the ground.

My eyes opened with a jolt as the rain abruptly stopped, and I realized that someone was holding a cloak over my head, using it as a makeshift umbrella. Sensing a presence behind me, the heat and almost-touch of someone standing too close, I glanced over my shoulder, my heart beginning to race at the thought of coming face to face with James after what I had seen. But when I looked, I found that it was Bertram Aubrey who stood grinning down at me from under the rest of the cloak, comically stooped over so that we could both fit underneath without the fringes of the cloak rising above my knees.

“Wotcher, Lily,” he yelled pleasantly, fighting to keep his voice, and cloak, from being carried off by the persistent wind. “Quite a shower, eh?”

I nodded, smiling despite myself and absentmindedly wringing out my dripping hair. “Summer wanted to go out with a bang, I suppose.”

“Yeah, and it's trying to take my cloak with it.”

We walked on toward the greenhouses in step, and as the initial mirth caused by crossing paths with an old friend bubbled down to a simmering contentment, I let our idle chatter distract me from the ever-present niggling of the Pensieve scene, consciously attempting to delay the inevitable dwellings.

We parted ways at the greenhouse door, Bertram honoring me with a mock-bow as he swept the cloak from over my head with a flourish. Feeling slightly out-of-body, I rolled my eyes as I thanked him for the use of his cloak, before shaking my head amusedly as I crossed the threshold of the classroom, wondering whether I had only imagined the flirtatious undertones behind his actions. Based upon his demeanor toward me in Potions as of late, I decided, with an unwanted blush, that I hadn't.

Hot in the summer and drafty in winter, the greenhouses always smelled of damp earth, and I took a deep, steadying breath as I made my way to my usual seat in the back. Pushing aside the dirty gloves and abandoned spades cluttering the tabletop to make room for my bag, I plopped down into my seat, waiting for Emmeline and Alice to arrive. The sound of the rain seemed amplified as it beat against the glass roof, and I looked past the green tendrils of vines climbing along the window to watch it fall.

The rain had gotten harder, empowered by flashes of lightening, and I could just make out the silhouettes of students dashing toward the shelter of the greenhouses. Moments later, the majority of the class arrived, decked out in various water-repelling charms; Emmeline and Alice, for their part, each greeted me through the distortion of the bubblehead charm.

As they took their normal seats, chattering about the sudden cold front and inspecting their homework for water stains, I noticed that the Marauders had arrived behind my friends. Talking animatedly amongst themselves, they happened to be the calmest of the class, sitting off to the side of the room, their heads huddled secretively over something they had placed on the tabletop. I strained to make out what it was, hoping they weren't about to release some venomous creature quietly pocketed from Care of Magical Creatures, but only succeeded in alerting Sirius to my interest. Spotting the curiosity on my face, he nudged James in the ribs. As James raised his head to look at me, shaking water from his hair, I forced my eyes away from him, the Pensieve's image swimming across my vision once again.

They stared at each other, neither backing down, before James shook his head quickly and clawed at the Head Boy badge pinned to his robes. “I don't deserve this badge,” James said shortly, tossing it upon the desk and stooping to gather his things. He froze as Dumbledore spoke, both of them attempting to hide the pain crossing his own face.

“And what would you have me do, James?” asked Dumbledore gently, hiding his exasperation and leaving the implications of his statement hanging heavily in the air. “We do what we must. I know that you will follow in the footsteps of Mr. Longbottom and Miss Vance and tangle yourself in this war eventually… but I implore you, you cannot let yourself become targeted until absolutely necessary.”

With that, Dumbledore simply slid the badge back across the desk toward James, looking at him expectantly. James glanced up quickly with surprise at the Headmaster's words before catching himself and lowering his eyes to where the badge rested on the desktop.

“I trust you, Sir, and I'll do my best,” sighed James after a few moments of thought, forcing his anger away as he picked up the badge and fingered it absentmindedly. His temper gone, James sank slowly back into his seat, seeming weak from the force of his vented emotions. “I just feel so… helpless,” he concluded earnestly. I lowered my eyes to the floor for a moment, feeling as though I was intruding on something I oughtn't. His words, however, picked up tempo as he continued to speak, and my eyes were drawn irresistibly back to him. “And I'll continue to feel this way until I'm part of the fight—”

“You may not raise a wand against your enemies, but that does not mean you are out of the fight. You make a stand simply by your choices, by living what you believe in.” Dumbledore smiled sadly. It seemed like he was leaving so much unsaid. “You care deeply for a great many things, James, and I admire your passion; this fervor is one of the reasons why you hold that badge. But you need to focus on your job—you and Miss Evans must unite the school, James, not divide it.”

James stared up at the Headmaster before cupping the Head Boy badge in his hands and concentrating on it. “I know. I've been a fool,” he muttered, nearly indistinguishably.

“That cannot be,” said Dumbledore kindly, reaching out to affectionately clasp the young man's shoulder. “I do not place my faith in fools.”

The memory faded away, and I realized that I had my own Head Girl badge nestled in my palm, my eyebrows furrowed as I stared at it, seeming to see it for what it was for the first time.

5.3

With October came the start of the Quidditch tournament, and I found myself perched on the edge of one of the hard wooden benches lining the Quidditch pitch, my chilled fingers gripping the edge of my seat, almost completely oblivious to the cold from the rain seeping into my skin. Squinting through the gray lines of rain, my gaze was locked onto the Quaffle, watching with awe as it slipped seamlessly from Chaser to Chaser, passing in complicated weaves and kick-backs by the agile flyers. It was almost—almost—a disappointment when the ball was out of the players' grasp, when it was launched from obscure angles toward the goal posts, ricocheting from the hoop rims to score. It seemed absurd that such a nimble, delicate-looking performance was being pulled off by a team with such intent looks of determination upon their faces.

Passionate was the only fitting word to describe the play—to describe him—and there was no question why Ravenclaw seemed so defeated. After a mere half-hour, Gryffindor was already leading by 140 points with a score of 170, determined not to let Ravenclaw take any more goals than the three they had already scored. The game had been clean—no fouls but plenty of near-misses by the Beaters, and it seemed that the front James had put together was untouchable.

I mentioned this to Alice, who was jumping up and down next to me, whooping and brandishing the rain-tattered banner she had made, but it was Emmeline who answered. Tapping my hand with fingers of ice to get my attention, she pointed well above the goal posts, where the dark silhouettes of two players hung in the air.

“Look,” she said, her eyes narrowed with concentration as she watched the Ravenclaw Captain confer briefly with her Seeker. “If we foul Ravenclaw, or they pull off a few goals, this game is their's—if that Seeker really is as good as they say he is.”

“Conflict of interests, eh?” I said, smirking evilly and nudging Emmeline in the ribs. “Do you want Gryffindor to win, or precious Broderick to catch the Snitch?”

“Helm can fly around blindfolded right now, for all I care,” she merely grunted, her eyes still trained on the Ravenclaw players. I snorted, turning back to the rest of the game; really, the game was intense, but Emmeline took it to a whole new level.

My eyes found the Quaffle again just as James faked out the Ravenclaw Keeper, seeming like he was going to drive straight through the hoop before veering off at the last second, the Quaffle sliding off his fingertips in the opposite direction to score. As the stands around me erupted to their feet, Emmeline tore at my sleeve.

“There he goes,” she yelled, leaning forward against the wooden railings of the stands, watching with horror as Broderick dove toward the fray of players, one arm outstretched and a look of pure joy on his face. “He's going to catch it! Where the bloody hell is Glo—”

In the next instant, all the cheers in the stadium choked off into bated breath as Broderick smashed into a Gryffindor Chaser, his broomstick catching the player's shoulder before Broderick himself collided with him. A whistle split the air as both players tumbled off of their brooms and fell the twenty-five feet to the ground, and as a charm fired by several teachers slowed the pair enough that they landed at more or less a safe speed, all the noise in the stadium cut off long enough for everyone to draw in a breath.

“FOUL!” roared Gryffindor, just as Ravenclaw erupted into screams that sounded torn between dismay and delight. The announcer seemed not to know what to say. I turned to Emmeline for clarification as Madame Hooch forced herself into the throng of teachers now surrounding the unconscious pair.

“It is a foul, isn't it?” I asked her, biting my lip. “Oh, I do hope they're alright…”

Alice looked stricken, biting her fingernails as she studied the players, who were now being levitated from the boggy grass and toward the castle. Emmeline merely shook her head. “No, Helm caught it before the collision. Catching the Snitch ends the game, period. We—”

As though on cue, Madame Hooch spoke, her voice magnified by magic. In her raised hand, she held a tiny, struggling, golden ball. “Broderick Helm catches the Snitch, to tie the game 180 to 180.” Ravenclaw's suspicions confirmed, they started cheering, chanting Broderick's name.

“The stupid idiot flew in front of Broderick on purpose, he must have,” Alice said definitively, still looking over the pitch. “To try to keep Broderick from catching the Snitch.”

Emmeline snorted as we began to press our way out of the stands, the exhilaration from a good game slightly soured by the injuries. “Who in their right mind would do that?”

“Who else? Look and see who is missing,” said Alice, gesturing to where the Gryffindor team had met in the air. They seemed worried, and after only passing nods to the Ravenclaw team, they took off toward the castle, blurs of scarlet closely pursued by blurs of blue. I frowned at the formation they flew in: a wedge, like that of a flock of geese, but with the head position empty.

My stomach sank. It couldn't have been any stupid idiot other than James Potter.

5.4

“Whether he flew into it on purpose or not is debatable,” said Peter later that evening. The whole of Gryffindor had returned to the tower to change into dry cloths, and then had congregated in the Common Room to discuss the game, our chances for the Quidditch Cup, the merits of different House players, and James' most recent stint to the Hospital Wing. I was sitting on one of the overstuffed, tattered couches in a back corner of the room surrounded by most of the Seventh Years—sans James, who had not yet returned from the Hospital Wing, and Remus, who had gone to check on him—in companionable conversation. “It's admirable to say he did, but I'd rather we didn't start that rumor—then we'll have the whole of Ravenclaw touting that James should have been fouled for Blatching, for which they would have received a foul shot, potentially allowing them to win.”

I sank back against the cushion with a sigh of relaxation—my first in what seemed like ages—letting myself go limp as I listened with half an ear as Emmeline eagerly engaged Peter, who seemed to have entered his forte, his normal timidity forgotten. I found myself growing groggy, squashed as I was between Alice and Sirius, our upper bodies leaning against each other, holding the others upright. With a sharp intake of breath, I realized that I had been lulled mostly asleep by the rhythm of both Alice and Sirius' breathing, and detangled myself from the others, stretching.

“Anyone up for a walk?” I asked, glancing at my watch before pointedly eyeing the other girls. “It's actually still early…”

“I'm game,” said Alice, holding out her hand and letting me pull her to her feet. The small diamond of her engagement ring dug into my hand as I did so, a subtle reminder of her resilient devotion; I fancied that it was a cry for me not to let my hopes and dreams be trampled underfoot the rampaging world. A sudden unexplainable sense of longing filled my chest, almost of… jealousy. I coughed deeply, trying to uproot the feeling, before shaking myself, smiling warmly at Alice, and turning to Emmeline.

“Emmeline?” I prompted, raising my voice over Sirius, who was glaring good-naturedly at Alice and me as he stretched gratefully out over the whole couch, muttering about couch hogs. It took me two more tries to break into Emmeline and Peter's in-depth, fast-paced argument over Quidditch teams before I finally got her attention and mentioned that I needed to ask her something. After a mock-exasperated sigh at me, and a promise to Peter that they'd finish the conversation later, Emmeline let me push her out of the Portrait Hole, Sirius' motherly command to “be in by curfew,” fading behind us.

We were halfway down the Grand Staircase when we encountered a red-faced second year, who was holding a bottle carefully in his hands as he leapt up the stairway, attempting to canvass three steps with every stride.

“Did James Potter pass this way?” he wheezed, stooping to catch his breath. “Madame Pomfrey sent me to give him this potion for his concussion—he left it in the hospital wing…”

“Sorry, lad, haven't seen him,” said Emmeline, ruffling the kid's hair. “And I don't think you will, either, especially to give him medicine.”

I fought a laugh as the second year sighed dejectedly, and as we continued down the stairs, I lingered over the trick steps that Emmeline and Alice unconsciously avoided, wondering if James was finding refuge somewhere beneath our feet.

5.5

The evening air seemed almost flat as Alice, Emmeline, and I reached the rocky cliffs furthest away from the castle that overlooked the lake; everything was dim, gray and shadowy under a roof of night sky and patchy cumulus that had rained themselves out, the clouds' curves slightly illuminated by the pale glint of moonlight that had found its way through the dense moisture. It was early yet—my watch read three-after-eight as we stumbled quietly upon the extending ledge, eager to utilize every possible second of freedom out of doors.

Emmeline promptly began pitching stones as far out into the lake as she could, listening to them connect with the water with a very distant yet satisfying splash before the sound was devoured by the night. Alice took a seat against one of the large boulders surrounding us, wrapping her arms around her knees as she leaned against the stone, and I simply stood motionless, overtaken by thought, staring down absently at the fringe of trees crossing over the lake path, the site of the proceeding weekend's unsettling conversation with James.

I felt restless, and suddenly, with a sigh, I sprawled out upon the ground, belly down with my cheek resting against crossed arms, head positioned so that I looked out over the flat lake. The stone I pressed into was cool and damp from the day's showers, and as I closed my eyes, I felt as though I was sinking into the rock itself. I fancied that I could feel myself moving indescribably fast as the world spun, and almost wanted to dig my nails into the rock as if that would keep me from sliding off of the cliff.

“It's amazing that we don't slip off,” I decided pensively, my voice muffled into my arms and nearly carried away on the breeze.

Emmeline snorted in surprise, and I sensed her hesitate before she smoothly hefted another stone, taking in its weight before throwing it. “What?”

“It just amazes me that something I can't see, or even really feel, is holding my spec of a body onto the planet. It's like…”

“Like magic?” ventured Alice conversationally, inviting me to continue sharing my groggy revelations with a smile.

“It makes me feel very… helpless,” I said, pushing myself up to sit cross-legged with my back to the lake, the feeling of vertigo lurching my stomach as my perspective shifted ninety degrees. “Like those invisible strings tugging us to and fro, connecting us in ways we can't imagine to who knows how many people. And it only takes one twitch to alter the whole arrangement; choices made today can unwittingly force the actions of others, or even decide the outcome of a war years down the road…”

“Invisible strings, paramount choices… what's your point, Lily? What're you leading into?”

I smiled at Emmeline, at her endeavors to find reason in my meandering mind as if she expected everything I said to have a point. As I looked at her, it suddenly occurred to me that, well, I was leading into another train of thought, if unconsciously.

Might as well get the bollocks out of the way up front... I thought to myself, quoting James as I collapsed back against the ground, this time laying with my arms folded behind my head so that I stared at the immense blanket of clouds looming over us. Abruptly, I realized what had just run though my mind, what James had meant when he said it, and fought a blush. I took in a breath, trying to decide the best way to present my position and explain the jumbled mess that James Potter had made of my head. “...I was just considering the concept of cause and effect.”

“Yeah?”

“Specifically...” Specifically what? How, through everything that had happened over the summer and school year thus far, James and I had both changed—how it seemed like we were at the end of feeling each other out, our relationship teetering on the edge of deliverance—how frightened of this, how desperate for this, I was? No; I couldn't explain every event that had subtly affected our tangled relationship—I'd mire myself in a bog if I tried. “It's complicated and involved,” I settled on, shaking my head and trying to master the tremors running through my hands. “But it all invariably centers on James.”

“James?” Emmeline asked with a smile, quirking an eyebrow at Alice.

“Potter,” I corrected quickly, but I caught a knowing glimmer in Emmeline's eyes and knew the damage had been done.

“Well, what about him?” asked Alice, exchanging a look with Emmeline.

“He just…” I trailed off, sighing wearily at the moon, which had partially emerged from behind a group of clouds. “I can't keep him out of my head.”

Emmeline laughed, and I hastened to amend my statement. “No, I mean—” I took another breath. “It's like all of his actions and motivations fix themselves in my mind—it's like I need to figure him out.”

They let the sentence hang in the air, turning it over, before Alice, leaning slightly toward me, said simply, “When you stop trying to figure him out, you will.” Her ring caught a wave of moonlight and twinkled at me.

I opened my mouth to respond, but as I tried to sort out the thoughts and emotions streaming through my body, the words didn't come. Slowly, after acknowledging Alice's words with an almost rueful laugh, I gazed back at the moon.

What James offered, I reflected, was far from security—it was almost madness, another uncertain, and unsafe, variable in an ever shifting environment. Over the past few weeks, I had grown to understand that James himself realized this, that he struggled inwardly between his reluctance to grow closer to someone lest he would be helpless to keep them from being wrenched away from him again, and the nerve-tingling instinct to act on his desires. I wondered if he realized that—to me—he offered hope, the start of something untainted and right, if he realized that we had the potential to become our own rebellion. We both had only to take the plunge; I was terrified to make that leap, yet knew that as soon as I did, I would be exhilarated.

“So…have you and Frank settled on a date yet, Alice?” asked Emmeline several long moments later, apparently deciding that the pensive silence had lingered long enough.

Alice smiled, her eyes alighting. “Middle of June, so you two maids of honor keep your calendars open.”

I exchanged a grin with Emmeline. “Can there be two maids of honor at one wedding?” I asked, sensing what her response would be. Alice threw me a good-natured—yet heated—look, and I scrambled off of the ground to go stand behind Emmeline, playfully using her to shield me from Alice's glare.

Rolling her eyes, an expression of cool determination on her face—a façade to mask the longing tears that I sensed she was repressing—Alice joined us on the edge. “It's my wedding—there'll be two maids of honor if I bloody well want there to be.”

I laughed, giving her a quick hug before turning to stare out over the dark, mottled surface of the lake. Emmeline slipped a smooth rock into my hand, and I gripped it as hard as I could, pouring my anxiety and fear into it, before throwing it with all of my strength into the darkness, hearing it slip into the lake some distance below with a barely audible splash.

The three of us stood overlooking the lake, pitching stones, for the longest while, grinning like first years as Alice discussed her plans for the wedding and Emmeline prodded Alice about her thoughts on the first Honeymoon night, a subject that Alice blushingly attempted to avoid. Laughing, united with my friends, I felt younger, light hearted, managing to shove aside my worries and relish the vertigo in my stomach as the world spun.

5.6

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked Alice, staring at me as I plunged into the Forbidden Forest some time later. I scanned the trees, looking for any familiar landmark that would identify the short cut that the Marauders had unknowingly shown me earlier, but the forest had not been so dark then, had not seemed so unnerving. I gritted my teeth, deciding that it should be possible to forge our own way through the trees.

I paused, turning back to face her. “Don't worry, it's a short cut.”

“Are you loosing your nerve, Alice?” challenged Emmeline half-heartedly, dogging my heels, her wand out with its tip alight, shining it nervously up into the branches of the surrounding trees as though expecting something to jump out at us. I shivered, remembering the rumor that there were Acromantulas living in the depths of the forest. I wondered, briefly, how close to the fringes of the forest that they roamed.

Alice shook her head, striding forward to catch up with us, rolling up her sleeves and readying her wand as she did so. “No, I just want to point out that, if we're caught, not only will we be guilty of being out long past curfew, but also of entering the Forbidden Forest.” She didn't sound overly concerned, but I answered anyway.

“That's why we aren't going to get caught,” I said simply, setting my own wand tip alight and beginning to pick my way between tree trunks, vaguely registering the chill of always unbreakable shadow. “Look, it's twenty minutes to go around on the path, ten to cut straight through the Forest; and, anyway, the faster we get a move on, the sooner we'll be in our beds.”

Decision reached, we made our way through the forest in silence, moving as quickly as we could through the underbrush, trying not to disturb any of the forest's inhabitants. This isn't so bad, I repeated to myself as the forest air seemed to get heavier and the darkness thickened, almost completely shutting out the already weakened moonlight, creating the impression that all color had been filtered from the world; the bright lights cast by our wands only illuminated the air around them and created long, slanting shadows on the ground. Deciding that I would be able to see better without my wand once my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I silently extinguished the light. It wasn't long before Emmeline and Alice did the same. Just a little farther…

“You know,” said Emmeline after what had seemed an hour but was probably only a tenth of that, “I'm starting to doubt the validity of calling this a `short' cut—”

I turned to roll my eyes at her, but Alice abruptly threw out a hand, wordlessly forcing both of us to freeze in our tracks. After it was clear she had our attention, she slowly pointed.

“What is it?” hissed Emmeline, raising her wand, sounding as apprehensive as I suddenly felt. I narrowed my eyes, trying to focus on whatever it was that Alice was pointing at.

The air was significantly lighter ahead, allowing me to notice that we had been unconsiously making our way to a small clearing, drawn by the thinning trees. Through a break in the clearing's tree line, I could see the tallest, quivering branches of the Whomping Willow, the top of the Astronomy tower visible beyond them. I realized that we had been heading not toward the castle, but on a course parallel to it. Assuming that this is what Alice wanted us to see, I turned toward her.

“Don't you see him?” Alice asked in a strangled whisper, eyes focused intently on the clearing.

Confused, I turned back to the clearing. “No, what're you…” I trailed off as I finally spotted the lithe, four-legged creature standing in the middle of the clearing, his hands absently gripping a bow as he tilted his head back, studying the night sky. It was no wonder I hadn't spotted him earlier: his coat was dark, with dappled white splashed across his flanks and wisps of flaxen hair infused in his black tail and main of hair; with that coloration, he blended into the shadows cast by the surrounding trees as though he was one.

“A Centaur?” asked Emmeline disbelievingly, edging slightly closer to his still figure, wand arm dropping loosely to her side. “Who would ever have imagined—”

“Mars is bright tonight,” said the Centaur suddenly, the deep tones of his voice carrying clearly to us.

My heart began racing. “Ex—excuse me?” I asked, unable to stop myself.

The Centaur turned his head and stared directly at us. “You do not want to speak too loudly,” he warned. Emmeline and Alice glanced at me, wild-eyed; it was clear that the Centaur was inviting us to approach him, if we wished. We deliberated through silent looks for a moment before moving forward as one. As each of us stepped into the clearing, we glanced up into the sky, where stars were finally visible through the scattering clouds.

But the sky didn't hold my attention for long. I peered at the Centaur, taking in his appearance. Slightly nomadic-looking with a mass of arrows resting in the quiver slung across his shoulders and his long hair streaming freely down his bare back, he didn't look precisely old, yet his eyes were sharp and wizened. I cleared my throat, unsure of the customs for greeting Centaurs.

“I'm Lily, pleased to meet you,” I said, offering my hand to him. He stared at me for a moment before taking it, and I felt oddly out of my depth—who would ever have imagined? His grip was firm, his hand enveloping mine as we shook. One by one Alice and Emmeline followed suit; he heard all three of our names before offering his own.

“I am Chiron.” That said, he tilted his head back to stare at the stars once more, his tail swishing lazily around his hind legs.

“Excuse me,” said Alice, sounding breathless and tucking her wand into her robes, as though that could help to help keep him at ease. “What did you mean, about Mars—”

“Humans seldom understand the ways of Centaurs,” he interrupted, fixing her with a clear eye. “And Centaurs know humans all too well. Your greed could destroy you.” He forestalled any comment by raising a hand to the Heavens and pointing out the distant red planet that was quite visible from between washed-out stars. “Mars, Bringer of Battle, the harbinger to the chaos that we have Seen coming for decades.”

“Harbinger? But He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has threatened us for years already…” said Emmeline slowly, eyebrows furrowed.

“It's going to get worse, then,” I said, feeling my stomach drop. “The war.”

Chiron turned his eyes upon me as he unseeingly traced out the Centaurs' constellations with his still extended hand. “We attempt to divine the flows of the coming chaos by mapping the rising and setting of certain stars over decades—” He abruptly lowered his hand, taking a step back to fully view the three of us.

“Is there something wrong?” asked Alice anxiously, holding out her hands in a calming gesture.

“Serpens crowns your heads.”

Abruptly, he knelt to gather the nearby underbrush into a small pile and set to work striking a flame. Unable to make neither heads nor tales of his cryptic comment, Alice, Emmeline, and I watched him silently as he built up the fire, breaking off the shaft of an arrow and setting it in the flames before backing away to watch the smoke rise. At long last, he dashed apart the fire with a hoof and turned his attention back to us. I shivered at the foreboding look in his eyes.

“The stars that shine the brightest burn out before all others,” he said finally as he splayed his hands, regarding the three of us in equal measure as he said the last. “The zenith approaches, the star falls, the star fades away. I will not interfere in the affairs of Humans.”

The zenith approaches. I felt my skin crawl. “What—?”

Chiron cut me off by glancing quickly over his shoulder. It was then that I felt it, a rolling vibration traveling through the ground, hundreds of feet trampling their way toward us. My body was beginning to shake uncontrollably from the quaking ground, and I struggled to remain balanced.

“You must go,” said Chiron as a flock of birds exploded from the trees and winged away noisily, their beating wings pounding at the night, adding to the chaos. Behind Chiron, the shadows of the forest seemed to be moving, and I realized that his herd was streaking through the trees behind him, dark silhouettes pounding heavily into the ground, fleeing something unseen. “Go,” he commanded roughly. “You are not alone!”

He wheeled away into the forest as the last of the herd began to pass.

“Hang on!” cried Emmeline angrily as he disappeared and the shaking earth began to settle. “You can't leave like that—”

A dark shadow detached itself from the back of the herd and came to a stop where Chiron had been standing only a moment earlier, breathing heavily and dripping blood from several gashes in its hide. It was a deer—a stag. For a fleeting second I wondered what it had been doing running with Centaurs, but then I realized it must have been fleeing—and had narrowly escaped—whatever had frightened them. The stag took a few brash steps toward us, snorting loudly and brandishing its antlers at us, before the appearance of another shape entering the clearing made it back away, fading into the surrounding forest.

“We should listen to Chiron and go,” said Emmeline quietly, ignoring the odd behavior of the stag and staring toward the edge of the clearing. Her words were overshadowed, slightly, by the deep, guttural growling of the creature now stalking into the clearing: a great, black dog, its teeth bared and hackles raised. We immediately took a few steps backward, and I fumbled with my wand.

“S—stupify!” I cried, sending a beam of red light streaking toward the rabid-looking animal. It hit the animal in the head, but he dog did no more than stumble.

“You can't stupefy the Grim!” yelled Emmeline, jerking at my wand arm, her voice nearing the pitches of barely-restrained hysteria as she grappled for control of my wand.

“Come off it, Emmeline!” I yelled, tugging my arm free, irritated that my hex hadn't been successful. “It's just the bloody dog that attacked that stag—”

“Lily, if that dog attacked the stag, what attacked the dog?” interjected Alice as I raised my wand again. Her cool pragmatism in the wake of Emmeline's outburst stunned me, gave me pause.

“What?”

But it was true, the dog was dripping blood from the deep slashes and bites apparent through its thick fur, and it was obvious that these were not the sort of marks a stag could have left even if it had tried to defend itself. It continued to prowl its way toward us, moving faster now that we had begun to back away again. In its eyes gleamed purpose.

“I think it wants us to leav—” I decided, but before I had finished, a slightly smaller furred creature had darted from the forest and bitten the dog on the back, the force of its attack pulling the two creatures into a chaotic roll in the brambles, a tussle to overcome the other. Alice gasped as the dog cried, and it was abruptly released as the wolf noticed us. In the space of a moment when I had a clear look at the wolf's head before the dog had thrown itself upon it, my blood ran cold. The wolf's snout... was oddly short…

“We need to run,” I whispered fiercely, grasping Emmeline and Alice by the back of their robes and pulling them out of the clearing with me. Alice began to protest that we couldn't leave the dog, but I cut her off, pointing my wand at her face so quickly that she flinched. “No heroics. Run, or I'll make you.”

There wasn't an argument the second time. We turned and ran in the direction of the castle, leaving the snarling and yelping behind as quickly as we could, the stag following us at a distance until we had emerged from the trees. We didn't talk as we dodged the swiping branches of the Whomping Willow and crossed the Hogwarts grounds, nor as we entered the thankfully deserted castle corridors. No one said a word until we were back in the empty Common Room and halfway up the spiraling stairs of the girl's dormitories, trembling and sweating, trying to catch our breaths.

“That was a werewolf, wasn't it,” said Emmeline grimly, leaning heavily against the stone wall and conjuring a fan to cool flushed red face. She closed her eyes, clearly not expecting a response.

I nodded, a clump of adrenaline and fear still sitting in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to vomit, but instead collapsed onto the stairs next to Alice, holding my face in my hands. “A bloody werewolf… and I thought Acromantulas could be the worst of it.”

Emmeline didn't appear to be listening, as she was still muttering to herself disbelievingly, and Alice was twirling her ring on her finger thoughtfully, her eyes staring hard ahead and her eyebrows furrowed as though she was trying to figure something out. After a moment, I stood shakily and lightly placed my hands on my hips. “Well,” I said, changing the subject slightly. “I want to know what the Centaur meant—Serpens crowns our heads?—but I guess we can leave that for tomorrow—”

“Wait,” said Alice suddenly, standing and laying a hand on my arm. Her eyes were wide, and her face had gone pale. I squinted at her.

“What's wrong, Alice? Do you need the hospital wing?” I asked, laying a hand to her forehead. “You don't feel feverish…”

“I'm fine,” she said absently, brushing my hand away and trotting up a few steps so that when she looked down the stairwell, she could see both Emmeline and me clearly. “I'm not sure, but I think… I think that the werewolf is… Remus.”

My mouth dropped open, and I stared, not knowing how to react.

“Are you crazy?” asked Emmeline in a vehement whisper, echoing my thoughts. She narrowed her eyes and looked around the dim, torch-lit stairwell, checking to see if anyone could possibly have overheard.

“No, it makes sense,” said Alice earnestly, one hand extended, gesturing for us to stay where we were standing and listen. Her voice was low and grave. “Think about his reaction to that news article the other day. Think about how sick he's been looking for the last few days, how he `goes home to visit his mum' about once a month and always comes back looking beaten up. Think about how his boggart is a white orb...”

“Like the full moon,” I said suggestively, hopelessly, glancing past Alice out of the window to spot the partially-obscured moon, which did look uncannily like Remus' spherical boggart.

I felt like someone had just picked me up and tossed me bodily out of the tower window; I wasn't quite sure how to start accepting that we had just narrowly escaped a werewolf attack—by one our my friends. The three of us stood in a newfound silence, digesting this new truth. And then,

“What should we do?” asked Alice quietly, her hands splayed helplessly as she looked back and forth from me to Emmeline, searching for an answer.

“We shouldn't do anything,” I decided. “For one thing, we're not even positive that it's true—and for another, if it is true, no one has mentioned it. We should keep it that way.”

“Every now and then, Potter mentions Remus' `furry little problem',” Emmeline said distantly, a strange look crossing her face as she, too, stared out of the window. Abruptly, she whipped around to face us. “That means Potter knows, and if Potter knows, Black and Pettigrew know. Should we just ask one of them about it?”

Alice bit her lip. “I don't know…”

“Listen, why don't we sleep on it?” I asked, fighting a sudden yawn and the tingling desire to sleep behind my eyes; the adrenaline had faded, leaving my body drained. “We won't get anywhere productive tonight.”

“Good idea. Maybe we'll wake up and discover this evening was just some twisted dream?” suggested Emmeline darkly, shaking her head as though she still wouldn't accept the evidence staring her in the face.

Thus agreed, I bade them goodnight before trudging to the top of the staircase and practically stumbling into my own room. With a flick of my wand, I started the shower running and locked the door between the bathroom and James' room. After a moment, I tossed my robes into a messy pile on the floor and stood gratefully under the scorching shower spray, trying to put a name to the something that was flickering about the back of my mind, the something that was still bothering me about the entire night.

I dwelled on it only until I finished in the bathroom; still at a loss and resigned to figuring it out later, I slipped out of my bath robe and into my cool bed sheets. Head spinning slightly even after I laid it upon my pillow, an uneasy sleep took me mere moments after I closed my eyes.

5.7

I slept fitfully, tortured by dark dreams of images only half-formed, more intense impressions than perceptible objects. In the nightmare, I sensed more than saw the shadowy form of a werewolf chasing me through the haunts of my subconscious, closing in on me until it finally overtook me. It prowled closer, snarling, before turning into a tall, menacing figure hardly discernable from the surrounding darkness. I suddenly felt as thought my heart had been wrenched from my body; my emotions were shattered, I was cold, and a tortured gasp escaped my lips, struggling past a convulsive sob. I felt utterly alone, fighting the fear and the overwhelming sorrow I inexplicably felt. Yet, somehow, I was defiant; deep within my soul blazed a glimmer of triumph and I knew, with certainty, that all was not lost.

I awoke abruptly, breathing heavily, not knowing what to make of the nightmare or the sense of unease that had settled upon me. I hugged my pillow, trying to wipe my mind clear and settle back to sleep, trying to ignore my wish to hold—

It was in that moment, in the hesitant calm of a mind forced empty, that the thought jumped unbidden into my consciousness, and with a start of adrenaline, I knew.

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11. Interlude V

- - -

Frank didn't bother to open his eyes. He knew, just from the smell of mildew permeating the air, that he was laying on a cot in one of the subterranean rooms of the Headquarters of the Order. What he didn't know, though, was how he had gotten there.

But he did remember hues of gray—the grays of a night lightened by a full moon. And a werewolf prowling the yard of an orphanage, awaiting transformation; he remembered how the figure collapsed just inside the gate, a wretched thing writhing in a pile of robes, howling with pain as a terror-struck Muggle orphan—the target—looked on. Frank remember how his eyes burned from fatigue, how his muscles were stiff with it, yet he somehow found the strength to dash across the yard, grasp the arm of the partly-transformed creature, take one step and a turn, and will the creature away.

I'm amazed I didn't splinch myself on the way back to the orphanage. The thought swam vaguely through his mind, an afterthought hardly able to take hold. And still… how did I…

“You're probably wondering why you're here,” intoned a low voice from his beside, startling Frank so badly that he began reaching for his wand before even thinking about opening his eyes. But then he sagged, relaxed; the voice belonged to Marlene McKinnon, a Hogwarts graduate several years his senior, and it sounded amused.

He cracked his eyes open and grimaced at her wry smile. “Do tell,” he said, groggily swinging his legs off of the cot so that he was sitting upright. He steeled himself against a fit of dizziness or nausea brought on by the motion, but, to his relief, it didn't come; he shook his head in an attempt to throw off his lethargy.

“It's simple,” Marlene said, looking down at him and holding out a glass of a mottled red potion that he accepted unenthusiastically. “You collapsed from exhaustion while you were doing whatever it was you were doing. Moody knew, somehow, and he brought you here. You've been sleeping for several hours, but this tonic is to help you regain your strength.”

Frank choked on his tonic, unable to decide whether the cause was the taste of the tonic or her words. He took a moment to control his spasming throat before croaking, “Moody?”

Marlene shrugged helplessly. “Would you rather that no one found you?”

Frank grunted noncommittally before easing himself off of the cot and settling himself on his feet. “Well, thank you for that foul-tasting concoction, Marlene, but I think I should probably get back to the Ministry and start on my report.”

“But it's the bloody weekend,” she said incredulously, crossing her arms with disapproval. “Don't push it or you'll land yourself right back in this cot, drinking more of my wonderful remedy.”

Frank snorted. “Do you think Moody cares?”

“That's debatable—”

Frank cut her words short with a bark-like laugh, and she glared at him before she finished her statement. “—but I know someone who does.”

Ignoring his questioning stare, Marlene snatched the glass from his hands and turned away, negotiating her way between several neatly made cots and exiting the small room. Frank followed her as she led him along the drab basement hallway, the wooden floorboards under the threadbare carpet creaking under their feet. As they climbed a narrow wooden stairway, Frank noticed that the building's age was magnified by the peeling wallpaper, yellowed with age, that graced the walls; as they reached the first floor, Frank peered into the large, nearly-empty rooms where only dusty Muggle mannequins stood, posing in moth-eaten clothes, positioned to peer out onto the London streets through large windows that had been covered by dark drapes.

Frank shivered as they made their way to the second-floor flat. “Why a run-down department store? This place gives me the creeps.”

“Well, it's temporary,” said Marlene, hitching up her robes with one hand as the stairway became steeper. “Once he finds someplace better, I'm sure Dumbledore will relocate us. Besides, the flat isn't so bad—anymore.”

The stairway opened up directly into a small kitchen, where an old man with half-moon spectacles, wise eyes, and long, graying hair was sitting at a small table, sipping on a glass of brandy as he read the untidy scrawl covering a ream of parchment.

“Frank,” Dumbledore said in greeting, pleasantly smiling as he tapped his wand against the parchment. It disappeared as he glanced at Marlene, who flicked her wand to start a kettle of tea and then disappeared back into the stairway, before he turned his attention back to Frank. “Do have a seat. Brandy?”

Frank shook his head and took the seat directly across from Dumbledore. “Thank you, no, Professor.” He paused, and then, “Sir, if I may ask, what brings you away from the school?”

Dumbledore tapped two fingers soundly against the table before leaning leisurely back in his chair. “You. Your memory.”

“My memory seems to be a little hazy, Professor,” said Frank with a grin, glancing momentarily past the Headmaster to take in the kitchen. Marlene had expanded the cabinets and kept the counters tidy, just as she had transformed the former two-bedroom, one-bathroom Muggle flat, and department store below, into a serviceable place for the Order to meet and for members to lay low; he himself had lived at Headquarters for the majority of the summer, playing it safe until he found a relatively secure flat across the city. With a swish of his wand, he summoned a mug from a cabinet and filled it with tea from the kettle, grateful to wash the taste of the tonic from his mouth.

“It seems to be clear enough,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling as he leaned forward intently. “Now, tell me: what do you remember from last night? I know you've been shadowing Fenrir Greyback; did you notice anything peculiar about him?”

Frank nodded, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Everything about him is peculiar. He seems to relish attacking humans—he put himself in a position to attack an orphan, and I just…” he trailed off, pausing to unclench his teeth and loosen his grip on the mug. He sighed. “I couldn't stand by and watch him do it. So… I grabbed him while he was still somewhat vulnerable and Side-Along Disapparated with him to the countryside, leaving him in an isolated bit of woods. I must have collapsed after I Apparated back into London to check on the boy.”

Dumbledore nodded in approval, and Frank felt suddenly heartened, more willing to discuss his suspicions.

“Sir, when I grabbed Greyback to Disapparate, I noticed something odd. His coloration as a wolf is a light gray, yet one small patch of fur on the inside of his front left foreleg was pitch black.” He peered searchingly at Dumbledore, looking for any sign in the man's wizened face that could confirm Frank's analysis.

Dumbledore's face remained passive, though he sat thoughtfully back in his seat. “It is as I suspected,” he said cryptically, murmuring to himself. “If Fenrir is a Death Eater, he is probably recruiting Werewolves for Voldemort.”

Frank shivered, but didn't respond—There's nothing I can say, no conclusions I can draw, that he hasn't thought of anyway—and the silence lingered as both men mulled over the enemy's potential strategy. Sensing that the interview was over, Frank drank the last droughts of his now-cool tea and prepared to leave.

Frank stood, slowly, wondering if he should break Dumbledore's train of thought in order to satisfy a curiosity. Quietly, he crossed the kitchen and set the teacup gently into the sink before turning to look indecisively at his old Headmaster. With a jolt of embarrassment he realized that he was hovering; blood rushed unbidden to his face as he finally asked, “Sir, how did Moody find me? How did he know I needed… assistance?”

Dumbledore lifted his head and raised an eyebrow at him, piercing him with a stare that was softened by a knowing half-smile. “Do you believe that he doesn't take precautions regarding the security of his Aurors-in-Training? Which reminds me…” Dumbledore pulled a wrapped package from the inside of his robes and slid it across the table. “Alastor's spare invisibility cloak,” he explained as Frank eyed the brown paper packaging curiously. “He thought you might still need it.”

Nodding, a blush still tingling on his cheeks, Frank tucked the package under his arm. He bid Dumbledore goodbye and turned to leave, Dumbledore's words rattling around inside his head. He was halfway out of the door when Dumbledore spoke again.

“Oh, and one last thing, Frank.”

Frank paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder with one hand on the jamb. “Yes, Sir?”

“No Ministry report will be necessary.”

- - -

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12. Chapter Six: Intrigue

Chapter Six--Intrigue

6.1

Predawn dimness was barely beginning to rim the fog-shrouded horizon as I sat cross-legged under my coverlet with my back to the wall, loosely hugging a pillow to my chest as my mind raced. I had long since given up on sleeping, my adrenaline barely controlled enough for me to remain in bed. The hours that I had been awake had been long, and though my eyes burned and my brain yearned to rest, still, I could not help remembering brief snatches of conversation, banter that had seemed so meaningless at the time it had been spoken.

I could be... teaching myself how to turn into an Animagus, for all you know. I had shrugged that one off, blind fool that I was. ...No, you're right—I'm beyond that level. My stomach clenched with embarrassment and misplaced anxiety at the thought that he had probably been laughing at me the whole time.

Vaguely, I heard the sound of the tap running, and my eyes jarred back into focus as I trained them in the direction of the bathroom. I had half a mind to confront him then and there… but held myself back.

We agreed to wait to talk to them until morning, I thought furiously to myself as the hinges to the other bathroom door creaked. And then: Are you afraid of all Animagi, Evans?

“No,” I breathed to myself before scrambling out of bed. Throwing on my dressing gown and stumbling over the robes that I had carelessly cast aside earlier, I rushed into the bathroom. Ignoring my frazzled reflection, I peered through the narrowly opened doorway into James' darkened room. There was no motion; he must have crawled into bed.

I hesitated a moment before pushing the door open and letting myself into his room. Arms out, hands searching, I made my way blindly to the foot of the bed.

“James—”

I recoiled, shielding my eyes, as a dazzling light erupted before me. Squinting to focus, I could make out James sitting up with his lit wand trained on me, looking surprised and slightly odd without his glasses.

“Lily!” he exclaimed in a vehement whisper, lowering his wand arm and instinctively yanking his sheets to cover his bare chest with the other. “What the bloody hell d'you think you're doing?”

“I didn't mean to startle you.” I said quietly, before hardening my voice and crossing my arms, looking down at him from the foot of his bed. “But I mean to find out what you think you are doing. And don't say that you can't explain because you're beyond my level.”

He squinted at me, mostly-feigned confusion crossing his face. “I have no idea what you're talking about; my concussion, you know—”

“Don't, Potter,” I said warningly, cutting him off and forcing myself not to raise my voice. “Don't lie to me. We—we know that Remus is a werewolf.”

He flinched and scrubbed a hand through his hair, plainly trying to decide how to react, before lighting the lamp on his bedside table and extinguishing his wand tip. “We?” he asked gruffly as he tossed back his sheet and crawled out of bed, clearly dropping the act.

I started, noticing the rising welts and scratches that marred his arms and back and trailed down even lower. I hesitated a moment before turning away to face the window, not wanting him to catch me staring even though he didn't appear to mind whether or not I had my eyes on him. “Alice, Emmeline, and me,” I said, leaning against the wall and staring across the grounds at the falling moon. I shivered suddenly, still half-way unbelieving, as I remembered the gleam in that werewolf's eyes.

Sensing motion in the edge of my vision, I turned to find that James had donned a shirt and pajama bottoms and was now leaning opposite me at the window. His lip had split again, and I couldn't help noticing tension behind his carefully-built mask of stoicism.

“How?” he asked, crossing his arms loosely and giving me a deliberate look.

“We saw him,” I said dryly. “We were taking a shortcut back from the lake when we came across…” I hesitated a moment before shaking myself and stabbing on. “Anyway, some animals started fighting and I realized that one of the animals was no normal wolf. Sometime between dashing away from it and arriving back in the Common Room, Alice realized that the werewolf was… Remus. The evidence is quite plain, if you look at it the right way.”

“Hm.” His face betraying nothing, James turned to survey the grounds. It wasn't until my following words that he stiffened.

“We decided that it was a given that you, Sirius, and Peter know of Remus' condition… but I don't think that either Emmeline or Alice have realized that you three were out on the grounds as well.” I paused to let him mull over the implication of my statement. “I didn't think of it until a few hours ago. It must have been some work, figuring out how to become Animagi—I don't suppose you were born one, eh, Prongs?”

"I knew this was coming." He rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands and sighed wearily, as though finally encountering something that he had long since been dreading. Yet now that the moment had passed, he could release the tension in his body and mind the way I had seen him do so many times before. When he finally spoke again, he said, "In a way, I'm glad that you know. I…don't like keeping things from people I care about.”

I looked askance at him, relaxing a little with the knowledge that this wouldn't come to blows. “No pleas for secrecy, no justifications?”

“Not today,” he said, turning away from the window. I hesitated a moment, watching how the fog formed a halo around the rising sun as it was burned away, before spinning to face him. He was standing in the center of his room looking limp with one hand on his hip and the other hanging by his side, loosely holding his glasses. He stared absently at the floor, apparently deep in thought.

“Why not?” I asked quietly, hardly daring to break into his sudden musings.

He looked up at me, resilience burning in his eyes, and smiled faintly. “Because I don't think you need to hear them.”

I frowned as the weight of his trust settled upon me. Trying to suppress the war for supremacy that my tangled feelings were waging—flip-flopping from anger, shock, and humiliation to pride and admiration—I met his glance, letting the heat from the new sun fuel me. “We… have some things to share with one another, James.”

He nodded. “Yes—but, not now,” he said, his voice somehow light as he placed his glasses on his face and looked me up and down. “Forgive me for the diagnosis, but you look like hell warmed over—it's probably best if you try to get a few hours of sleep before class.”

“And you think you look any better?” I muttered with near-annoyance at the dismissal, rolling my bleary eyes as I brushed past him yet knowing that he was right. I was nearly to the doorway when he caught my hand and gently tugged me to a stop. I turned to face him on tenterhooks, my nerves dancing where his fingers pressed into my palm and tension beginning to build as possibilities of what could come next began forming in my sleep-deprived brain.

I didn't give him a chance to speak or do anything else. “Your lip is bleeding again,” I ventured tentatively, suddenly and inexplicably afraid of finding out the reason why he had gently demanded that I stay the way he had.

His eyes found mine as he tongued his lower lip. “I reckon it is.” He didn't seem to care.

I took a small step back from him, testing to see if he'd let my hand slip from his. He didn't. “You should probably clean yourself up… I imagine that you don't want to show up to class looking as though you just wrestled a troll.”

He shrugged. “It'll make me seem more dashing.”

I laughed, surprising myself. “Yeah, dashing,” I said sarcastically, raising my eyebrows at him. “That's the word that comes to mind.”

Still, he was staring at me as intently as ever, a satisfied grin on his face. His grip on my hand was both gentle and insistent, and I feared that if I stayed within his reach for much longer, I might somehow betray myself. A half-formed notion stirred within me, one suggesting that I could either love or hate him for his ability to both inflame passion within me and touch my soul—but that flat out giving into him or refusing to yield at all would lead to both of our destruction, no matter which way I chose. I somehow sensed that without this struggle, this tricky balance between give-and-take, lover and rival, our budding relationship would grow to be worthless and far less than either of us deserved.

“What do you want?” I whispered not unkindly, meeting his gaze and searching freckled hues of green, brown, and blue as I asked.

As though he could read something in my eyes, perhaps a deeper meaning to my words, he reluctantly let my hand slip from his. “Save me some time this Saturday and we'll talk, yeah?” His voice was even, betraying none of the conflicting desires and fears that I knew were running through his mind.

“That sounds… fine." Recognizing the conflicts arising in my own thoughts, I could admit to feeling slightly off-kilter, if only to myself, but amazingly my voice was just as steady and impassive as his had been.

“Looking forward to it," he said softly before inclining his head at me, as if to seal the deal. "I won't keep you any longer…"

"Yes. Well… good morning." Feeling a bit out-of-body—due to lack of sleep, I told myself—I slowly turned away and passed through the bathroom, resisting the urge to flex my hand while berating myself for acting like some Amortentia-sotted first year. James, I growled in my mind, why do I let you do this to me?

“Oy, Lily!” He called wryly, suddenly spry once more. “I never said that `hell warmed over' was a bad thing!”

Smiling slightly, I slammed the door in my wake.

6.2

I stumbled into Potions several hours later without having eaten breakfast, feeling utterly disheveled as I began sorting ingredients for my Veritaserum. I had only been at my table for a few moments before Professor Slughorn ambled by for one of our usual chats.

“Oh-ho, Lily!” he boomed, unwrapping a piece of crystallized pineapple and popping it into his mustached mouth as he smiled down at me. “Did someone slip you a sip of the Six Years' Drought of Living Death?”

“Very funny, Professor.” I rolled my eyes at him and dropped my bag under the desk. “Don't you have to go hand-select the next Minister of Magic or something?”

“You watch your tongue, young lady,” he laughed, offering me a piece of the pineapple, which I refused. “But speaking of up-and-coming young celebrities, where were you for last night's Slug Club meeting?”

The smile slipped off my face. Right, the Slug Club—a gathering of students who Slughorn felt would really make something of themselves one day. I felt honored that he held me in such high regard, but the meetings were somewhat bland to my tastes, and I took every excuse I could to miss them. “Er, sorry, Professor. After the drama at the match, I—”

I was saved from answering by the arrival of Bertram. Slughorn, who didn't much like Bertram because of his merely average Potions performance (though he tried not to let it show), gave Bertram a curt nod, mumbled something about potion ingredients, and bustled off to the store room. I mouthed a heartfelt “thank you” to the lad once Slughorn was out of sight.

He grinned and began unpacking his bag. “Think nothing of it—the old codger—but, I do have a question for you.”

“Yeah?” I asked, my eyes down as I began slicing a crocodile heart.

“So, this Saturday we're free to go into Hogsmeade—though I'm sure you already knew that,” he stammered. “And, and I was wondering if you'd like to go… with me?”

My hand jerked, ruining the job I had done on the heart. Damn, I thought to myself, my heart beginning to beat quicker than normal as I glanced up and spotted James entering the dungeon. He met my glance and raised an eyebrow at me in greeting, a private smile on his lips, and I looked hurriedly away before I could begin to blush. Hogsmeade is this Saturday? That means I…

“Er, Lily?”

I realized that I had begun shredding the already ruined heart. “Sorry?”

Grinning, Bertram put his hand on mine, gently working the knife from my grasp and setting it aside. “I asked if you'd like to go into Hogsmeade with me.”

I saw the hope in his face fade as I met his eyes. “I'm sorry, Bertram, but I can't…”

He looked abruptly away. “It's fine. I just thought—”

“It's just that James—I mean, Potter,” I stammered, trying to justify myself but failing miserably.

Bertram's eyes narrowed over his work. “You're going with him?” his whispered vehemently, and I suddenly remembered that Bertram was one of the students that James and Sirius always used to bully when they were younger.

“No, it's not like that. We have a few things we need to talk about—”

He pushed my knife back to me and bent over his cauldron. “I never thought you'd sink to the likes of him, Lily.”

I paused, shocked. This wasn't the Bertram I knew. “He's my fellow Head, Bertram,” I ventured, stung. “It's not a date, and even if it was, he's not a horrible human being—”

Bertram snorted disbelievingly. “Okay, Lily. Whatever you say.”

I took a breath and opened my mouth to utter some as-of-yet unplanned retort. Abandoning that attempt once it was clear that no words would come, I rose shakily and stumbled from my seat over to the store cabinets; I had never been one to deal well with confrontation. I was rifling through the various ingredients, searching for a fresh crocodile heart, when I heard a low, sneering laugh from the nearby table.

“Did I really hear what I think I just heard? How cute, the two Heads, pairing up.”

I straightened, resisting the urge to throw the shredded crocodile heart at Severus Snape's face, and instead tipped it into the rubbish bin. “This really isn't a good time,” I said, closing the cabinet doors, intending to pass right by Severus' table without stopping or even looking at him. Which, of course, I ended up doing.

“I never thought I'd see the day, Evans,” Snape said, looking up from his potion. I paused at his remark; it seemed almost a challenge. “Though I can't say I'm disappointed—really, a Mudblood like you and a bastard like him deserve one another.”

“Oh, I meant to ask,” I said airily, ignoring the insults. “How is that batch of detentions going—nothing too hard, right? Still scrubbing the owlery every night?”

Snape bared his teeth at me and I almost began walking triumphantly away before I noticed the fresh spots of ink marring the pages of Snape's Advanced Potions test. With a cursory glance at the open page, I noticed that a handful of the lines of instructions had been blotted out and new directions had been scrawled into the margins.

“Why have you done that?” I asked absently, bending forward for a closer look. I didn't get it; Snape snapped the book closed and pushed it to the other side of the table. Looking up from the desk, reading the defiant look in his eyes, a thought occurred to me. “…You know,” I said quietly, hardly above a whisper, “I'm not naive enough to assume that you're stupid just because I don't like you.”

“Shove off,” he muttered tersely, glaring queerly at me from under his greasy bangs.

I shrugged nonchalantly and turned away, glad to be rid of his company. As I sat back in my seat and began dicing the fresh crocodile heart, I was acutely aware of Snape's brooding glance and Bertram's furtive looks. They were burning holes into me.

6.3

I was still brewing over James, Snape, and Bertram during break several hours later, though I attempted to keep my growing speculations and curiosity bottled in the back of my mind. Taking advantage of the Common Room's near abandonment, I commandeered two tables under a window and spread my work atop them, allowing the bright sunlight to illuminate the various textbooks as I cross-checked references for my History of Magic essay. I worked diligently to keep myself from dwelling on the three men, only stopping when someone paused purposefully aside my table, blocking the light. I glanced up, squinting to see through the sun-cast silhouette.

It was Remus.

My mouth dropped open with wordless surprise as I surveyed him, taking in the shadows under his tired eyes, the slight but haggard slump of his shoulders. Still, his brown eyes were sharp, clear, and he smiled as he gestured to the seat across from me.

“You mind? Personally, I'll take any excuse to have a break from a History of Magic essay.”

“Oh, sure,” I said nearly breathlessly, shutting a bookmark into the tome in front of me. He nodded, a determined look on his face as he gingerly lowered himself into the chair. He caught me staring at him.

“A trip to the Hospital Wing gets rid of bumps and bruises, but it doesn't always get the ache.” He paused to rest his chin lazily on one hand. “So… you know, it's been a long time since I've had this conversation.”

I stared at him, not knowing what to say. But he saved me from having to speak.

“I received the bite when I was a boy, so I've lived with this for a while,” he said, his eyes slipping past mine to stare off into the Common Room as he spoke. “Though truth to tell, it's not something that I've ever gotten used to.”

I snorted at his dry tone, and he smiled ruefully before continuing. “I always expected that I wouldn't be able to go to school—a werewolf, in a school full of children? It was too much to hope, too much to risk. I swore I'd never turn out like that poor fellow who bit me…”

He looked away with a sharp intake of breath, and I simply sat there, my heart pounding. “But you're here.”

He chuckled, quietly. “It's thanks to Dumbledore that I'm here, and thanks to my friends that I'm sane. I'm so lucky to have those three blokes stand with me. You might have guessed, Lily, but we…” he trailed off as he brought his attention back to me, crossing his arms on the table. “We have secrets.”

I inclined my head knowingly at him as I said, “A few less well-kept than others, though you four did hide the true meaning of the nicknames very well…”

He cocked an eyebrow at me before shaking his head abruptly, as if to clear it. “I didn't come here to talk about that.”

I frowned. “Then what—”

“Lily, I came over here because we're friends,” he whispered fervently. “Or… were. And I just… wanted to see where you stand, knowing what you know now. Knowing what I am.”

Touched, tears welled up suddenly in my eyes at his earnest words and I reached out to lay a hand on his forearm. Squeezing it, I said, “Remus, I may not be an Animagi, and I can't be with you during your transformations—” I suppressed a shiver as I recalled my nightmare—“but I'm not going to desert you or our friendship.”

“Good.” He smiled before sitting back in his chair, his arm sliding from my grasp. Slowly, painfully, he stood. Before leaving, he paused. “Then please, I ask you to consider one thing: I am different, yes—but only if I am thought of as `different' by others.”

With a small wave, he disappeared up the spiraling staircase of the Boys' Dormitories.

6.4

Saturday morning found me in Hagrid's garden, resting my forearms upon a chest-high pumpkin as I leaned into the cutting Autumn wind, eyes closed, not caring that it was whipping my robes and hair into a frenzy. The pumpkin leached cold into my skin and yet I remained there, listening unconcernedly through the reedy wind as the last few students trotted down the path to Hogsmeade.

I was waiting for James. Our task was simple: help Hagrid sort the pumpkins by size, carve the largest ones for the Halloween feast, and, once carved, send the pulp and seeds to the kitchen for use in pies and pumpkin juice. I took a deep breath to stem my rising impatience; James was late, and I wanted this done so that we would be free to find somewhere private to talk.

Suddenly the support from the pumpkin vanished. I squawked and flailed my arms, once, in a futile attempt to regain my balance, before thrusting them before me to catch my fall. My eyes opened just as I landed on the cold dirt that used to rest under the pumpkin. Eyes flashing with anger, I turned toward the sound of laughter and saw James standing not too far off, not bothering to smother his impish smile as he tucked his wand back into his robes.

“I'm sorry,” he wheezed though his laughter as he strode toward me, “but that was too perfect an opportunity to pass up.”

I glared at him but laughed weakly in spite of myself. In half a moment he had reached me and offered his hands to help me up. Still glaring, but only mildly, I ignored his offer for help and picked myself off of the ground. “You'd better watch your back,” I said, my voice half flat, half joking.

“I always do,” he said simply, smiling down at me.

Shivering and avoiding his eyes, suddenly feeling nervous, I wiped my hands hastily together to knock off the dirt, ignoring the leaves caught on my robes. “Er, shall we get started, then?”

He nodded and turned away to Summon back Hagrid's prized pumpkin. As he did so the wind picked up, buffeting us for a moment in a whirl of dried skittering leaves. Roughly twining itself through his hair and running along his body, it flattened his robes, contouring them against his chest and legs in a way that seemed almost intimate. I watched, oddly captivated, as James was forced back a step before he steadied himself.

I wish I was the wind.

The thought came from nowhere, and with it came a small smile. Knowing vaguely in the back of my mind that I was going insane, I forced my eyes—and thoughts—away from James. More to distract myself than anything else, I set to work.

6.5

At long last, after all of the pumpkins had been sorted, we began the long walk to Hogsmeade, the noon-high sun offering no warmth to our trek. It was pleasant in a way, though: the utter cold, senses alert to the scarce sounds of our feet crunching down the graveled path and the wind whistling through stiff blades of grass and leaves on its way to stir the gray lake. Each breath was cold and sharp and clear, inhaled almost painfully only to be warmed within our bodies and expelled as steam… but then, I had always found the cold exhilarating.

"…and then the Centaur—Chiron, you said his name was?—just disappeared with the herd?" James asked incredulously, slapping a hand companionably against one of the Griffin statues flanking the Hogwarts gate as we passed by. "Without explaining anything he'd just said?"

"Yeah." I shrugged, crossing my arms and tucking my hands under my armpits for warmth. "I'm not sure he knew what he meant himself. It was like he was foretelling the future by reading the stars. It was strange." I frowned, thinking of the encounter, before looking expectantly at James for a reply, eager for a fresh opinion about the Centaur's words; Emmeline, Alice, and I had rehashed that evening so many times that most of Chiron's dialog didn't even seem to make sense anymore.

"Hmm." James fiddled with the red and gold scarf around his neck, wrapping it tighter again the cold, before tossing me an unreadable look. "Well, I'm sorry that I herded him off before he could finish explaining, in any case."

I smiled grimly at him. "He was leaving anyway. I think the Centaurs have caught on to what you lot are up to."

"I'm surprised they noticed." He chuckled weakly. "Perhaps it was written in the stars?"

We shared a grin before lapsing into silence, our conversation dwindling away. Occupied with our separate thoughts—and I had no idea what James was thinking, glancing back and forth from me to the frozen landscape surrounding us—neither of us spoke until the cottages and shops of Hogsmeade appeared in view.

“So,” said James as we ambled slowly down the High Street, “where do you want to start?” He gestured briefly down the lane, indicating the plethora of student-choked stores, before stuffing his hands in his robe pockets to keep them out of the cold. “I don't need to stock up on anything.”

“I want to start with how you managed it,” I said pointedly, eying him sideways. “I want to know how you managed the magic, and how long you've been doing it. And how the bloody hell you've been able to sneak out of the castle once a month without being caught.”

He stopped in the street, turned to face me with a smirk that didn't lose any of its effect despite being viewed with his ruddy nose and cheeks. “We managed it because we're the bleeding Mauraders—”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Don't give me that—you said we'd talk. So talk.”

“I agreed to a conversation, not an interrogation.” He raised his eyebrows at me, his grin growing at my impatience. “A conversation over a hot drink sounds even more appealing.”

I paused as yet another icy blast of air jetted into us. Trying to keep my teeth from chattering and wishing I had brought gloves—my numb fingers were becoming painful to flex—I turned toward him. “Are you buying?”

He laughed, catching my sleeve and tugging me into The Three Broomsticks. “Are you kidding?”

James hustled me good-naturedly through the crowded pub toward an empty booth in the back, or tried-to, but I managed to tug myself free from him halfway across the room. I smiled, devilishly satisfied, at his back as he headed to the bar—I'd be damned if I didn't put up a fight—before stepping toward the booth and colliding right into Bertram Aubrey.

“Bertram!” I yelped, grabbing one of his sleeves to steady our balance while he toggled the fizzing drinks he was carrying, trying not to let them slosh all over the floor. “I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going—”

“It's fine, really,” he said soothingly as he finally restored his balance. He smiled awkwardly. “Enjoying Hogsmeade, even though you're on duty?”

I shrugged, releasing his robes to straighten my own. “We've just gotten here, actually. Hagrid needed help in the pumpkin patch.”

“Ah, well…” he hesitated, took a deep breath. “Would you like a drink?”

“Thanks, but I've got one on the way,” I said blithely, before it dawned on me how the situation must appear to Bertram. I already told him I wasn't on a date, as if that matters, I thought furiously as I quickly gestured to the bar and tried to think of a way to ease myself out of the increasingly awkward conversation; I knew full well that the heat spreading into my face was not just a product of the blazing fireplace. At that moment, James appeared at the booth and began scanning the crowd for me, a tankard of Butterbeer in each hand. When his eyes met mine he smiled and proffered a drink.

I turned back to Bertram, biting my under lip and hoping to make light of the situation; I didn't want to loose that fellow as a friend, and I feared it might already be too late. “I've got to go, actually. But maybe next time, all right?”

Bertram nodded, his gray eyes finding James as well. “Next time, then,” he said, but his voice was strained, brusque, and in the next moment he had brushed coolly by me and was lost in the crowd. I shook my head as I made my way over to James.

“Is it just me, or did it just get a lot colder in here?” joked James, raising his voice to speak over the din as I slid into the booth across from him. Accepting the Butterbeer gratefully and ignoring the bemused looks that other Sixth and Seventh Years shot in our direction, I took a sip before answering him.

“I don't know what's gotten into Bertram lately,” I said, reaching into my pockets for a handful of Knuts, buoyed by the warm drink. “Ever since he asked me here today... but I don't want to date him…” I trailed off, surprising myself with this revelation, and after a slight pause, I flipped the coins to James. “For the drink.”

He raised his eyebrows at the coins, or maybe it was my statement. “I don't—”

“Keep them.”

“If you insist.” He sighed and pocketed the money before tilting his head at me pensively, his Butterbeer momentarily forgotten. “You know, about Bertram… I think they call that jealousy.”

I choked on the sip I had just taken. “Come again?”

“What's gotten into him,” James repeated. “It's obvious: he's jealous.”

I quirked an eyebrow at James, hearing the un-uttered “of me” at the end of his sentence. I had to concede the point, though—if Bertram knew a tenth of my thoughts concerning James, he'd be more than simply jealous. If James knew… “Maybe,” I finally said, and buried my face in my tankard to hide my blush.

James smiled, but had the sense not to say anything more on the topic.

6.6

We sat in the pub for some time while James explained how they discovered that Remus was a werewolf and figured out what they could do to remain safe around him when he transformed—become Animaji. It had taken a lot of studying and a bit of luck to manage it, he said, but once everything had settled into a routine, sneaking out of the castle and into the Whomping Willow just required silence and timing. I had been staring out of the window as I listened, idly watching various students through the windows of other buildings or as they milled about in the street, but at those last words I turned to meet his eyes.

“Silence and timing?” I asked doubtfully, before taking the last swig of my third Butterbeer and leaning toward him intently. I hoped he felt as though my eyes were boring into him. “That's it? And you've never been seen?”

“Well, I never said that we were never seen,” he said slowly, shifting uncomfortably on his seat. “But the castle does offer quite a few short-cuts and get-aways.”

I nodded, mulling over his words while images of James as a stag danced around my head. I was still trying to make sense of how mad—and admirable—they were when Sirius sauntered up to the booth. Leaning casually against the table, he crossed his arms and grinned at the pair of us.

“This looks cozy,” he said wryly, shooting a congratulatory look at James and grinning as I rolled my eyes at him.

“Yeah, Sirius?” asked James, looking up at his friend with curiosity before downing the rest of his drink in one smooth motion and setting the tankard on the table with a loud clunk, obviously trying to mask his relief that the appearance of his friend had once again kept him from expanding on an answer he really didn't want to give.

“I won't bother you long, mate, but I was wondering if you could turn out your pockets for me? I need to borrow a few Sickles.” He stared expectantly at James for a moment before James reacted.

“You know you already owe me,” James said smoothly, reaching into his pockets and simultaneously passing Sirius something under the table, attempting to be discreet about it. I caught a glimpse of a folded piece of parchment disappearing under Sirius' robes before James presented his friend with several silver coins. James ran a hand through his hair as Sirius gave him a mock-bow and tossed me a look.

“If you had only listened to me when I told you three to be in by curfew…” He shook his head slowly. “I guess it doesn't matter now.” He turned to go, leaving me staring blankly at his back, an odd, anxious feeling washing over my shoulders. That bastard, tried to warn us all along and we had no idea…

“Oh, one last thing,” Sirius muttered under his breath, turning back to face me. I looked up at him with full attention, expecting another admonition. But all I got was, “No hard feelings about that stunner you fired at me.” And with a grin, he left.

I exchanged a look with James, who simply shrugged, glanced at his empty glass, and said, “Have I answered all of your questions? We should probably see to rounding up the rest of the students and getting them back up to the castle...”

“You've settled my curiosity for now I suppose,” I nodded, deciding to bring up the parchment later. As we stood, I narrowed my eyes mischievously at him. “Actually, I do have one last question.”

He swiped a hand through his hair. “Yeah?”

“What's it like, being a deer?”

He rolled his eyes and chuckled, giving me a playful push toward the door. “Ask me nicely sometime and I'll tell you.”

But as we parted on the High Street, each of us heading in a different direction to round up the students, I could tell by the long, searching look he directed at me that he sensed something was still unsettling me, that I knew he had left too much unsaid.

6.7

Trying to ignore my overly-full stomach—the Halloween feast had been superb, as usual—I tapped my deck of Exploding Snap cards on the Common Room table, evening them out sharply before shuffling.

It was past midnight, and most students, tired from a day gallivanting around Hogsmeade, had gone to bed. A few clusters of students still remained awake to study or play, however, so I kept a sharp eye out for eavesdroppers from our corner of the Common Room, a nook into which Emmeline and I had dragged a small table and Alice had dumped as many pillows as she could find. As I dealt the cards and began to play, we chatted about the day's adventures; Emmeline and Alice had gotten an early start to Christmas shopping, and exchanged knowing smiles when commenting on how awful it must have been for me to spend the whole day with James.

"It was informative," I finally admitted. Pretending to study my hand, I peered across the Common Room toward where the man in question was sitting with his friends before the fire, drinking pumpkin juice and playing idle games of Wizard Chess as he talked, sprawled as he was over an armchair. Satisfied that the four fellows were paying no-nevermind to us, I finally told Alice and Emmeline of my suspicions and the gist of what James had confirmed to me.

"You suspected something like that and never told us—" Emmeline began hotly, but Alice cut her off.

"They're bloody brilliant!" she exclaimed in a whisper, looking over her shoulder at the lot. They didn't look it quite at that particular moment; James had knocked over his goblet and was yelling practically incoherently at his chess pieces to listen to him as Sirius urged his own queen on, grinning mischievously. Meanwhile, Remus and Peter were swapping Sickles; apparently they had put a bet on the game.

I snorted, shaking my head at the sight. "Brilliant? Yeah, model students, they are."

"They're mad is what they are," corrected Emmeline, ignoring my sarcasm, though she eyed the four with some approval. "And stupid, even if it is admirable of them to take such risks for a friend…"

"Well, stop staring," I hissed under my breath, looking pointedly down at my cards. "They'll realize we're talking about them and I'm not sure if I was supposed to say anything—"

"Oh, don't worry," said Emmeline, turning to face me with a grin. She laid down her cards, a hand to trump mine. "I'm sure they expected you to."

But worried or not, she still gasped and jumped just as high as Alice and me when Peter suddenly appeared beside the table, carrying an owl.

"Peter!" I yelped in surprise, chucking a pillow at his head as retaliation for the shock. "Don't sneak up on us like that!"

"Alice," he said hesitantly after sidestepping the pillow, holding out her bird and eyeing us as if we had gone mad. "You've got a letter. Your owl was tapping at the window…"

"It must be from Frank!" Alice exclaimed, jumping to her feet, just catching herself from tripping over the strewn-about pillows. She pecked Peter on the check as she took the letter from the bird's beak. It promptly nipped her fingers affectionately before spreading its wings and swooping out of the still-opened window. "Thanks, Peter!" she said as she broke the seal on the scroll and began pacing the room to read it.

Standing awkwardly alone, Peter smiled at us slightly before shaking light brown bangs out of his eyes and turning to go, but Emmeline stopped him. "One thing," she said with the utmost seriousness, tapping a finger to her lips thoughtfully.

He paused, raising his eyebrows at her expectantly, his beady eyes widening nervously. "What's that?"

Emmeline tossed me a quick look before turning back to Peter, a smirk quirking her lips. "Why a rat?" My mouth fell open incredulously as Peter rolled his eyes.

"Look," he said, splaying his hands. "It had to be something small, so that…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "Oh, never mind." He turned with a long-suffering sigh and stalked back to the fire, Emmeline's interested "Yeah, but why a rat?" following him to his seat.

"Emmeline…" I groaned once he had gone, sliding down into the scattered pillows to hide my embarrassment from the rest of the room. "You have no tact, do you?"

A moment later, the boys began sniggering loudly, and I strained to see James shaking his head amusedly and patting a flustered Peter good-naturedly on the back. Remus was grinning from behind the book he had been flipping through, and Sirius was attempting to speak through his laughter. "Oy," he wheezed in our direction, toasting his goblet in Emmeline's direction. "Good one, Vance!"

She smiled back at him, guiltily pleased at his praise.

"Really, you're just as bad as they are, Emmeli—" I began, before catching sight of Alice, who was standing stock still, staring at the letter in her hands. Furrowing my eyebrows as I noticed that Alice's blank face seemed drawn, I pushed myself to my feet and hurried over to her, a suddenly sober Emmeline on my heels.

"What's wrong?" I asked, my stomach sinking. I shared a worried look with Emmeline, and over her shoulder I noticed that Remus and James had seen the commotion and were frowning concernedly over at Alice.

"Oh, nothing. Frank's been promoted, that's all," said Alice vaguely, folding the letter into sixths with shaking hands and pressing the creases sharp nervously. "He didn't say much, but he did mention that he's being sent to a 'facility in the north' for the next few weeks to reevaluate security." The corner of her mouth trembled and she turned away to face the window. "A facility in the north… that means Azkaban. I'm going to bed."

And with that, she walked slowly toward the staircase; we stared silently after her, not knowing how to react to her abrupt departure, until she had disappeared behind the doorway. As it clicked shut behind her, Emmeline started. "What am I thinking? Of course she needs to talk about it…"

She squeezed me into a quick, one-armed hug, wished me a good night, and vanished in Alice's wake. I took one step to follow, my "Good night" still lingering on my lips, before I paused, realizing that I didn't know what I could say to comfort Alice. Frank was doing his duty and not balking at it; being around Dementors constantly was certainly nothing she'd want him to experience—I read somewhere once that they existed from and craved despair—but was it any worse than something else he could be doing? No, and Alice knew it. She was just worried for him, and nothing I could say would alleviate that concern.

I shivered as another blast of cold air jetted through the opened window, bringing with it bits of sleet and the first tastes of Winter. I darted automatically over to the window and forced it closed, mushy ice peppering my skin and promptly melting, leaving a lingering chill. Sighing, wishing I didn't feel like I constantly had tension in my shoulders, I turned back toward the fire and realized that all four of the Marauders were now staring silently at me, waiting for the news.

"Frank is okay, and he didn't mention an attack," I said softly, smiling slightly at the relief evident on all four faces. "It's just…"

I trailed off with a shrug and stepped closer to the fireplace, hugging myself. James shifted on his armchair so that I could take a seat beside him, but I remained standing, staring into the shifting flames. After a moment or two the others followed suit, abandoning their books and games to sit in companionable silence, losing themselves to their thoughts and the hissing and popping of the firewood as it burned to ash.

"Everything is fine," I mused wishfully after a while, breaking the trance we had fallen into. And then I found, with a thrill of surprise, that I had taken that seat next to James without realizing it. My hands clasped between my knees, I was leaning into him slightly due to lack of space, my shoulders and back tensed to keep from pressing into him too strongly even though his arm was draped across the back of the chair to create more room. Yet though our bodies spoke of being slightly awkward, not-quite-comfortable, I was there nonetheless, close enough to hear him breathing. My heart began racing; it was right where I wanted to be.

At my words, James tilted his head to look down at me for a moment, his glance soft behind the fire dancing on his glasses. "No," he said quietly, finally sliding his arm down around my shoulders and pulling me gently into him. After meeting his gaze for a heartbeat, I gave in. I stopped battling him and allowed myself to relax, to let my head rest against his neck and my arms encircle him in an embrace that felt so natural. James seemed to feel the same way; he sighed contentedly and whispered into my ear. "No it's not. But it will be."

I considered those words as we sat there listening to the storm rage outside, waiting for the fire to burn down to coals. I was distracted only by the feel of James running his fingers lightly upon my arm and his steady pulse driving into my skin.

Everything wasn't fine. But someday, I decided… it would be.

6.8

I didn't confront James about that odd parchment until later in the week; I wasn't sure that it had anything to do with aiding him on his full moon adventures, but after ferreting out one fascinating secret, my curiosity was bent on unveiling the other intrigues I knew surrounded him.

I found him at a table in the back of the library one morning during break, absorbed in finishing an essay over Human Transfiguration. The quick scratching of his quill upon the parchment was enough to hide my footfalls as I approached him from between the shelves of dusty Magic Theory books; he didn't even glance up at me as I dragged over a chair from the table opposite him and straddled it, leaning against his table on my elbows.

"Stop by to help me on this essay?" he asked glibly, pausing in his writing only to flip to a page in a Transfiguration text and study it for a moment before taking up his quill again. He met my eyes briefly as he loaded the quill with ink, a small smile lighting his face.

"Afraid not, though I'd image you'd be the one helping me with the topic," I drawled, glancing idly at the window above James' head, which was rapidly filling with snow. Impulsively sliding James' wand from his bag—his eyes flicked curiously at me but he didn't protest—I conjured two candles and lit them, setting them to float above and illuminate the parchment as I asked, "How is your head?"

He snorted and paused in his writing to legitimately consider my question. "Much better, the potion worked wonders," he finally answered, lightly touching the fingertips of his free hand to his temple for just a moment before he began scribbling again. "Thanks for asking," he added absentmindedly.

"That's good to know." Awkwardly, not quite ready to bring up the parchment, I considered his wand, running my fingers along the polished Mahogany from center to ends before twirling it experimentally and giving it a little wave. Livened under my fingers, the wand spewed red and gold sparks without any urging, and I hastily muttered "Finite Incantatem!" before they could rain down on James' essay. I grinned sheepishly as I noticed that he was watching me out of the corner of his eyes, clearly amused.

"Sorry," I said quietly, looking around quickly to check that the Librarian hadn't seen and slipping the wand back into James bag. "Nice wand—made for a right wand arm, of course, and I'm a left, and it's a little longer than I'm used to, with more give—but nice nevertheless."

He grinned broadly, and from the gleam in his eyes, I knew that what would come next would be baiting and arrogant. I wasn't disappointed. "So did you come here because you were worried about my head, Lily, or to check out my… wand? Either way, I'm flattered."

I ignored the blatant innuendo, deciding to cut to the chase before he got too fed up with my hovering. "Actually, I have a confession."

"Oh really?" His voice betrayed no interest, but I knew that was a lie.

I waited patiently to continue as he flipped through the text once more, couldn't find what he was looking for, and tossed down the quill with a muttered curse. He laced his fingers behind his head as he tilted back the chair, lazily balancing it on its hind legs and looking down his nose at me. "And you choose to tell me?"

"Stop flattering yourself." I rolled my eyes at him. "My confession is that I don't believe you."

He snorted and cocked his head interestedly. "You don't believe what?"

"Well," I said lightly, "the past few nights I've been sneaking out after hours and making my way the best I could to the Great Hall." I paused until realization began dawning in his eyes. "I was caught twice, and only managed to avoid detention by claiming that I was making rounds—which I was then admonished not to do." My voice was flat as I finished. "So you see how it is hard for me to believe that three of you could routinely sneak out of the castle relying only on silence and timing—especially with the increased security on the castle these last few years."

He raised one eyebrow at me. "Come on, Lily, you're far less practiced at it than we ar—"

"James," I said, cutting him off insistently. "I saw the parchment. You can't deny that there is something you're not telling me."

He stared for a moment and let the legs of his chair thump back down to the floor, his momentum pitching him quickly forward until he stopped himself, standing with palms face down on the table top, leaning in so close to me that our noses were almost touching. Intent as I was on the topic at hand, I still had to force an inkling of thought away from the memory of the night when we had held each other before the fire, and how easy it would be to just lean forward and kiss him at last. "You're basing this entire theory on a piece of parchment that you claim to have seen?" His voice was incredulous, though infused with a curiosity that hinted at satisfaction.

"If it wasn't a big deal," I said calmly, folding my arms over my chest and ignoring his sudden intrusion into my personal space, "why did you try to keep me from seeing it as you passed it to Sirius in The Three Broomsticks? What special notes were written on it that you couldn't let me suspect?"

He stared hard at me for another moment, his face all planes and angles, before he relaxed and laughed quietly, almost ruefully. "I always knew you were clever."

My eyebrows furrowed with confusion and I drew away from him. "What do you mean?"

"Lily…" James shook his head and began to pack up his things. "If you think that I don't trust you, then not only are you dead wrong—maybe even dead and wrong, one day—but we've got more issues in our relationship than even I'd hope to overcome." He glanced at me as he buckled up his bag. "To be perfectly honest, you're digging into things that are none of your business. Before you get any answers—and I'm not promising anything, mind—I'm going to talk with my mates." He slung his bag over his shoulder and laid a hand warmly on my shoulder to take the sting out of his words.

I nodded, realizing the awkward position I had placed him in. "I understand that I'm prying, but I just—" I broke off, unable to explain my motivations as I didn't even understand them myself. I shrugged lamely, and he gave my shoulder a brief squeeze before pulling his wand from his bag.

"Tell you what," he said after a moment of consideration, Vanishing the candles that I had created for him with a wave of his wand. "Meet me in the Trophy Room in fifteen minutes—nobody ever goes in there."

I watched him leave, uncomfortable with encouraging him to go out on a completely unnecessary limb for me, but pleased—and flattered—that he was willing to do so. As I headed eagerly toward the Trophy Room, my steps were unusually light.

6.9

Twenty long minutes later, my knees were brushing both James and Sirius' as we made a cross-legged triangle on the Trophy Room floor. The parchment was spread across our laps, and I gazed wonderingly at the detailed map of Hogwarts and the miniscule figures it depicted. "Here we are," I breathed disbelievingly, tapping our dots on the parchment softly with the tip of my finger before slowly tracing the halls, studying the accuracy of the layout of the castle and its grounds. "And here…"

As my eyes wandered corridors and passages that I had never set foot down before, James cleared his throat deliberately. "Are you satisfied?" I could imagine the gleam in James' eyes, the knowing look he shared with Sirius, as he asked.

I reluctantly tore my eyes from the parchment and looked up and him, brushing stands of my hair out of my face as I did so. "Well, I've thought of about a million more questions, if that's any sort of answer." The parchment was brilliant, but I didn't want to stroke James' ego any more than my interest in him already had, especially not with Sirius listening amusedly. As I offered a smile at the pair of them, Sirius laughed.

"She's not going to be satisfied, mate, until she pours over it for three days straight, has it memorized, and walks down every passage herself." He winked playfully at me. "Despite all of the secrecy and subterfuge, may we finally present," said Sirius proudly, "The Marauder's Map."

-->

13. Interlude VI

---

The downpour battered unceasingly against him, the wind threatening to upset his balance and pitch him off of his broom into the turbulent sea below. Squinting through the gray rain, Frank caught a glimpse of Fabian's blue robes before him, flaring wildly out behind the man though Fabian himself was flattened against his broomstick, staring determinedly ahead as though he could see through the immense gray clouds before them. Through the corner of his eyes, Frank noticed the streaming black robes, darker than midnight, of their Dementor escort, three of the foul creatures which constantly rotated around them, steering them away from their post of Azkaban.

Frank shivered, not because of the rain but because of the sense of despair and remembrance of near-death that rolled over him at the sight of the creatures; the relief he felt that this assignment was over could hardly lessen the tensing of his stomach and ease the foul taste in his mouth. Shaking himself, Frank instead focused on each pinprick of icy rain, of the sting of sea salt in his eyes, willing away the nausea and forcing back the helplessness threatening to overthrow his mind.

How he hated the things.

Gritting his teeth, he turned his head to glare at the creature flanking him only to find it bearing down on top of him, a scaly hand reaching out to grasp his shoulder, fetid breath escaping its gaping hole of a mouth as it drew him nearer...

Frank cut off a curse as he slipped on a patch of loose gravel in the icy, rocky path he was climbing. Berating himself for letting his attention wander so far inward, he tried to focus on the here and now, taking in the frozen, mushy landscape surrounding him. He shivered once again, and once again it was not caused by his surroundings; the strengthening grasp of winter was evident in the biting air and the dusting of snow beginning to grace the ground, but he could ignore them.

What sent chills down his spine was the thought that though the Ministry might think that they had the Dementors under control, after touring Azkaban and observing how the Dementors interacted with the Ministry officials, Frank knew the Ministry was simply fooling itself. The Dementors’ attitudes and actions were skewed; one of them had just come perilously close to taking his soul, unprovoked and unordered, for Merlin’s sake. He could sense their unease, their desire to swallow all happiness and peace in the world and replace it with gray shadows, and knew it was only a matter of time before they threw in their lot publically with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It was a more-than-worrying matter, one that must be reported to the Order immediately.

Frank bit his lip as he continued to make his way automatically up the path, keeping his guard yet lost in his thoughts. Dwelling on the Dementors lead him inevitably to thoughts of his promotion. Moody had placed him on an Auror task force specializing in magical creatures such as Dementors, Werewolves, Giants, Banshees and other such high-risk entities that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would want to target for support. Frank’s team—which included Fabian Prewett and two others—was to monitor these creatures’ interactions with Death Eaters, try to prevent any attacks from happening, and then study the aftermath of any attacks that did occur. The small team reported solely to Moody, who reported only to the Minister—and to Dumbledore unofficially, of course. The job was fascinating and yet it was horrible; it was hard to comprehend the things that some Dark creatures were capable of. Frank had even heard rumors that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was creating creatures of his own to use in warfare. He fervently hoped that these rumors were not true, yet he sighed at the thought, resigned, knowing that he’d be there on the front lines to deal with it if the rumors came to fruition.

Blinking in surprise, Frank realized that he had reached a tall, iron-wrought fence. A heavy chain was coiled around the gate, and a tarnished lock rested upon its links. Unthinkingly, he reached out and tapped his wand against the thick steel of the lock. It recognized him through his wand, and with a loud click the lock opened before the uncoiling chain dropped away.

For a moment, Frank stared past the gate and through the thinly falling snow, his eyes climbing the crevices of a cliff before finally resting upon the towering castle beyond. It was quiet, silent but for the shush of falling snow, and this stillness—combined with the rush of memories that had come to him as he gazed upon the castle—seemed to build anticipation within him. He smiled, suddenly, and his breath caught with excitement before he eagerly pushed open the gate. As he stepped across the threshold, he took a deep breath, reveling in the combined and comforting smells of a thousand fireplaces burning, of the morning’s chill, and of the old familiar forest. Only one comforting aroma was missing, but Frank had no doubt that as soon as he had Alice in his arms he would feel complete.

“It’s good to be back,” he murmured absently, and started toward the castle.

---

14. Chapter Seven: Polarize

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.

15. Interlude VII

---

Frank leaned nonchalantly against one of the pillars supporting Platform 9¾, pulling a watch out of his Muggle jacket and tensely reading its face before throwing a cursory look around the platform, noting the winter-bundled parents eagerly awaiting their children, the on-duty Aurors prowling the place with wands out, the grim fortitude on all of their faces. He was here only to meet Alice and wasn’t technically on duty, but memories of what had happened the last time the Hogwarts Express had been in Station were keeping him on edge.

Jaw clenched in anticipation, he forced himself to relax his hold on the bunch of flowers he had brought for Alice, afraid of snapping their stems. Instead, he took a firmer hold on his own wand, feeling the comforting grain of it against the tips of his fingers, and willed himself to calm down, to trust his fellow Aurors to keep the platform secure. In just another moment, he repeated to himself, the train would appear, Alice would disembark, and he could whisk her away to some place better protected, some place they could be alone for a time.

But with a brief and shuddering pause on the watch dial, that moment passed, ticking away into the next minute. The train was late.

Eyes narrowed but his face otherwise blank, doing his best to keep from alarming the impatient and muttering parents, he eased over to where Fabian was patrolling along the tracks.

“I know what you’re thinking,” muttered Fabian, using slight hand signals to communicate with the seven other Aurors on the platform. “But they passed the city limits, and must be only a few minutes delayed.” Frank read Fabian’s various commands out of the corner of his eyes: watch, come with me, ambush.

Ambush.

“Alice.” With the whisper of fear, Frank’s breath caught in his throat for half a second and his world came crashing down around him—and then, suddenly, he felt almost out of his body. He was hardly aware of settling the bouquet onto the platform, of placing a strong Disillusionment charm on himself and silently moving with six of the Aurors down the tracks, fanning out across the lane to best prepare for an ambush. He was suddenly calm, objective, focused only on finding and securing the Hogwarts Express.

They heard the ambush before they saw it, but it was still heart-wrenching to see the train partially de-railed two hundred meters away from the platform, so close to safety yet so vulnerable. Death Eaters had surrounded the compartments and were trying to breach the multitude of Shield Charms protecting the train, to surpass the Stunning and Dismarming Spells radiating from it. Frank could see that the students had been somewhat organized by the Prefects, James, and Lily, but it wasn’t enough against the onslaught of thirty Death Eaters who had no qualms about harming or killing to gain their ends.

“Look, Aurors!” came an insistent shout from the front of the train. “Aurors, look, by the engine!”

Fabian cursed quietly and passed a wary eye over the compartment. “Bloody Slytherin warning his dad, I bet.”

“Wouldn’t dare curse a Ministry employee,” grunted Frank, still focusing on the rank of slowly-advancing Death Eaters. “Might attack another student, though…”

As Fabian signaled for another Auror to keep an eye on the compartments offering the least resistance to the Death Eaters, Frank and Fabian continued to cautiously enter the fray, now dodging the curses that had been fired wildly in their general direction.

It was some consolation to take the Death Eater’s by surprise; they hadn’t expected so much resistance from the students, perhaps, and were too busy dealing with it that they were unable to handle the Auror attack, expected or not. The Death Eaters, cloaked in darkness and masks, blending in almost as well with the night and depths of snowfall as the Aurors did, rallied at the tail of the train, trying to fight unseen attackers while finishing their work.

“You three, flank them from the other side,” commanded Fabian quietly, gesturing between hastily aimed spells at the three Aurors behind himself. There was no need to admonish the Aurors to stun only, that the Death Eaters were desperately needed for questioning; it had been impressed, time and time again, into their minds. Fabian sent another Auror for reinforcements before quickly catching Frank’s eye. “Come with me.”

Nodding, Frank crouched and started toward the caboose, leveling his wand just below the indistinct whitish smear of a Death Eater’s mask and silently attempting to stun the cloaked figure. As they neared the train, the sound of students screaming in terror or yelling battle cries, resounding against the Death Eaters’ own bellowed oaths, became almost overwhelming. Heart hammering in his chest, Frank fought to keep control of himself, to keep breathing and thinking and fighting. “Do it, or die,” he muttered through clenched teeth, before edging ever nearer to the train.

“Just stun the girl, for Merlin’s sake!” The almost-indistinct yell was shrill with fear, the Death Eater from which it stemmed seeking refuge on his belly under the train, firing curses blindly into the darkness as fast as he could. Several of the Death Eaters on board the train suddenly collapsed against the causeway railing, felled by jets and swirls of color. “Or kill her, just a Mudblood, innit?”

Rage boiled within Frank as several of the surrounding Death Eaters agreed. After sharing a dark look with Fabian, whom Frank could just barely make out a meter to the right of him, Frank set his teeth, preparing for the inevitable fight that would follow the barrage of curses he was about to let loose. Arm shaking with adrenaline, he pointed his wand into the center or the gob of Death Eaters—and froze.

Laying in the dirty snow between the railways, bound and gagged by magic, were several limp figures, dressed in Muggle clothing. As Frank watched on, a Death Eater on the backside of the train raised his wand, and after the Summoning Charm infiltrated the gap between shields, something large and struggling broke through a compartment wall, flying to land in a heap at the Death Eater’s feet.

Children, Frank realized, horrified. The blood seemed to freeze in his veins in that split-second of shock. The Death Eaters were taking the children as hostages.

---

16. Chapter Eight: Sacrifice, Part I

Chapter Eight – Sacrifice, Part I

8.1

My eyes fluttered half-open as I hung in the paralyzing void between nightmares and reality, unsure if what I was experiencing was real. I hardly had a second to comprehend that James was sprawled limply on the walkway, before curses began smashing into the compartment beside me.

“No! James!” I gasped, darting over to his stunned form while casting a Shield charm over my shoulder to protect us. I grabbed his wand from loose fingers and, unable to think of a more secure place, bit down on it lengthwise in an effort not to lose it. “Come on,” I growled through the thin wood, lacing my free fingers with his and slowly but surely dragging him towards the closest compartment. The group of Ravenclaw Fifth Years within jumped up at our entrance, wands drawn, but when they saw who it was they scurried over to help tug James farther into shelter.

“Lily!” One of the girls, a Prefect, tugged on my arms as I spat out James’ wand and tucked it into his pocket. I jumped, body trembling with adrenaline, as one of the two boys slammed the compartment door shut. “What’s going on?”

“We’re being attacked by Death Eaters, Martha,” I said, my voice strained with the effort of controlling my fears. I knelt by James’ side and hurriedly rolled him partly onto his back, trying to suppress chills at the sight of his blank eyes, partially open behind his cracked glasses. “Cast Shield charms around the compartment, and stunners through the gaps between. All according to plan, right, Martha?”

The girl took a breath but seemed heartened, recalling that James and I had discussed various contingency plans with the Prefects to be implemented by them, with our aide, if the students fell under attack. “Right.” She turned to her friends, began to arrange them around the compartment, one casting Shield charms, the other shimming opening the compartment windows and firing stunners into the advancing Death Eaters.

“Look, most of the other compartments are doing it too!” yelled one of the fifth years with satisfaction, turning to look meaningfully at Martha for only a moment before he took careful aim on a Death Eater from where he was kneeling on the floor, peering cautiously through the window.

“Just keep it up!” I yelled as I stabilized James on his side, proud at their willingness to help and trying to bolster their courage. “I’ll be with you in a moment…”

I turned my attention back to James. Grimacing, knowing that this wouldn’t be a pleasant experience, I pointed my wand at his chest. “Rennervate.” His eyes snapped open, and he gave me a groggy, shocked glance, trying to focus on my face from behind damaged lenses, before attempting to jump to his feet.

“Lily, Death Eaters—” he cried fervently, pulling the wand from his pocket, wanting to go fight. “Let me go,” he commanded earnestly, struggling against my constraining grip, which was keeping him in a crouch below the windows.

“We know, we’re handling it,” I said, feigning calmness as I wrestled with him. My voice caught in my throat and ruined the façade. “Sit still for one second or—”

I leaned instinctively away from him as he abruptly fell to his hands and knees and spewed on the floor. The Ravenclaws cried out with worry, turning to look at him, but a gesture from me had them back at their posts.

“He’s fine, his nervous system is just unsettled from awakening so quickly after being Stunned.” Leaning forward in my haunches, I rested my hands briefly on James’ shoulders as he heaved again, unable to stop his nausea but wanting to offer him support from my presence. I wrinkled my nose at the sound and smell of the vomit, trying not to sick up myself.

“Keep firing those charms,” I added encouragingly to the students, raising my voice so they could hear me over the din. “You’re doing wonderfully.” They tossed me half-proud, half-nervous smiles as they slunk deeper into the shadows against the compartment walls, trying to stay out of sight.

Finally James’ stomach settled, and I briefly ran my fingers through his hair, halfway cradling his head in my arms until he was able to sit back on his knees, his face somewhat pale. I raised my eyebrows at him in a silent I told you so, but was unable to mutter the words.

“That’s the worst of it,” he groaned, wiping his mouth with the back of a sleeve as we pulled each other to our feet. I met his bloodshot eyes with determination, hard, grim ghosts of smiles mirrored on our faces. “Now, we fight.”

A cursory glance down the train showed that other Prefects had indeed rallied their compartments, but James darted between each cluster of students, dodging curses and slithering around Shield charms to give direction through the fray, trying to keep the students calm and needing to be in the thick of it, in the lead. But I hung back in the compartment, putting my Charms skills to use.

Where most students only used Defensive spells, all those Of Age fought to maim their attackers, to truly defend the train by ridding it of adversaries. Still, some curses slipped through to the train and students retreated, gasping and injured, back to the slight sanctuary of center of the compartments before mustering up the courage to face the onslaught once more. The sounds of students yelling spells and grunting with their efforts, of Death Eaters jeering, their curses crashing into the train, were overwhelming my senses; that clatter, coupled with the terror of battle, was enough to make me grind my teeth in determination and concentration, and I only hoped that the younger students would be able to stay motivated until the end.

And then the rear of the train was breached.

Martha’s hand slipped from mine as I tried to prevent a Summoning charm from dragging her from the compartment through a newly-made hole in the wall, but the spell was too strong. Screaming and flailing wildly, a Death Eater caught her tightly around the waist. I had but raised my wand to jinx him, swearing loudly, when another Death Eater actually walked through the compartment door, finding a gap in the Fifth Years’ shields as they stared, stunned, where Martha had disappeared.

“Ah, a Mudblood,” he sneered through the thin white veneer of his mask. His beady eyes passed quickly over the two Ravenclaws left in the compartment, dismissing all three of us; the bulky man actually turned away from me, to look over his shoulder and at one of his companions, “She thinks she can stand up to us, she does.”

I wanted to skewer him for his arrogant stupidity. Instead, I silently stunned him, preparing to hex whatever Death Eater might try to attack us next. “I know I can,” I said grimly, anger momentarily outweighing my fear. I gestured for the two young men to come stand behind me, not wanting them to try anything rash; it was far too late for them to retreat and join the efforts of another compartment. One of them, thinking quickly, repaired the damaged compartment wall, giving us a modicum of protection against the Death Eaters that must be clustering around the caboose of the train.

I almost cursed James as he skidded into the compartment, dodging hexes and nearly tripping over the limp Death Eater in the doorway. “Lily,” he sputtered, hurrying over to me, relief evident on his face. He had a gash along his forehead as though he’d been thrown forward in to something, the blood dripping into his eyes, mingling with sweat, but otherwise he seemed unharmed. “The Aurors are here—”

“If it isn’t Potter?” Another Death Eater leaned into the doorway, tall and confident, stepping over his fallen comrade. His voice was gleefully cruel, sending a shiver down my spine. “What would Daddy do if you went missing?”

Behind me, one of the Ravenclaws gasped at the implications of the statement. James was still turning to face the Death Eater when I reached forward and grabbed him, hugging him against my chest, anchoring him to the spot as I flicked me wrist, flicking my wand to block the inevitable Summoning charm.

“Filthy Mudblood!” the Death Eater snarled as I blocked his spell and twisted James around so that he was behind me. Fierce determination was coursing through my veins; James could not be captured and used as leverage to force his father’s hand, resulting in the inevitable release of captured Death Eaters.

“Just stun the girl, for Merlin’s sake!” The voice wafted up from under the train, and I clenched my teeth at its cowardice, raising my wand. “Or kill her, just a Mudblood, innit?”

“Lily, get out of the way!” James snarled quickly, eyes set on the Death Eater, reaching forward and hooking an arm around my waist, forcing me aside and backwards so he could get a clear shot. “They won’t kill me, but you…”

The Death Eater laughed almost lazily, and then, quicker than seemingly possible, blasted me with a curse while I was still moving aside. “Quite right, Potter…” I stumbled back against the splintered wall, the force of James’ shove and the curse pushing me backwards. My head rammed against the wall before dropping limply to my chest; vaguely, I noticed a mat of blood rising from the painful gash across my sternum and chest and spilling over my torn clothing, could almost imagine the skin there rotting away, the curse eating at the once-healthy tissue beyond. Goosebumps popped out with a cool sweat on my skin as searing pain washed over me.

“Cold…” I gasped, slowly lifting my head to stare past an irate James to where the Death Eater had suddenly dropped to the ground to be replaced, impossibly, by an Auror who was slowly becoming more perceptible as his Disillusionment charm lifted. I was able to make him out just as I lost consciousness: tall, pale, and red-haired. His eyes widened at the sight of me. “Fabian…?”

8.2

I finally jerked completely from the incubus tormenting me, sitting up abruptly as I clutched at my chest, feeling through my thin gown to the layers of gauze and coarse bandages below. I leaned limply forward as a wave of dizziness hit me, closing my eyes with a hand pressed against my still-tender scalp until it passed.

The room was dark, but the sunlight making its way through a gap in the thick curtains of the window next to my bed revealed two other beds besides my own, both of them empty, and a lavatory. Gingerly, I lifted my arm and pushed open the window curtains, letting light stream into the room as best it could through the iced-over glass. Blinking rapidly, trying to let my eyes adjust to the mid-morning sun, I peered curiously at my surroundings.

A bouquet of bright chrysanthemums on the windowsill and several colorful, watchful portraits on the beige walls helped to lighten the stark, sterile atmosphere of what was clearly a hospital room, and a glance out of the window to the London streets below confirmed that I was at St. Mungo’s. Blowing out a rather painful breath, I ran a hand through mussed hair, trying—and failing—to remember anything that had happened after I had blacked out on the train.

I had no idea how long I’d been laying in the hospital bed. Feeling disgusting, I eyed the door of the lavatory across the room, thinking I’d feel somewhat better if I could just splash some water on my face and perhaps rinse my mouth out. Aside from the inevitable pains from my chest, my face felt glowing warm and my movements seemed like vague, out-of-body experiences, but I was determined to make it across the room.

Slowly, feeling sluggish, I slid my bare feet over the edge of the bed, tested my weight and balance against the cold tile floor before pushing myself to my feet. After all, I told myself even as I swayed on the spot, there had been nothing wrong with my legs…

Two steps later I fell to the floor with a hoarse yell, my suddenly-weak body collapsing beneath me. The room’s door burst open, and a pair of feet clattered into the room. Strong arms hooked under my shoulders and around my waist, and a moment later I was back in bed, gritting my teeth in frustration.

“Miss Evans,” said the Healer, stepping back from the bed and quickly surveying my chart, one eyebrow raised quizzically at me. “Clearly, you need to stay in bed.”

I squinted at the glaring lime green of the Healer’s robes before meeting his lined face. His eyes were concerned, his gaze knowing, and I felt inexplicable trust for the man. “What happened?”

“Took a nasty hex across the chest last night,” he stated matter-of-factly, replacing the chart on my bedside table and pulling out his wand. He waved it quickly over me to check my vitals, and I felt a warm tingle run through my body, radiating out from the marrow of my bones. “It ate away quite a bit of skin and tissue before we were able to stop its spread, and you lost a lot of blood. We’ve healed the damage to your skin, heart, and lungs, but it’s going to take a few days before your respiratory and circulatory systems are back to one hundred percent. How do you feel?”

“Weak, feverish,” I said simply, settling back against the pillows. “And my chest hurts when I breathe…”

The Healer nodded, adding something to my chart before turning for the door. “I’ll send up a potion that should take care of any lingering effects from our treatment; it was rather extensive. With some rest and the potion regime, you should be able to go home in a day or two.”

He left me to stare idly at my bouquet of flowers, a strange torrent of thoughts tumbling through my mind. I had almost died; I was terrified and yet I should have felt more afraid. Relief flooded through me, tinged with anxiety for my friends and family, and I realized that tears were dripping down my cheeks. As though knowledge of my tears encouraged more, I began to cry in earnest, releasing the indescribable force of my emotions until, suddenly, the tumult was gone, leaving a sort of empty peace in its wake.

Feeling foolish yet so much lighter—and glad a visitor hadn’t been present, forcing me to suppress my emotions—I snuggled down into the covers, reaching out with a shaking hand to pick up my wand, which had been placed on the windowsill next to the bouquet. Bolstered simply by the feel of the familiar grain under my fingertips, I flipped open the card that was nestled against the flower vase, discovering that they had been sent by my parents. With a smile on my face, I eagerly read their accompanying letter—they hadn’t been allowed to visit (too dangerous for them) but were eager for me to come home—before tearing into the letters from Emmeline and Alice, who told me that they, as well as the Marauders, had made it off of the train unscathed. Frank had added a post script to Alice’s letter, encouraging me to rest up in order to heal faster—he knew from experience—as well as briefly describing the believed motivations behind the attack. James had sent me a copy of the Sunday Prophet, which contained a “fairly accurate” article about what had happened, and also a quick note promising that he’d visit as soon as the Healers let him.

Leaving the article until later, knowing that it would be far too unpleasant in my current state to dwell on innocent students being injured, kidnapped, and held as hostages to advance the Death Eater’s cause, I closed my eyes, irresistible but troubled sleep rolling over me.

8.3

I was awakened some time later by a gentle prodding on my shoulder. Rolling over groggily, I met the grey eyes of a quiet, studious Gryffindor sixth year named Mary MacDonald, who was clad in a set of green robes slightly paler than those of a Healer, and who was staring sheepishly down at me.

“Lily,” she said gently, proffering me a glass of what looked like pond scum. “I have your potion.”

“Mary,” I said, genuinely pleased to see someone from the Hogwarts Express who looked hale and happy. “It’s good to see you.”

She smiled. “Normally treating people I know from school is a little awkward,” she said as she helped me to sit up. “But I’m happy to see you, too—the treatment last night was very tricky, one of the Healers described it to me.”

“I guess you want to be a Healer, then?” I asked, accepting the potion from her and pulling a face at its sharp smell before closing my eyes and attempting to chug it.

“I do, I work here during the holidays for experience, rotating wards. They offered to let me take a few days off after what happened last night, but I wanted to help… it helps get it down if you plug your nose...” She paused for a moment as I continued to struggle with getting the potion down my throat. My eyes still closed, I eagerly nodded at her to continue before doing as she suggested. “Actually there aren’t many student casualties. Yours was by far the worst; everyone else was released last night… though there are a few Aurors and Hit-Wizards still recuperating throughout the ward.”

Gagging, I triumphantly handed the glass back to her, only a small amount of foam remaining across its lip. Mary took it from me, grinning apologetically.

“The potion will settle easier in your stomach if you eat something,” she said, pushing a hinged tray, which had been laden with a light meal, to hang over my lap.

I looked at the bland food—mashed potatoes, peas, corn, and chicken—doubtfully. “Somehow I always expected that Magical hospital meals would be better than Muggle ones,” I said, dutifully picking up my fork. With a laugh, Mary quickly examined my chart, noting something in the margin with her wand before tucking it back into her pocket.

“I’ll be back with another potion in a few hours,” she said, heading for the door. “You’ll probably become pretty drowsy within the next half-hour or so, due to the potion. Still, let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

As I nodded in assent, she let herself out of the room, and through the tiny window in the door I watched her walk confidently away.

8.4

The potion did its work, forcing me to sleep and helping my body to heal and strengthen faster than it possibly could have on its own. Though to my dismay it made me sleep through Sunday visitation (Emmeline had intended on stopping by), after two doses of the disgusting quagmire I could walk unaided, feeling sturdy on my feet. My fever broke, breathing and moving my torso weren’t as painful as they had been, and the angry, red scar running from my sternum across my heart faded somewhat. Amazed at the speed of this recovery and growing weary of my hospital room, I was eager to head home by the end of the day.

Feeling restless that night, letters to my family and friends already written and sent by owl, I slipped out of my room, walking quietly along the crisscrossing hallways with my wand clenched in a fist. It wasn’t precisely dark—candlelight from rows of rooms diffused into the hall, and besides, the Healers still needed to see what they were doing and where they were going—but the ward had been dimmed significantly for the nighttime hours. I managed to find my way to the staircase, and after a little bit of huffing had climbed one flight of stairs, reaching the Fifth floor and the Visitor Tea Room.

It was distinctly brighter and cheerier here, though only the cashier, a woman maybe a year or two older than me was present, humming quietly to an upbeat number on the radio as she prepared a tray of tea to be sent to a room below. Her lively demeanor was refreshing after the hush below; seemingly happy for no other reason than she was alive and able-bodied, she grinned at me from around a piece of gum and turned down the Wizarding Wireless only long enough for me to order a hot butterbeer, before she was back to stirring sugar into the tea cups in time to the music.

Grinning in amusement, my spirits significantly lifted, I took my bottle to one of the tables along a long window that overlooked the city. The tune was catchy, and I found myself tapping my fingers to it as I took in the snowy view, the bright lights of commercial shops and speeding cars jumping out at my eyes against the black streets.

“Young lady, I do believe you’re supposed to be in bed.”

The voice, a sharp as a whip crack and yet kind, jerked me guiltily around to the door, where I expected to find an irate Healer. Instead, my eyes lit upon the vivacious old man I had noticed after Emmeline’s trial, his white hair every bit as wispy and wild as it was then, his blue eyes intense. Now, however, he was clad in blue work robes rather than the purple of the Wizengamot, and tension lined his face.

James’ father.

Unthinkingly, I somehow stood without swaying, but he motioned me back to my chair. I watched, nonplussed, as he ordered two butterbeers and came to join me.

“I must say, you certainly look much better now that you did last night,” Mr. Potter said, popping the top off one of the butterbeers and taking a quick swig. “Though not as hale as you were at Miss Vance’s hearing, eh?”

“You must have a good memory, Sir,” I suggested slowly, unsure whether I should formally introduce myself since he so clearly knew who I was.

He grinned at me. “It does come in handy.”

I spun the base of my butterbeer bottle idly on the table top, feeling suddenly shy about speaking to James’ father for the first time without James there. I took a breath. Well, there was nothing for it but to make a good impression. I opened my mouth to address him, but he inadvertently cut me off; fortunately, it seemed as though my worth was already fixed into his head.

“I’d like to thank you, Lily, for saving my son on the train.” His voice was low, grave, but his eyes sparkled at me through unshed tears. “I don’t want to think on what would have happened if they tried to hold him ransom for my ‘good behavior’.”

I blushed, looking away from his face, embarrassed at seeing him so emotional; it always unsettled me when men nearly cried because I so seldom witness it. “I—I didn’t save him—”

“James told me what happened: you dragged him into the compartment when he was Stunned and you could have taken shelter yourself. And then you willfully stood between him and a Death Eater. Call it what you may, but… I’m eternally grateful, especially after the recent loss of his mother.”

“You’re welcome, Sir...” A sober smile graced my face as I chanced a quick look at Mr. Potter, leaving my next thought unsaid. I’d do it again…

After a moment I coughed nervously and took a sip of my drink. Trying to break the awkward silence, I asked, “How are your people? The Hit-Wizards and Aurors from the train attack?”

“In a similar state as you,” he answered, tilting his head at me. “They think they’re ready to hit the lines again—they always do—when in reality they should still be in bed.”

I flushed at the statement but grinned; for all his intensity and experiences, James’ father had the same drawing confidence and charm about him as his son did. Only more matured, more forceful, I decided. If that was possible.

“Point taken, Mr. Potter,” I said, taking a sip of my drink before standing and offering my hand by way of parting. He shook it as he stood, mirroring me. “I probably should be getting back in bed… will you let James know I’m in room 413?” I hesitated for a moment, biting my lower lip, before boldly adding, “Actually, is he visiting the Aurors with you? It’d be nice to see him.”

“He knows your room number, Lily,” said Mr. Potter gently, taking my arm and helping me over to the stairs as though he could sense that my legs were weakening, that the pain was slowly returning with every step. “But he also knows to trust my judgment, and I know how this goes: I’ve been around too many witches and wizards in the hospital because of too many Dark spells to take Healing for granted. He’ll come see you when you’ve recovered enough to handle it, and not before.”

“But I’m—” Suddenly my knees buckled, but he was ready—even waiting for it—and caught me under the arms, letting the extra butterbeer bottle clatter to the floor. I coughed wetly after a painful spasm in my lungs, covering my mouth with my sleeve, and when I lowered my arm the sleeve was sprayed by blood. Every breath became a torment.

“Your body is running purely off of the potion—which is wearing off—while it devotes everything else to healing itself,” explained Mr. Potter as we slowly made our way across the small lobby and to the stairwell. “Don’t panic, you’ll be fine once you’re back in bed.”

I nodded, trying to take shallow breaths to reduce the sting in my lungs. Black dots began forming in the periphery of my vision. “I feel like I’m going to pass out,” I said quietly, determined not to do so.

“I know,” he replied simply as we reached the first stair. “Here, sit for a moment.”

He helped settle me down against the railing, and I covered my face with my wand-free hand, embarrassed and dizzy. Slowly, the fuzz in my head began to clear. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“Well, now you know.” Mr. Potter summoned the dropped butterbeer bottle from the floor and handed it to me. As if he bought an extra because he knew I was going to need it, I thought wonderingly. Wordlessly, I fumbled with the cap, managing to open it and take a few sips. For once I barely tasted the thick, warm flavor of the drink, but I did feel myself strengthening slightly from its influence. “Can you walk, or do I need to levitate you?”

I rolled my eyes at the familiar half-serious, half-joking tone. Definitely a Potter trait, that, I thought dryly as I tilted back my head to finish the bottle.

“I can walk,” I finally said, gritting my teeth and steeling myself for the action. Looking up into Mr. Potter’s blue eyes—his face so resembling his son’s that the difference in the color of his gaze was startling—I nodded that I was ready. His bony grip tightened on my arm as he practically pulled me to my feet and we slowly, carefully, descended the stairs.

I half-hoped to coincidentally run into James during the journey back to my room, but by the time we’d wound through the catacomb of corridors and made it back to my room, I was nearly too weak to do anything other than climb into bed. Mr. Potter saw that I was settled, wand by my side, and drew my curtains against the city lights before retreating quietly to the door.

“Sleep well, Lily Evans,” he bade me with a knowing, fatherly smile, extinguishing the candles in my room with a flick of his wand. “You’ll feel better in the morning.” And somehow, I knew that it would be true. I tried to smile back at him, thankful for his assistance and the comforting knowledge that someone trustworthy was on the floor, but sleep overtook me before he had even closed the door.

Sleep, and dreams of his son.

8.5

I slept hard that night and hardly remembered my dreams when I awoke, though I sensed that they had been pleasant for once. Upon awakening I was rearing to go, feeling so full of energy that I felt I might explode if forced to remain in bed all day.

“Right then,” said Mary with a mischievous grin when I expressed these sentiments to her shortly after lunch. “I’m glad you’re up to the challenge.”

It seemed that the Healers thought I was improved as well, but needed me to pass a battery of physicals to be certain that it was safe for me to leave the hospital. After having me fill out a thorough form for their records—I was allergic to pollen and some types of mold; I had a history of heart disease on my father’s side; no, I did not use drugs; yes, I consumed alcohol, though not regularly; no, I was not sexually active, coital or orally—though perhaps, I thought with a blush as I marked “no” on the parchment, not for much longer—Mary put me through my paces. She taxed my body seemingly brutally, though I would have had no problems with the exercises a week beforehand, making me skip rope for minutes on end before doing sets of sit ups, pushups, and jumping jacks, testing to see how far I could push my body and how my circulatory and respiratory systems would function under stress.

“You’ve done really well, Lily,” she appraised when we’d finished, marking my performance on my chart. “Better than the Healers expected… they might let you go home today, provided you swear to take it easy for a few days.”

“I got a good night’s sleep,” I laughed, pushing a lock of sweaty hair from my equally damp face as I twisted my torso slowly, trying to work out the few remaining kinks in my back.

“I’m afraid you might still feel pain around your chest for a few days,” warned Mary, absently twiddling with the end of her brunette plait as though trying to distract herself from empathetic pain. “And that scar will remain for some time…”

I shrugged and nodded curtly, not unconcernedly but accepting of the facts. “Lesson learned.”

She raised her eyebrows at me, eyes intent. I knew she was dying to ask what I had learned, but was considerate enough of my experiences not to pry. I looked sidelong at her, considering my words for a time, before slowly speaking. “It’s worth nothing if you won’t give everything.”

“What’s worth nothing?”

“The ‘what’ is up to you.” Hazel eyes flashed into my mind; my stomached swooped, blood heated, but then they were gone, replaced by the almost-exhilarating terror of fighting for my life and my friends and for what I believe in, backed by a determined hope for the future.

A smile spread across my face as I finally found the word which encompassed my thoughts. “For me… it’s Hope.”

8.6

The Healers did let me go home that afternoon, but, to my disappointment, I didn’t see James before I left. I even dawdled while carefully placing my flowers, letters, and two sealed doses of potion into my trunk, remembering his promise to visit and his father’s promise to let him. Yet finally, still with no sign of a Potter, I shrunk my trunk and stuck it into my coat pocket, pulled on my snow boots, and checked out of the hospital. My face burned as the receptionist informed me that James’ father had paid for my stay, and though he had done it out of gratitude, I made a promise to myself to one day pay him back.

The winter air—though not as harsh as it was at Hogwarts—still bit at my cheeks and nose viciously through my scarf, slicing through my coat as if it didn’t exist. I tramped through the slush and ice on the city sidewalks quickly, searching for a particular disused alleyway from which to Disapparate to a park near my home.

I had just reached the mouth of the alleyway when a shout from behind brought me up short.

“Oy, Lily!”

Heart racing, I spun around, almost bringing my wand to bear on the lanky person a half-block away, narrowly sliding between oncoming pedestrians in his haste to reach me, before recognizing the dark coat, noting the fly-away black hair, and realizing that it was James.

Instinctively, I began grinning like an idiot, surprised and happy to see him at last, stepping forward to meet him. It occurred to me, while we were embracing, each with an eye on the Muggles passing by, that I should have tested him, forcing this man to prove that he really was James Potter. But before I could pose a question to him, he pulled out of the hug long enough to whisper into my ear.

“Don’t worry, I’m the real James,” he laughed softly, his breath warm against my cheek. “Your favorite Chocolate Frog card is Agrippa, because the name reminds you of the history lessons you so loved in primary school.” He grinned as I rolled my eyes at the fact, but he wasn’t finished. “And, I know that you have three freckles that form a perfect triangle the size of my palm, right here…”

One gloved hand on my waist, he slid the other up my spine until it rested just above my shoulder blades at the nape of my neck, over the group of freckles. With this support, I leaned back to appraise the hazel eyes that had haunted my dreams the previous night.

“I never doubted who you are,” I said honestly, knowing in my gut that I’d be able to sense the difference between him and an imposter. Pulse racing at the feel of his hands pressing onto me, I nearly leaned in to kiss him, but was reluctant to do so in the middle of the crowded sidewalk. He seemed to understand, and let me guide him by the hand into the alley.

“I’m sorry I didn’t visit,” he said sincerely as we leaned nonchalantly against the brick alley wall, waiting for a large pack of Muggles to pass by. “But I only just found out that you’d gone.”

“I’m sure you would have as soon as father let you,” I assured him, eying the mouth of the ally for a break in which to Apparate. And then, the words just slipping out of my mouth, I added, “Will you come for dinner tonight?”

I immediately began blushing, but he laughed and tossed me a wink.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

I managed to recover my composure enough to snort at him. “Don’t flatter yourself too much, Potter,” I jested, peering around the corner of the building we were leaning against, checking to make sure we wouldn’t be seen disappearing. “Over desert, you get to help me answer my parents’ questions about the war.”

His eyes widened in surprise, but I never gave him a chance to respond. Grinning triumphantly—and a bit mischievously—I grabbed his hands and turned on the spot, transporting the two of us out of London.

“You little vixen!” James exclaimed unbelievingly after we appeared in a wooded area surrounding the small park and playground a block away from my house. Through the dim moonlight managing to penetrate a thin layer of clouds, I could tell that he wasn’t put out at my demand, not exactly, but he did swipe a hand through his hair in agitated surprise. “You really know how to proposition a bloke, don’t you?”

The faint squeaking of the nearby swing set forestalled my reply as I pulled out my wand and waded through ankle-deep snow to lean against the thick trunk of one of the trees at the fringe of the wood, hiding behind it as I tried to see through the fading light to the playground beyond. My thoughts immediately jumped to the fairly likely presence of Snape, and I strained to double-check that no one threatening was nearby.

James followed, crunching through the snow behind me. His breath was warm against my neck as he brushed against my back, looking over the top of my head toward the recently-vacated swings.

“It was only a child, or the wind,” he said quietly, placing his hand atop my wand hand as though to calm me. “We’re alone out here.” A moment later his lips and fingertips softly brushed the back of my neck under my scarf, sending chills down my spine. Letting him work the fingers of his other hand between mine, flattening my palm and trapping my wand between our hands and the rough bark of the tree, I turned my head towards his with a sigh, our lips eagerly meeting.

It suddenly hit me that James could have been injured—had been Stunned and had been personally targeted—during the attack, and tears stung my eyes as I kissed him more fiercely, trying to impress upon him the weight of my feelings for him.

He responded with enthusiasm; turning completely into me, eyes closed with passion, James pressed me gently into the tree as he kissed me, his body fleche against mine, running the fingers of his wand hand through my hair, his other hand still clasped with mine. My nerves danced, and, eager for more of him, I slipped my hand from his and slid my hands under his jacket and shirt, relishing the warmth of his skin as I gently wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him still closer to me.

The snogging grew more heated before James and I both seemed to sense that we were beginning to get carried away; the kiss tapered off, neither of us wanting to part but both of us knowing that we weren’t safe until we were inside. Leaning down so that our foreheads tilted against each other, a silent promise to continue this reunion later, James lightly cupped my face in his hands and met my eyes as he whispered, almost shyly, “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t healed.”

Touched, tears nearly sprang back into my eyes, and I reached out idly to stroke the hair at the base of his neck, not wanting him to see how affected I was by the comment. “You’d go on fighting, I expect.”

He sighed, sounding almost hopeless. “But it would have been my fault—”

His fingers actually trembled on my cheek, and I brushed a kiss onto his lips to stem his words, unwilling to get drawn into a never-ending debate over our mutual determination to keep the other from harm by sacrificing our own self. It was true of both of us as—we both knew it, and knew it was pointless to try to talk the other one out of it.

“We were just watching each other’s backs, yeah?” I gave him a reassuring hug, burying my face in his jacket. His arms around me felt like a shield from the rest of the world, and I sunk, comforted, into his embrace. “Like we promised?”

He hesitated a moment before I felt him nod, still not happy that I wouldn’t promise not to try to protect him. I pulled slowly away from him, composing myself, my wand once again secure in my grip.

“Come on,” I whispered insistently, pulling lightly at his fingers until he began to follow me. I tossed an anxious look over my shoulder, looking past the swing set to where Spinner’s End wove through the trees and over the small river at the far edge of the park. Shivering, I added, “Let’s get out of this cold.”

8.7

My parents seemed to like James from the start—not only was he a full-blooded Wizard (whose reputation for mischief had not followed him home) and that amazed my parents in itself, but they were impressed by his position as my fellow Head, a Gryffindor, and Captain of the House Quidditch team to boot. Oh, my father eyed him in the wary way that fathers do when daughters first bring home a boy, but his initial concerns melted when he noticed how respectful James acted toward myself and Mum, the outrageous arrogance of his younger years matured into self-confidence.

They listened when we spoke of the war, and nervously asked questions about the protective wards I was eager to set over the house. They were frightened, certainly, finally realizing after I had been hospitalized that the horrible things going on in England could and certainly might happen to them or their daughters, but knew they could really do nothing about the war except hope for it to end.

Petunia, however, scoffed at our warnings, as though ignoring the problem would make it go away. When it came to James, the more she found out about his life in the Wizarding world, the less she seemed to want to do with him. Her repulsion teetered over the edge of rudeness, and it took all my self control not to slap her every time she opened her mouth.

“It’s a dark time,” concluded James gravely, intently eyeing my parents after Petunia abruptly excused herself, stating with a pointed look at me that she needed to recount her wedding RSVPs. “But the point is that your daughter is a very gifted Witch, and there are a lot of us fighting back, determined to see that the Darkness doesn’t spread.”

“And you’re going to put protective spells around the house?” my dad asked, talking around the stem of his wooden pipe. I nodded confidently, trying to assuage his fear. There was, after all, nothing he could do to help this particular war effort. I could see the strain of helplessness in his eyes.

Placing my plate of half-eaten lemon meringue pie on the sitting room table, I laid a hand on James’ arm to still his tongue before turning to face my parents earnestly. “I recruited James to help keep watch at the wedding, just in case, though the chances of something happening are small…” I trailed off, keeping my face blank as I lied, hoping my parents wouldn’t pick up on it.

When the conversation was over and my parents had headed upstairs to get ready for bed, muttering to themselves, I saw James to the door.

“Thank you,” I whispered, watching him pull on his boots and wrap a scarf around his neck over his jacket, my arms crossed to ward away the cold seeping under the door. “You made that easier…”

“Anything for you, Lily… though the wedding would actually be safer if I wasn’t there,” he grinned, before hesitating and pulling something out of his pockets. “Dad says I should lie low for a while, until the Death Eaters get kidnapping me out of their heads,” he quipped as he stood, pressing a slip of parchment into my hands before wrapping his arms around me and talking into my hair. “The cottage and grounds have been put under the Fidelius charm for the time being… but this is the address, if you’d like to visit.”

I nodded into his chest, squeezing him hard and breathing in the smell of him, knowing I wouldn’t be able to see or touch him for several days. “It’s going to be crazy around here with Christmas and the wedding coming up, but I’ll try visit within the week. Write me.”

We kissed briefly before James pulled away, not wishing to delay the inevitable parting. Standing barefoot on the icy back porch, I watched him stride confidently across the yard until he had vanished behind a curtain of snow. The silence of the night was broken only by the shush of falling snow; even his footfalls had faded and I remained, staring after him.

I felt jumpy, as though I had forgotten to do something very important. I stared anxiously into the darkness for another moment—what if something happened to him before I saw him again? What if he was captured… or worse?—before, clenching my wand but clad only in a long-sleeved shirt and the pajama bottoms I had changed into for comfort, I sprang into the snow, crunching my way loudly to the edge of the unfenced backyard.

“Wait, James!” I called, my feet already numb with the cold, half-falling into the snow as I pressed forward. Snowflakes pelted my face and soaked through my thin clothing, but I momentarily ignored the cold. “James!”

He materialized abruptly out of the darkness and caught me as I very nearly fell again. “Lily, what’s wrong?” he asked, whipping out his wand, his body loose, ready to react to the first sign of danger. His eyes finished a quick scan of the yard before meeting my own, worried. After he realized there was no immediate threat, a hand nervously shot through his hair, dislodging the snowflakes that had landed there. “What happened?”

“I couldn’t let you go,” I muttered, shifting my weight from foot to foot in an attempt to ward off the cold. Grinning at him, knowing I seemed foolish but not caring, I began to blush but kept my eyes boring into his. I had never given it thought before, but now a realization occurred to me with such force it was like I’d known it for some time; I felt the certainty of my feelings swelling in every particle of my soul, overflowing into my body until they had to be released. Trembling, not due to the cold but caused instead by adrenaline and hope, I continued. “I couldn’t let you leave without telling you that I love you.”

17. Chapter Eight: Sacrifice, Part II

Chapter Eight—Sacrifice, Part II

8.8

Things truly were crazy over the next few days. Details needed to be finalized before the wedding, the house needed to be scrubbed and decorated for the reception, visiting family needed to be entertained, the Christmas feast needed to be prepared, and, predictably, Petunia scrutinized every detail. Her eyes nearly popped when I suggested letting me take care of all of the cleaning by magic, and from then on I was very careful to keep my wand on me but very well hidden, lest I leave it unattended only to find it “mysteriously” snapped in two.

When I wasn’t being bothered by Petunia, my Mum innocently insisted on slipping questions about James into our conversations, never minding that every female relative I had was listening, eager to throw in her own opinion—well, every female relative except for Petunia, who looked ready to snap my nose off every time James was mentioned. “He certainly is a nice boy, very well-mannered, very handsome,” Mum would say. Were we dating, or just friends? How serious were we? I was very young, did I know not to rush things, realize that most men typically only wanted “one thing”? And, my favorite warning, whispered when my cousins were out of the room: just because there was a war on didn’t mean that it had to be “now or never”.

I laughed at that one, joking that an elopement in the middle of a war really was how I’d always envisioned getting married—even though thoughts of marriage were absurd at this point. She wasn’t amused, but I sated her as best I could without giving myself away, without letting her know how deeply I did care for James. I did like him, I admitted, but we were only friends.

Which is the truth, I thought ruefully as I attached James’ Christmas present to Icarus’ waiting leg before carrying the owl to the window. We were in love—my heart still thudded remembering the glowing look in his eyes when he’d told me that he loved me too—and had gotten somewhat intimate over the last month at Hogwarts, but so far that was the extent of our romantic relationship.

I want more.

The thought came unbidden to me as I leaned against the glass of my window, watching Icarus fly away before turning my eyes to the shining, multicolored lights decorating my neighbor’s homes, their brightness glittering pleasantly against the icicles and snow frozen to the landscaping. Taking a seat on my desktop, I sat with chin propped on hands, staring unseeingly at the lights as I considered this surprising—and somewhat scary—feeling. When we at first began meeting up in private, I was moved by the sometimes frenzied, sometimes slow-burning passion sparking between us; at times it had nearly whisked me away, and at such times I always assumed that we would end up shagging—at some far off point in the future. But such was James’ power over me now that I had begun to imagine more and more often what it might be like, had begun seriously pondering my desires to do so, and my eagerness to share the experience with him grew.

Yet I was cautious, unwilling to press into such intimacy too quickly. Suddenly feeling anxious—how in the world could I possibly initiate a conversation over the subject with James?—and needing to relieve this tension by moving, I hopped up from my desk and paced the length of my room before collapsing onto my bed a moment later, burying my head into a pillow and letting out a loud sigh.

I had always been taught that giving up my virginity was supposed to be a sacred, meaningful experience. I wanted it to be so, didn’t want to throw it away lightly. And I was only seventeen—well, very nearly eighteen…

But I do love him, I told myself, abruptly rolling over onto my back to stare at the ceiling. And I want to make love with him.

I shivered, finally realizing that this was it—I’d taken the step. I didn’t want a shag to satisfy just my body, I wanted this with James to strengthen our relationship. For him to know me that much more, and for me to know him…

My mind settled down as soon as I made my decision. I won’t rush things, I told memories of my mother, who had always cautioned me not to hurry into anything, to make a smart decision when propositioned for sex. And I’ll be prepared, I added, thinking of the countless talks I’d had with female cousins and friends over the topic: what it would be like the first time, to make sure to have contraception prepared because I never knew when the time would be right, to be open and honest with my partner, not to feel shy…

I took a calming breath and slipped under my sheets, feeling more matured after making this decision. Vaguely, I wondered if James had had similar arguments with himself on the topic, if he was thinking about shagging me as much as I’d begun to think about shagging him, if he was wondering if we were ready to take the step. I snorted as I tucked my wand under my pillow; he was a man, of course he was thinking about it.

When the time is right…

Yet, my mind racing with thoughts of the loss of virginity and sex, relationships and James, it took me quite some time to fall asleep.

8.9

I was finally able to get away to visit James during the morning of Boxing Day. Petunia was satisfied that my blue bridesmaid dress fit just so, and I hadn’t botched up the rehearsal, so there was nothing left for me to do but stay out of everyone’s way while they made final preparations. I was more than happy to do so, afraid that if I saw Vernon Dersley one more time before the wedding and was forced into entertaining his horrid sister, Marge, he might get a premature lesson about where I really went to school. A demonstration, more like. It’s not like I didn’t try to be civil, but his falsely genteel demeanor never failed to put my back up.

I practically ran toward the park, hurrying as best I could through the snow. Tossing a look over my shoulder at my home, I laughed, finally feeling free. But as I neared the old swing set, I gradually slowed my pace to a walk, my attention focusing sharply on the person lounging there. I itched to draw my wand from its hide-away in my coat pocket, but didn’t dare to reveal it in broad daylight where any of the neighbors could see.

Instead, as I passed, I simply frowned upon Severus Snape, who was learning up against the swing set, arms crossed with one leg propped on the railing, deceivingly like old times. His head was tilted back against the support poles, and he looked bored and idly haughty, as though he had been waiting there for some time. An icy wind pulled at the collar of his long, dark coat and blew it around his ankles, but only at my approach did he stir, straightening nonchalantly to regard me with a level gaze.

“I’m glad to see that you’re recovered,” he drawled when I had drawn even with him, sounding so uninterested that I questioned the truth of his words. “Of course, it wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for Potter—”

I rolled my eyes at him—of course Snape would blame it on James—and continued on my way. With every step I feared that he might curse me, and my back tingled with anticipation for the blow. But I kept my face smooth, emotionless, utterly uncaring about anything that Snape might have to say.

“Lily, stay away from him.” Snape practically hissed the words, sounding insistent now that he’d realized I was not going to engage him in conversation. For a brief moment he seemed like his younger self, confident that I would take his words to heart. The tone, and remembering that we had been best friends once, made me want to vomit. “The Dark Lord wants him,” he continued after a hesitation. “…and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“That’s a bit hypocritical,” I muttered icily, finally annoyed enough to toss him a look over my shoulder, “considering that I’m a ‘Mudblood’ and you’re one of Voldemort’s cronies—”

Snape briefly clutched at his left forearm with the other hand, ire crossing his face. “Do not speak His name!” he uttered through teeth clenched with pain, glaring at me. I had barely registered his strange reaction when he was upon me, gripping my wrist with enough strength to twist me around, forcing me to face him. A tingling, unpleasant chill passed through me at his touch, and I narrowed my eyes at the feeling of goose bumps tightening my skin.

“Tell me,” gasped Snape as though every word taxed his self control. Thin wisps of steam from his mouth betrayed his agitated panting. “Tell me where Potter is and no one will harm you, I swear.” We were standing so closely that I could see tiny beads of sweat popping out on his furrowed forehead, could smell his nervousness.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood at his words. “Are you threatening me?”

“No, I never….” he trailed off, his gaze harsh but imploring. Slowly, he released my arm, and just as I let out a relieved breath, I noticed him begin to reach for the wand stuck in the waistband of his trousers. “Please, Lily…”

“Could you do it?” Feeling sick to my stomach, I stared him full in the face, wondering if he could bring himself to torture me for the information he thought I could give. His fingers played against his wand nervously, and he tore his eyes away from mine, ashamed. As soon as he was distracted, I bolted toward the shelter of the woods; I felt his fingers brush against my jacket as he lunged for me, swearing. But I was faster, and as soon as I had scrambled under the trees, I touched my wand and Disapparated.

8.10

James tightened his grip on my hand as we slipped through the glass entrance to St. Mungo’s and stepped, unnoticed by passing Muggles, onto the sidewalk. My follow-up appointment with the Healers—which James had insisted on escorting me to despite the morning’s reminder that the Death Eaters were still targeting him—had run late, and the farthest-reaching rays of the setting sun were sinking rapidly behind the surrounding buildings. A bitter cold was setting in with the twilight but the air was miraculously dry, and I enjoyed the brief respite from falling snow as we nonchalantly joined the ebbing flow of pedestrians on the sidewalk.

James tossed me a grin during the act of looking over his shoulder, checking to see if anyone was following us. “Fancy a drink?”

I snorted, but squeezed his hand to ease the sting of my rejection. “Shouldn’t we get back to the cottage?”

“We should,” James contended, pulling me closer so he could wrap an arm around my shoulders as we walked, “but that would be doing what They expect, wouldn’t it? I thought we were avoiding that.”

“Nice argument,” I said sarcastically, playfully shrugging off his arm even as I shot a suspicious look down an alleyway we were passing. I felt unsettled, sensing that something was wrong, and was eager to get back to the relative safety of Godric’s Hollow. “But to tell the truth, I’d like to get off of the streets.”

“Right, I understand,” he laughingly assured me as we turned down the disused alley, getting out of sight behind an old, rusted-out dumpster. His eyes glowed, and, with a thrill, I was reminded of that happy moment when he’d told me he loved me as we embraced in the falling snow. “You just don’t want to be seen with me in public.”

I rolled my eyes. “You can make me a drink when we get back to Godric’s Hollow, how’s that?” Touching my wand under my jacket, I prepared to Disapparate. “Besides, I’m sure Sirius is dying to hear how my appointment went—”

My voice cut off as my brain seized up with horror and the sense of unease exploded into my stomach. Instead of the uncomfortable feeling of being squeezed into a thousand different dimensions, when I had tried to Disapparate, it felt instead as though I had run head-long into a brick wall. Physically stumbling backwards in shock, letting the rough brick of the alleyway wall hold me up, I tried, futilely, to Disapparate once more.

“Lily, what’s wrong?” asked James as he stepped over to support me, forehead furrowed with worry. He had his wand out, but didn’t seem sure of what his next action should be. I threw out a hand, gesturing for him to keep his voice down.

“We’ve been blocked from Disaparating. Try it,” I whispered, sliding over to lean against the cold, rusty metal of the dumpster, peering through the crack between it and the wall and trying to view the street. My angle wasn’t great and I could only see half a block on the other side of the street from my position, but it was better than nothing. Somehow I managed to keep my voice steady; my nerves were already tingling as they recalled the pain of my just-healed injuries.

“I don’t see anyone suspicious…” I continued, my voice business-like as I tried to detach my emotions from my body, letting focus and determination briefly override my fear of entrapment. “But I wonder how they found you?”

James shook himself, his eyes narrowed over his own failure to Disapparate. “If they knew about your appointment they could have guessed I’d come with you, for one,” he suggested, his voice flat as though he knew he had made a grave mistake. Loose gravel crunched under his feet as he crouched and shifted to peer around the side of the dumpster. “I think we’re going to have to run for it—”

He grabbed my hand to pull me into a dash behind him, but I jerked him back against the alley wall; there had been movement down the street, someone darting from one building to another. “Wait!” I hissed just as a Stunner whizzed by, lancing through the space James would have occupied if he’d kept running. A moment later, another Stunning spell rammed into the dumpster from a different direction, penning us in place. “Someone is coming…”

I could just make out a darkly clad and hooded shape detaching itself from the shadows of the deserted office buildings across the street. It walked slowly, almost stumbling, but seemed unconcerned by its lack of cover. Three more people followed the first, heading straight for our alleyway. I frowned at them when they reached thirty paces away; there wasn’t a wand in sight.

“James…” I said slowly as he raised his wand to take aim, laying a hand gently on his shoulder. “I don’t think they are the ones who attacked us.”

“They haven’t yet, you mean…” he trailed off, concentrating, and a moment later a Stunner burst from his wand and hit the foremost person square in the chest. He or she stumbled, but continued forward. James swore and fired again, hit and failed, and my stomach dropped as I realized that more had joined the first four.

“What the hell are they?” James muttered, tossing me a quick, intense look as he twisted around to lean his back against the dumpster and began to rummage through his jacket pockets.

“Something bad, I’d imagine.” I raised a quizzical eyebrow at him as I swiped a loose lock of hair behind my ear. “What are you doing?”

“Getting help,” he answered swiftly, pulling a mirror out of his pocket. It was small and round, barely large enough to fit into his palm. “Padfoot,” he told it urgently, ignoring me. Yet James’ face peered back at us, his eyes wide, lips pressed into a thin line.

My mouth dropped open. “Are you ins—”

He cut me off with an impatient wave of a hand. “Just try to delay those things, alright?” He turned back to the mirror. “Sirius, answer, mate.”

Ignoring James’ continuous calls into the mirror, I turned back to the street. The figures were about halfway across, still shuffling slowly, not a threat but for their clearly menacing intent; no more curses had been fired at us and I wondered, with a sinking feeling, what the Death Eaters were waiting for. I shoved that worry into the back of my mind as I rifled quickly through my arsenal of spells, trying to think of something to slow the approaching figures down. I finally decided on a handful of jinxes and narrowed my eyes at the foremost figure as I concentrated on the spell and took aim.

Petrificus totalus!

It hit the person in the face, but the effect was not what I expected. Instead of instantly freezing, the figure slowed even more, fighting something unseen for each step, but still edging forward, one shuffling step every four seconds or so. I frowned, tried again. This time my spell caught its hood and pulled it down around the person’s shoulders.

I gasped and grabbed James’ arm. “Look!” I moaned, pointing weakly at the pale, greenish cast to the person’s sagging face, the dank hair, blank eyes. “He’s… dead! It’s dead!” My skin started to crawl, and I felt as though I was going to sick up. “They magicked someone’s body back to life…”

In that instant, as James and I stared at the creatures in horror, Sirius’ voice rang out from the mirror in James’ hand.

“Yeah, mate?”

I did a double-take, beginning to feel out of body. Sirius’ arrogantly handsome reflection had replaced James’ in the mirror; as I watched, he tossed back a shot of what seemed to be Firewhiskey. I mentally shook myself, making sure I wasn’t having some sort of odd dream. But I didn’t have time to dwell on the magic of the mirror; zombie-like, the creatures were pressing relentlessly forward.

“Magic,” I mumbled vehemently as James addressed the mirror. The word was almost a curse. I shook my head, turning back to jab my wand at the approaching figures. I felt numb, as though the reality of what I was seeing hadn’t yet hit me. “Bloody Dark magic.”

With each word, I shot another spell at the stumbling bodies. The Body-Bind slowed them, but they were still determinedly dangerous. Biting my lip, trying to ignore the alarmed, disbelieving screams of Muggles who had noticed the commotion from down the street and had realized that they weren’t seeing fireworks, I tried another spell.

“Reducto!”

I was too shaken to do it wordlessly, but the effect was the same—I blasted one of the foremost creature’s legs out from under it, ripping it off at the thigh. It dropped to the ground, began to crawl toward us. I took aim at one if its arms, but in that moment another Stunning spell was shot toward us, narrowly missing my hand, and I jerked back into cover.

Yet I wasn’t fast enough to dodge a second spell. A beam of white light nicked the tip of my wand, the force of it knocking me breathlessly to the ground. My wand flew away from my fingertips, and I watched helplessly as it spun away into the darkness, a whirling projectile that barely missed James’ face.

“Lily!” James yelped, his voice heavy with the weight of warning that he didn’t have time to utter.

At his call I rolled back behind the dumpster, barely dodging several other curses that had followed the Disarming Spell. I watched, wide-eyed, as James quickly Summoned my wand back, impatiently waiting for him to press it into my palm and feeling entirely vulnerable at its absence. I nodded at him in thanks once he had done so, and turned back toward the street.

“I think you made whoever is controlling them angry,” commented James dryly as he slipped the mirror into his pocket and began to follow my lead, dodging curses and beginning to maim the creatures so they couldn’t physically work their way toward us. It was morbid, dismembering dead bodies, but I gritted my teeth, feeding the disgust to the adrenaline beginning to overcome me. “Try to see where the Death Eater is firing from.”

“What did you tell Sirius?” I asked as the first figure finally collapsed into a quivering mass on the street, hardly two paces from the sidewalk. I shivered as its glazed eyes stared into mine, still intent on its target, and had to jerk my gaze away.

“I told him to get dad—Aurors are on the way,” said James quickly, felling a second of the creatures. “We just have to hold out here until they arrive.”

Curses from a second Death Eater crisscrossed with the first, green light mixing with red with increasing frequency as they grew more eager to bring the conflict to an end. Behind the glow of the curses, I saw several more of the figures begin approaching, moving jerkily, as fast as they could. It seemed as though the Death Eaters were getting desperate.

“Easier said than done, yeah?” I asked him, trying to sound brave as I looked at him intently, still fighting the jumpy disbelief threatening to overwhelm me; even feeling fear would be better than this shaky nothingness. I didn’t understand how James could be so calm, but I drew strength from his confidence.

He seemed to sense that I was near my limit, and laid his free hand on my shoulder as he scooted closer to me, offering comfort through his presence. “We’re doing fine, love,” he said, raising his voice above the spells continuing to rattle against the increasingly battered dumpster.

“No, James.” I turned my head to look at him, our faces merely inches apart. From this distance his body betrayed the adrenaline coursing through him: his breathing was shallow and rapid through thinly-parted lips, his jaw was clenched. But there was no obvious sign of fear; reflected in his glasses I saw several curses jetting toward us, but he hardly flinched as he leaned away from them so that they missed him by centimeters. He reacted instantaneously, reflexes controlling his body as they did during a Quidditch match, and I wondered bizarrely if he was pretending that the hexes were bludgers, just annoying obstacles before the target that must be watched for, dodged, and then put from the mind.

But this wasn’t a game.

“James,” I repeated, my voice sounding far away as my heartbeat thudded in my ears. “We have to get out of this alley, away from Muggles.”

He tilted his head at me, considering for a moment before nodding. “All right.” He hesitated, sighed, and once again reached into his pockets, quickly pulling out something large and silvery. “I didn’t want the Death Eaters to know about this… perhaps they won’t realize…”

He pulled me to my feet, close to his side, and wrapped the material around us like a cloak. As he peered around the ledge of the bin, I realized that the Death Eaters had stopped trying to curse us; perhaps they were toying with us, waiting for our next move. The other creatures were still headed toward us.

“What is this?” I whispered, running the underside of the lightweight, silky material through my fingers. The material was thin enough to see through; narrowing my eyes, I peered toward the mouth of the alleyway, searching for our aggressors.

“Invisibility cloak,” James murmured simply, taking my free hand in his. Shock jolted through me, though I still hardly had the concentration to marvel at the tricks up James’ sleeves. I settled on raising my eyebrows disbelievingly at him as he continued to speak in a low, urgent voice. “Stay close to me… we have to move slowly to keep hidden.”

He looked at me intently, his eyes taking in my pale face and the shaking hands I couldn’t control. It was obvious I was feeling overwhelmed, and my face burned at the scrutiny and that I had been so shaken by the Dark magic I had never imagined before. I am stronger than this, I thought angrily, refocusing myself. I am a Gryffindor.

“There might be more of those bodies walking around down the street, or more Death Eaters,” he continued, turning away from me and raising his wand. “Just keep quiet and we’ll walk right by them.”

I nodded, clenching my fist around my wand. “I’m ready,” I said, my voice tight with determination.

With a sharp motion of his wand, James sent the stack of crates flying toward the still-stumbling creatures; the crates exploded into splinters as they crashed against the bodies, knocking them forcefully down into the street. James tugged on my hand, a gesture for me to follow him, and we slipped through the mouth of the alley and hurried down the road, scurrying around the dismembered bodies in the street and moving as far away as possible from the still-walking ones.

I narrowed my eyes at a cloaked figure which immerged from the shelter of a doorway across from our alley, but it moved fluidly, humanly. Another white-masked and cloaked Death Eater stepped out from behind a parked car, and they both began creeping across the street toward the alley, trying to find out what we were up to. I held my breath as we passed by merely a meter away, but the Death Eater didn’t notice us as he or she raised a wand and blasted the dumpster farther back into the alley.

James and I ducked around a building as both Death Eaters swore, realizing we were gone. Abruptly there was a clamor, and when we peered back around the corner, there was a circle of figures surrounding the pair, wands all directed inward. The Death Eaters didn’t have time to make a sound before they were Stunned, dropping to the street in a heap. When they collapsed, the several remaining creatures went still, lifeless once more as the magic controlling them disappeared.

I blew out a thankful breath as a young man dashed toward the alley we had been hiding in. James started toward the group, but I gently pressed him back against the wall, holding a finger to my lips, gesturing for him to keep silent until we could confirm that the group of men and women now crowding the street were our allies.

“There’s no one here!” called the voice of the man now reappearing from the alley with a piece of twisted, smoldering dumpster in his hands. It was too dark to make out a face, but I recognized the voice as Sirius’. James relaxed under my hands as he, too, recognized the voice, which was followed by Moody’s growl as Sirius chucked the metal fragment back to the dumpster with a loud crash.

“Quiet, Black!” Moody nudged the unconscious body of one of the Death Eaters with his shoe. “There may be more of them.”

“They probably Disapparated when they saw our numbers,” mumbled another voice, Frank’s. At his words, several of the other Aurors broke from the group and began searching the surrounding buildings for more Death Eaters.

James and I exchanged a relieved smile before he whipped the cloak from around us, folded it tightly, and stuffed it back into his jacket, obviously wanting to keep it a secret from the Aurors as well. I made a mental note to ask him about that, and the mirror, later, but as soon as we stepped into the street, hand-in-hand and calling greetings, ten wands were trained onto us and the thought was driven from my mind.

“Don’t move,” directed one Auror, a tall woman I didn’t recognize. I shot a concerned glance at James as our wands were Summoned from us, but he simply shook his head resignedly as another spell jerked us roughly apart. My temper began to rise as yet another spell tingled over my body, searching, I assumed, for booby-traps on my person or evidence of Dark magic. Though I knew they were just taking appropriate precautions, I glared at the semi-circle of witches and wizards before us as Sirius dashed over from the alley, his mouth open incredulously. He made to rush toward us, but Fabian held him back.

“Wait,” he murmured as Frank began approaching us cautiously, his wand trained on me. My heart was racing faster than ever; surely they couldn’t believe that we were imposters?

“There’s something wrong,” Frank muttered as he approached, tilting his head at me. His eyes were queer, troubled. “Something Dark… on you.”

I gasped as, with a quick flick of his wand, Frank seemed to peel the top layer of my skin off of my body, and fire burned through every pore. It was an instantaneous flash of heat, gone before I had truly felt it, but it left me feeling lightheaded, my skin tingling. I sighed as the tightness eased from my weary muscles.

“What was it?” asked James quickly, keeping his voice low so the other Aurors couldn’t hear. Looking tense, he seemed to be forcing himself to stay where the Aurors wanted him, to keep himself from running over to me.

Frank pursed his lips. “Seemed like some sort of tracking hex…”

At his words, something snapped in my head, and nausea swopped through my stomach. “Snape…” With a shiver, I recalled the unpleasant tingling sensation that had shot through my body at his touch. I spoke slowly, working out the appalling truth even as I revealed it. “He must have set it on me earlier today when he confronted me… he counted on me seeing James, knew I wouldn’t stay away…”

Didn’t want to see me get hurt, Severus? I thought bitterly, my lips twisting sourly as James swore extravagantly. You manipulated me right into the middle of it all…

I took a deep breath, to calm both my rising anger and shame. I couldn’t bear to look at James upon realizing that this attack had been my fault, and instead stared intensely at Frank through the frustrating tears gathering in my eyes, hoping he would accept the only explanation I could give.

“That could be possible…” Frank said slowly, lowering his wand slightly. “From what I remember, he’s certainly friendly with the wrong sort of people…”

I nodded, rubbing my eyes with my palms to dash away the embarrassing release of emotion. “He flat-out told me that the Death Eaters want to ransom James for his father’s cooperation…”

“Well, you should have heeded that warning,” Frank admonished sharply, shooting a disapproving look at James. “You’re not invincible, James, no matter how lucky you are.” Sheepishly, James opened his mouth to explain, but Frank interrupted him.

“Never mind that now.” His voice was suddenly gentler, more like the Frank I had known at school, the one unblemished by the grit required in war. He smiled slightly. “First thing’s first: we’ve got to prove that you are the real James Potter and Lily Evans…”

The task of proving our identities and truthfulness to Frank—even though James had been the one to call the Aurors for help, leading them to capture two Death Eaters—was arduous. It took ten minutes of rapid-fire questioning by Frank to convince Moody that we were who we claimed. All the while, the Stunned Death Eaters were being taken into custody and the dead bodies were being collected for examination; several more wizards arrived to modify the memories of any nearby Muggles, none of whom had been hurt in the fray.

Finally, and with an apologetic look, Frank handed our wands back to us. “I’m sorry for that,” he murmured as we headed toward the main group of Aurors, “but it was necessary.”

“You’re not to blame,” seethed James quietly through clenched teeth, still undoubtedly dwelling on Snape’s interference. He cast a quick look at me before turning back to Frank, quickly assessing how drawn I was. “Do you need our statements now, or can we do it tomorrow night?”

Frank bent to pick up one of the Death Eater masks, able to examine it only for a moment before it it dissolved into dust and fell streaming through his fingers. He shook his head. “With evidence like this, he sooner we get your statements, the better.”

I blew out a breath, briefly watching my breath rise up into the clear winter sky and wrapping my arms about myself; my adrenaline had subsided, leaving behind the cold chill of disbelief at the encounter. Every so often a shiver would wrack my body, a product of both the cold and weary muscles, but they only served as subtle reminders that I was still alive. Someone patted me on the shoulder, and I turned my head to see Fabian smiling down at me encouragingly, his tired eyes offering friendship and support. I managed to return a weak smile.

“You do tend to get yourself into trouble, don’t you?” he asked lightly as he Summoned two scrolls of parchment and two quills with which to take James and my statements. He dutifully handed a quill and parchment to Frank, who was listening intently to James’ story a meter or so away, before latching his attention back on me.

I rolled my eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”

8.11

I still felt iced-through to the bone an hour later, loosely hugging myself as I stared vacantly at the weave of the thick carpet covering James’ bedroom floor, trying not to think of those things we had fought and recalling the ease of the entrapment that had been my fault.

James, re-entering the room after sending an owl to my parents letting them know where I would be staying for the night, noticed my disquiet. “Lily,” he said comfortingly, crossing his room with quick strides. He laid one hand on my shoulder and used the other to tilt back my chin so he could study my face. I shivered again at his touch though it was warm, and attempted a weak smile. But perhaps the tear sliding traitorously down one of my cheeks dispelled the illusion of calm I was trying to maintain; he grimaced at it before pulling me into a hug.

I could have stood there with him for forever, simply embracing, but far too quickly he drew away from me. “No wonder you’re shivering—you’re freezing!” he muttered, jabbing his wand in the direction of the bathroom. I heard the shower tap turn on and relaxed somewhat, anticipating the hot water and relaxation that would come from it.

Wordlessly, he turned back to me, his eyes soft. I merely stood there as he traced light kisses over my eyelids, on the lobe of an ear, down to the hollow of my throat, before finally reaching my lips. Goosebumps lifted on my arms at each gentle touch, but I still felt out of body, as though I was too numb for my body to respond with the appropriate fire. But James didn’t seem to mind; gathering me in his arms, hugging me to his chest while still pressing kisses into my hair, he seemed more concerned with comforting and protecting me than with seducing me.

“Come on,” he whispered, his hands slipping under my shirt and sliding along my spine as he eased it up my back. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

I didn’t protest as he raised the shirt over my head, but sighed gratefully at his endeavors to take care of me. My heart finally reacted, beginning to thud more rapidly as I noticed the love in his eyes, the dampened down desire he was unable to suppress as his gaze took me in.

But I didn’t feel shy or modest—those emotions hadn’t yet broken through my shaken senses. Instead I merely stepped forward to embrace him, resting my head against his neck as he hesitantly unsnapped the hook of my bra. His breath caught as the straps slipped from my shoulders and down my arms.

“Is this okay?” he asked in a strained whisper, his hands suddenly paused in the act of stroking my back as the thought occurred to him that he might be moving too quickly.

In response, I simply lifted his shirt over his head, and the warmth of our upper bodies touching, unimpeded by any clothing, was nearly enough to drive all feeling back into me. His hands burned as he drew me into him, kissing me deeply but tenderly. It seemed that he had coaxed me back to normality; as my hands clenched on his bare shoulders, my eyes closed against the passion racing through me. Slight traces of fear mixed with the adrenaline pumping through my veins, and I broke out in a light, nervous sweat as I realized that we had just taken a bold leap past any boundary we had treaded before. Finally feeling somewhat shy but determined to persevere, I took his hand.

“Come here,” I insisted quietly, pulling him toward the bathroom. Steam from the hot water had fogged up the mirrors and left the air feeling thick, but I craved the warmth. Yet he paused on the threshold, and I turned to stare at him curiously. He was leaning against the door jamb, his free hand in his hair as he stared at me, mesmerized. The muscles of his arms were tensed, strained as he restrained himself, and I blushed at the look in his eyes but reveled in it all the same; despite his hesitation, he was irresistible. “What’s wrong?”

“You get in,” he insisted, trying to keep his eyes on my face. “Let me go get some towels from the laundry…”

My blush burned even deeper as his hand slipped from mine and he closed the door in my face, and I realized that he needed a moment. Well, we’re both new to this, I thought as I kicked off my pants and slipped under the wonderfully scalding spray of the shower. I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking…

It didn’t take me long to soak myself and lather up, the chill and fear finally beginning to disappear from memory as the soapy water washed them away. My heart rate spiked as I heard James re-enter the room and slough off the rest of this clothing. He pulled back the shower curtain and instinctively I turned in the other direction, watching him enter with my head turned over my shoulder, my hands in my hair, rinsing out the last of the shampoo. He had removed his glasses, and I kept my eyes firmly locked onto his as he grinned at me awkwardly and stepped up behind me, wrapping his arms tightly around my body so that we could both stand under the spray, his chin bent to rest on my shoulder so that he could both kiss my throat and take in the sight of my body.

My heart is going to explode, I thought stupidly as my brain registered how good his body felt pressed up again mine, his skin slick with the water and even warmer due to it. With every roving touch my nerves danced, and I felt that, with this memory, I could never be cold again.

After a moment of revelation, he spoke, his voice hardly louder than the gushing water. “You know, I’d never noticed before now how short you really are.”

I half-turned in his arms to glare at him, blatantly eyeing him up and down and fighting a blush as I did so. “Perhaps you’re just too tall.”

He raised his eyebrows at me, doubtfully amused, but chuckled as I settled against his chest once more, this time facing him. “Perhaps.”

I breathed deeply against his color bone, each inhalation thick with moisture, and relaxed as I simply took in the feel of his skin. His hands were stroking up and down my arms as though he couldn’t get enough of how smooth they felt under the water, and it thrilled me to interest and arouse him so. I could definitely tell that he was aroused, and, while exciting, it was slightly intimidating. Nearly overwhelmed already, I decided that I wasn’t quite ready to take that step tonight.

He seemed to sense what I was thinking about, and I looked irresistibly into his eyes as he spoke once more.

“You’re just too much,” he smiled down at me, his eyes blazing before he hugged me to him so closely that he lifted me briefly off of my feet. “You’re so beautiful.”

I smiled, managing an emphatic “I love you” before his lips came crashing down on mine. This time we were absolutely unrestrained in our fervor, touching and kissing fiercely, unable to get enough of each other. Our desire and love for one another was palpable, thicker than the steam in the air, and we lost ourselves in it.

Eventually the lack of hot water drove us, wrapped in towels, to James’ bed. I set the alarm clock on his bedside table as he slipped into boxers and found another pair of pants and a soft shirt for me to sleep in. Utterly exhausted by this point—mentally, physically, and emotionally—we fell into each other’s arms. Only one thought resonated through my head as I drifted off to sleep, James pressed into my back with his arms wrapped protectively around me, determined never to let anything harm me again. Despite everything that had happened in the past day and everything that would probably happen tomorrow, I couldn’t deny that, for now, I was simply, incredibly, happy.

18. Interlude VIII

---

Alice had the window open, letting the sweet, damp smell of snow permeate the room along with the night’s bitter chill. Wrapped in a dressing gown, she was sitting on Frank’s bed with her legs drawn up against the cold, staring past billowing white curtains into the dark wilderness beyond. Dim light from the hearth illuminated her face enough for Frank to make out the worry etched there. He hesitated by the flickering fire, still watching her, before stepping over to close the window, sliding it shut with a soft click. Maybe he was getting a little bit paranoid, but the vulnerability of an opened window unsettled him.

“You didn’t have to wait up for me, love,” Frank said softly as he turned to face Alice with a grin, trying to alleviate her concern as he noted the dark circles under her eyes.

She shrugged as she slid back on the bed, giving him room to lie down next to her. “I can sleep in tomorrow,” she said dismissively, reaching out to pull him into an embrace as he settled himself on the mattress. Frank closed his eyes for a moment, lulled by the feeling of her warm fingers playing through his hair. “I can’t sleep anyway, when you work so late.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, rolling over toward her. “Lily and James got into a little trouble, but it’s all taken care of, now.”

Frank felt Alice stiffen. “Lily and James?” she asked with quiet alarm. “What happened?”

Flashes of the scene shot through Frank’s mind: the captured Death Eaters, the dismembered body parts, the smoking and curse-twisted dumpster, and the shock on his friends’ faces. Not exactly images he wanted to recall before drifting to sleep.

“I know you’re curious, but can we talk about this in the morning?” Frank pleaded, his eyelids fluttering open as he reached up to stroke Alice’s cheek, trying to soften his words. “ I… can’t think about it right now.”

“Of course,” she soothed, continuing to idly play with his long locks of hair. “You’ve been working too hard.”

Frank snorted. “I’m an Auror in training and we’re in a war—what did you expect?” he asked playfully, easily pulling her over to lie on top of him. He sighed at her comforting weight, sinking toward sleep.

“I know.” She grinned, resting her chin on his shoulder before closing her eyes. Frank knew that something was still bothering her, though; she was fidgeting too much to be at peace. At last, she sighed. “Frank, I Flooed the Ministry three hours ago, and they said you’d left. What have you been doing since…” she glanced at her watch. “Midnight?”

Her voice was neutral, calm, but at her words, Frank paled and his eyes shot open. His heart began racing, and he tried to ignore the quirk of Alice’s lips as she turned her head to the side, listening to his heartbeat give him away.

“Alice…” he trailed off, wondering where to begin and how much to tell her. He tilted his head, looked down into Alice’s eyes, pained at the uncertainly and fear he saw there.

Suddenly, he laughed, relief flooding through him despite her disgruntlement. Wasn’t this what he wanted? Having to keep secrets from Alice brought him down far more than the tension of his job did, but he had promised Dumbledore that he wouldn’t tell her anything until the time was right…

Perhaps this was the time.

He took a quick breath, before: “Let me tell you about something called The Order of the Phoenix.”

She listened silently, though with wide eyes, as he unraveled the tale of how Dumbledore had approached him even before Frank had begun Auror training, hardly waiting until Frank had graduated before asking him to take part in the secret movement against Voldemort. How he’d been passing Dumbledore information under the table for months, wary of sharing with the Ministry since it was sure to be penetrated by Voldemort’s supporters. He even admitted that Moody was a member of the Order as well, as was Frank’s partner Fabian.

Frank felt exhausted at the end of the story, more ready now than ever to lay his head down on his pillow and lose consciousness for a little while. But Alice looked determined, wide awake, despite the hour.

She clasped her hand in his, gripping it tightly as she leaned in to lay a gentle kiss upon his lips. “Thank you for telling me—though I know you’re happy to get it off of your chest,” she whispered, smiling at him.

Behind her, the first orange sliver of the rising sun peaked over the horizon.

“Of course, now that I know…” she trailed off, looking amused, though her gaze was intense. “I’m in.”

He was too tired to argue the point—or perhaps he just knew that he would lose—but Frank simply wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly to him while he still had the chance.

---

19. Chapter Nine: Bonded

Chapter Nine—Bonded

9.1

Dawn was just breaking over the silent neighborhood when I crept into my home, careful not to wake my parents or Petunia as I shrugged out of my winter coat and kicked off my boots at the door before heading into the kitchen. I stared blankly for a moment at the sterile beige countertops, everything put nearly into its place during one of Petunia’s nervous cleaning frenzies, before sighing and pulling open the refrigerator to survey the breakfast options. Perhaps making my family a good meal would dispel any irritation they might carry over my unintentional all-night-out. Hell, I chuckled weakly to myself. Petunia will probably care more than mum and dad do…

I felt slightly groggy, still only half-believing the events that had taken place the day before, but knew that if I laid back down in my own bed, I would not find sleep. I forced my sluggishness away, intending to focus all of my attention on making sure that nothing untoward happened during my sister’s wedding. Gritting my teeth, I resolved to be nothing but pleasant to Petunia today—no matter how much she irked me. And irk me I knew she would—the more unbearable she behaved toward me, the happier she would be.

After a quick glance out of the window to make sure no one was watching, I flicked my wand at the tea kettle, levitating it over to the sink to fill with water before setting it gently down upon the stovetop to boil. I magicked eggs and bacon out of the refrigerator as well, let them set themselves up in two frying pans as I began making toast. Normally I didn’t use magic at home if I didn’t have to—I told myself it was an effort to stave off laziness—but I was too tired this morning to reprimand myself.

As breakfast cooked itself, I leaned idly against the countertop and peered out of the window. The bronze light cutting through the purple pre-dawn and reflecting off of the snow anchored me to the spot, trying to impress upon me the gravity of the day. Petunia was getting married, moving out of the house, starting the rest of her life. It should have impressed me more, and yet… a domestic Muggle life seemed tame compared to what towered over me every day of late. I cringed at the comparison, but it remained all the same. Besides, it wasn’t as though I didn’t want to get married myself one day…

“Finally home, I see.” My father’s disapproving voice jerked me from my thoughts, and I spun to face him, chagrined, quickly tucking my wand into my back pocket. His voice dipped into mock-sternness. “What are you learning at that school of yours besides staying up all night?”

I grinned, knowing that he, at least, had forgiven me. “Sorry dad,” I said sweetly, offering him a cup of tea before pouring one for myself. “We got held up later than expected, and Mr. Potter thought it would be better for me to stay there in case the stress caused a relapse. But I’m fine,” I added hastily, noticing the concerned look in my father’s eyes. I fervently stirred sugar into my cup to keep from looking at him—I didn’t feel completely back to normal, yet, and I didn’t want him to know it. “The Healers said I was as healthy as could be expected. Mr. Potter is just overly cautious…”

“That’s good to know.” He sighed as he took a sip of his tea. “I’ve got one daughter leaving me today, don’t you go, too.”

“Nobody’s leaving.” I bent to hug him around the neck, comforted as usual by the familiar minty smell of his after-shave. “Don’t worry, dad. Try to relax today, alright?”

He nodded and I backed away from him, escaping up the stairs with my cup of tea before he could see the unbidden tears in my eyes.

9.2

I showered quickly, resisting the urge to linger and recall how wonderful the experience with James had been the night before, and how peaceful I had felt this morning when he had awoken me by sleepily taking my hand and kissing the back of my neck. Yet thoughts down that avenue tended to turn heady, especially as I visualized his arousal in my mind, and fantasizing about shagging James was the last thing I needed to be thinking about—especially because we would be surrounded by my family all day.

Yet any remaining daydreams were dashed the second I stepped into my bedroom to find Petunia—her face slathered in a green facial mask, her blonde hair in rollers, and still clad in her dressing gown—elbow-deep in my school trunk, rifling through my things. Instantly on my guard, I closed my bedroom door a hair short of slamming it; Petunia jumped at the noise, whirling to face me.

I crossed my arms and gave her a hard stare, my voice purposefully nonchalant as I attempted to keep our dialog pleasant. “If you were looking for something, you could have just asked me where it was…”

Her lips narrowed into a thin line at my unexpectedly calm reaction, and she placed her hands on her hips, signaling that she would be on the attack. “Why am I not surprised,” she began hotly, “to discover that mum and dad aren’t punishing you for staying out all—”

“Oh grow up,” I interrupted, instantly annoyed. “Something important came up—”

“Something important?” she sneered, breathing heavily. “Staying out all night to fuck some freak the night before my wedding somehow qualifies as something important? Oh, please, this ought to be good!”

I froze, not knowing how to react to this statement. I wanted to slap her, to hex her—and yet tiny bits of me just wanted to cry over the fractured relationship with my own sister. I settled on taking a deep breath, trying to cool my boiling anger.

“Tell me what you were digging around for, or leave,” I said stiffly, trying to pretend as though her statement hadn’t riled me; it was the surest way to get a rise out of her. I dropped my pile of clothes and hidden wand to the floor and tightened the towel around my torso. “Yvonne, Marge, and the other bridesmaids will be here soon; I need to get ready.”

“So you don’t deny it!” Petunia announced viciously, grinning now. But Petunia was a gossip, and I refused to let her pump me for information. I was used to playing her games, and simply stepped over to my bureau, dropped my towel, and began getting dressed in what I would wear to get my hair and nails done, my anger transitioning into pity at her shallowness as I did so. I resisted the strong urge to make a snide retort—especially one about her husband-to-be—and Petunia questioned me non-stop as I dressed, not minding that I gave no answers. She simply wanted to see me squirm and bite my tongue. However, when I tucked my wand into the waist of my pants, hiding the top under the hem of my shirt, Petunia’s voice trailed away. Her eyes were locked onto my back, as though she could see the wand resting there.

“My wand?” I asked suspiciously after a moment. “Is that what you were looking for?”

She licked her lips nervously. “I want you to leave it here,” she said quietly, almost pleading with me. Her joy from verbally pouncing on me a moment before faded away. “I don’t want you acting like a freak on my wedding day.”

“Petunia, I suddenly won’t revert to a Muggle if I don’t have my wand on me,” I snapped, failing at trying to be patient with her insecurities. Her old jealously of my magic had turned into animosity years ago, and it was pathetic how hard she worked to pretend my world didn’t exist. “I’m a Witch no matter what you do, just accept it.”

She frowned, her large front teeth poking through her lips as she pouted. “I made an exception and let you invite that ruffian as your guest. Just leave your wands here for the day—it’s my wedding day, you have to do what I want.”

“It’s not that simple, Petunia.” I crossed my arms, and tried to keep the disgust off of my face. I lowered my voice, whispering fervently, “You know the Wizarding world is in a war, James and I just want to make sure that nothing—”

“Oh spare me.” She rolled her eyes. “If making up some nonsense about a war makes you feel self-important, guess what: I’m not buying it. As if normal, decent people have to worry about people like… you!”

My hand jerked toward my belt as I fought the urge to prove to her that magic did exist, even if she didn’t want to believe it. But I just sighed and forced my clenched fingers apart. “Look, I’ll do my best to act normal today—but you keep away from James, I don’t want you tormenting him.”

Petunia snorted, stalking toward the door. “You keep him away from my guests—“

“What, afraid people will like him more than they like Vernon?” I shot, knowing the jib was childish and ridiculous—but so was the entire argument. She froze, a vein pulsing in her long neck, and I couldn’t stifle the disbelieving bark of a laugh that ripped from my throat as I realized that the remark had actually gotten under her skin. I was opening my mouth to apologize for it when the doorbell rang, and the booming voice of Vernon’s sister Marge called up the stairs, accompanied by the shrill voice of Petunia’s best friend, Yvonne.

“Pet? Petty darling, are you ready to go?”

With one last scathing look at me, Petunia hurried from the room, slamming the door behind her.

9.3

To my relief, the ceremony and reception went without a hitch. Petunia did her best to ignore me, and I was able to strap my wand to my left calf in order to have it on me—unfortunately, that was the only place I could hide my wand under the sleek folds of my bridesmaids dress. While Petunia was getting ready at the church, James had been able to set wards around the large reception tent in our back yard—barring Snape suddenly showing up for a duel, it looked as though we were home free for the evening. As everyone drank and danced, I actually found myself having a good time—after the obligatory photo session, of course. Though Mum, in her persistent quest to keep both of her daughters happy, and perhaps sensing that I wasn’t having the best time with Petunia and her friends, had convinced the photographer to take one of just James and me, and I looked forward to framing it for my desk.

Once the toasts had been made at the reception, I escaped the bridal party table in favor for a table at the back of the tent near a portable heater, where several cousins my age had congregated. We chatted over a bottle of wine, our visiting interspersed with bouts of dancing. James was popular among my female cousins, especially the ones several years younger than myself, who looked up at him in attracted awe but were too intimidated to ask him to dance. The older cousins, who I was closer to, laughingly invited him to dance with them and teased me if I acted jealous.

But I didn’t mind simply watching him—he was smiling, having a good time, and—somehow—the wary shadow behind his eyes had softened. Perhaps it was because we were the only wizards present, and he didn’t have to constantly suspect those around us for fear they might be Dark. In any case, he primarily seemed concerned with not being outdanced; he exerted himself so much that he left his black suit coat on the back of my chair, and rolled up the sleeves of his maroon button-up shirt. My head was a swirl of lights, music, joy, and wine as I took James’ hand to dance to an upbeat number.

“So, what do you think about Muggle weddings?” I asked as we two-stepped in a wide circle with several other couples, Petunia and Vernon included. Luckily, she was so engrossed with her new husband that she forgot to send us dirty looks. My head was resting against James’ collar bone, and I spoke quietly enough that only he could hear me above the volume of the record player.

“Well, overall it’s pretty similar to a magical wedding. The ceremony is a bit different, though. We bind with magic, not just words.” He spun me in a quick circle, grinning as he changed his step on me and I sought to keep up. “What type do you want to have one day?”

“Don’t know, I’ve never seen a magical one before,” I said nonchalantly as we negotiated carefully around the other couples; the last thing I wanted to do was step on Petunia’s wedding dress. “Probably a Muggle wedding, so my family could actually be there.” I laughed, quirked an eyebrow at him. “Of course, maybe I’ll marry a Muggle or Muggleborn, and it’ll be a moot point.”

He snorted, his eyes gleaming with humor as he pulled me in, letting the wine go to his senses for a moment as he held me too close. “Don’t kid yourself.” The words were intense, ambiguous, but the look in his eyes made it clear what he was hinting about.

I danced on tip-toe long enough to whisper into his ear, knowing that the feel of my warm breath on his neck would send shivers down his spine. My words were teasing rather than sensual, not what he was expecting at all. I desired him, surely—but that didn’t mean I would fall blindly to his charms, offering no resistance whatever. Weeks before, I had sworn to myself that I would never simply give in to him, that we both deserved something more meaningful than that. And so instead of re-iterating my love for him, I grinned mischievously. “Don’t flatter yourself, Potter.”

And with that, I turned away from him and made my way back to my cousins, smiling to myself. Perhaps the wine had gone to my head as well, but I could feel his amused, determined glance on my back even after one of my cousins had stepped up to take my place on the dance floor.

9.4

We ushered in 1978 quietly, just mum and dad and me. We stayed at home to watch old movies on the telly and play board games while sipping champagne. Mum even surprised me with a chocolate cake to celebrate my upcoming eighteenth birthday. Spending time with my parents was pleasant, but before long, I was definitely ready to get back to school to see how my friends had fared over the break.

Upon stepping onto the ever-crowded platform at King’s Cross, I immediately felt the presence of the Ministry, and for good reason. The Aurors weren’t even trying to blend in with the crowd; after the public outrage that the train had been attacked before, the Ministry wanted to send a sign that they wouldn’t allow an attack to happen again. Squads of Aurors were riding the train to Hogwarts with us, and they even had patrols along the rail line. Yet somehow, I doubted that the Death Eaters would try anything with the train—on this journey, at least.

My patrol ended halfway through the journey. Unfortunately I hadn’t seen James but for a moment since my sister’s wedding; he was patrolling the cabins near the caboose of the train while I had been patrolling near the engine, and the only interaction we’d had was a shared smile. I was eager to meet up with him, and to relax with my friends over butterbeer and few chocolate frogs for the remainder of the ride.

I was walking quickly down the metal walkway, hand raised to keep bits of snow from whirling into my eyes, when I spotted two familiar Aurors lounging against the railing mid-way down the train. They were dressed in dark work robes, and were bundled up against the cold, but I could still recognize their tall frames even if I couldn’t make out the features of their faces.

“Frank! Fabian!” I cried happily, dashing over to throw my arms around Frank. My voice hardly carried over the sound of the winter storm and the racketing wheels of the train, but both turned to regard me with pleased surprise. They looked slightly more well-rested than when I had seen them before, the circles under their eyes less dark than usual, and I hoped that they had gotten some time off over the holidays.

“Lily, how’ve you been?” asked Frank, giving me a quick squeeze. “You certainly look better than the last time we saw you.”

“Managed to stay out of trouble since we saw you last?” shot Fabian, grinning as he crossed his arms in mock severity. The wind was blowing strands of his long red hair across his face, but he ignored the bother. Behind him, the white-washed countryside streaked by, partially concealed by flurries of snow and steam from the train’s engine.

I rolled my eyes at the pair of them. “I’m doing well—I’m ready to get this term over with, though. You know, get out into the real world.” I leaned back against the railing beside Fabian, facing Frank. Through the compartment window beside him, I noticed Emmeline and Alice sitting with the Marauders, playing cards. I smiled to myself; no wonder Frank had chosen to stand guard outside this particular compartment.

Frank frowned a little, growing serious. “Have you settled on a career, yet?”

I fiddled with the Gryffindor scarf around my neck, grabbing the ends so that the cold wind couldn’t blow them streaming out behind me they way it was blowing my hair, streaking through the long locks too quickly to truly tangle them.

“Still considering,” I finally answered, “though the Aurors are top choice right now…” I bit my lower lip, trailing off uncertainly.

“But?” Frank prompted, tilting his head at me.

“Well,” I shrugged. “I want to get married eventually, I want to have a family… Auror training doesn’t seem to lend itself to that very well.”

Fabian snorted. “No, it doesn’t. I’m several years older than my sister and she’s already pregnant for the third time—with twins—while I’m just a lonely bachelor!” He shot Frank an amused look. “I don’t know how he’s managed his relationship so well.”

I grinned at Frank as he blushed, half-glanced into the window next to him. “I’m just lucky, I suppose.”

“Yeah, well…” I tried to keep my thoughts off of James, knowing that he surely would try for the Aurors. What would happen when we got out of school? I’d rather be by his side than waiting nervously every night for him to come home. I sighed. “Perhaps I should be less selfish. The Ministry does need more Aurors…” I shrugged before stepping forward to open the compartment door. “At least I’ve still got a few more months to decide.”

“That, you do.” Frank smiled encouragingly. “I’m sure it’ll settle itself out.”

“And you’re certainly up to the challenge,” Fabien concluded, giving me a confident nod of his head. I grinned back at the pair of them, bolstered by the exchange—and yet vaguely feeling more confused than ever about the future.

I slipped inside the compartment, grateful to be out of the cold. The Mauraders and Emmeline glanced up from their game long enough to greet me, but Alice pat the empty seat next to her, gesturing for me to take a seat and offering me a bottle of butterbeer.

“Thanks, Alice,” I said warmly as I collapsed beside her, screwing the top off of my drink and taking a long swig. “Why aren’t you out there visiting with Frank?”

She sighed and tucked a piece of her short brown hair behind her ear. “He wants to be professional. I mean, he is on duty…”

“So you two are stuck staring longingly at each other through a pane of glass? Sounds miserable.”

Alice shrugged and pulled her boxed wizard chess set from the bag at her feet. “At least he’s here, I can see him.” She tossed him another look for good measure, but he didn’t see it; he and Fabian were now both leaning against the railing and staring out into the turbulent snow, wands in hand and as they kept watch for any sign of the Death Eaters. “That’s something.”

“True…” I watched in silence as she set up the pieces and made her first move, moving her queen’s knight forward. That’s how James and I would need to be, I decided. In order to command any respect, we’d have to remain professional in public. I nodded to myself, firming my resolve as I pondered what move to make on the chess board.

As though on cue, I saw James appear by Frank’s side. He hadn’t noticed me through the window, and I took a moment to admire the strong lines of his jaw and the planes of his face, his confident posture, and the ease in which he interacted with Frank and Fabian. He idly twirled his wand in his fingers, an unconscious gesture of his ease, and I imagined those same fingers running down my bare spine.

“So, Lily…” said Alice slowly, grinning knowingly at me as she cut into my reverie. “How was your sister’s wedding? Did James hold up alright?”

At James’ name, Sirius’ eyes flashed up, watching us over his hand of cards. I laughed softly, trying not to blush. Clearly, Alice saw right through me, could identify my feelings for James without a problem, having experienced such for Frank herself. I found myself trying not to glance curiously at Sirius, wondering just how much James had told him of our relationship. Clearing my throat, I got myself under control.

“Well, that was an interesting day…”

9.5

It felt good to be back at the castle, and I wondered why I had missed it so much after only a few weeks away. Perhaps it was because I knew that this was my last term, and I was determined to enjoy it the best I could.

Classes made enjoying anything difficult, though. Now that we were on this side of the Holidays, the professors were truly gearing up for N.E.W.T.s, setting us more in-depth essays and requiring us to practice wand work more often outside of class. I gave up trying to study in the library—it felt too crowded of late, even though the term had just begun. Instead I spent hours with Emmeline and Alice before the fire in my room, waiting for the day when the snows turned to rain and it would grow warm enough for us to study outside. Admittedly, we only studied for part of the time, spending a lot of our attention on Alice’s wedding plans, but it was good to spend quality time with them nonetheless.

We refused to study the evening of January 30th, my birthday. Luckily, it was a Friday night and we had just finished a bout of mid-term exams, so when I walked into the Common Room to find it decorated and overflowing with goodies from Hogsmeade, I was more than happy to take a break. A broad Happy Birthday, Lily banner hung over the door to the female dormitories, and a grin split my face as Emmeline produced a very large cake, topped with eighteen candles.

“This is really great,” I beamed from a squashy armchair before the fire later in the evening, shuffling the new pack of Exploding Snap cards that Emmeline had given me. It was growing quite late, and many students had gone up to bed. Alice had long since gone to her dormitory, complaining of a stomach ache, and Remus, looking pale, had gone to bed shortly after her. In the far back corner of my mind, I took note that the full moon was approaching—I couldn’t banish my guilty discomfort at the thought, even though I knew that the werewolf who would soon be roaming free over the grounds was a friend of mine.

Emmeline, who was sprawled on the floor before the fire, looked up from the letter she was writing to her boyfriend Broderick Helm, and grinned at me. “We all needed a break—we’ll have to do this again for my birthday next month, I expect. Just to stay sane, you know.”

“Sounds good,” I laughed. “Well, it’s a Hogsmeade day tomorrow. When do you want to meet up to go? Or are you meeting Broderick?”

She actually blushed—an uncommon trait for Emmeline—and turned back to her letter. “Yeah, I think I am meeting him. You can come with us if you’d like.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll go with Alice if she’s feeling better.” I had insisted that James spend the day with his friends, lest they begin to think I was hogging him.

I tossed a quick look at James, who was sitting in a dark corner of the Common Room, prodding figures around a miniature Quidditch pitch in an attempt to devise new strategies. Peter looked on eagerly, every now and then tapping his wand against the miniature Chasers to suggest a move. Now that the Quidditch season was halfway over, James had increased team practices to four nights a week, plus a weekend afternoon—it was a good thing he could function well with only a few hours of sleep a night, enabling him to get through all his homework and Head Boy duties.

I sighed, content and slightly sleepy, idly surveying the Common Room. Sirius had sidled up to a pretty sixth year named Deborah, trying to get her attention. She was smiling at him, but I couldn’t tell whether he had captured her interest, or if she was simply amused at his efforts. A group of second years had constructed a very impressive Exploding Snap castle, and several other students were in the midst of another Gobstones tournament. The rest of the students in sight seemed to be calming down for bed as the sugar high from my birthday cake wore off. I felt a sudden wash of warmth for the Common Room and my fellow Gryffindors flood through me at the sight, followed by a dizzying bout of nostalgia.

“I’m going to miss this place,” I sighed suddenly as I stood and stretched. “It really feels like home.”

Emmeline nodded in agreement as she signed her name with a flourish at the bottom of the letter. “No matter how hard the classes are, life is easy here compared to the real world,” she said quietly, beginning to re-read the letter. “I’m trying not to take any of it for granted.”

“You’re right,” I said slowly, still stretching with my arms over my head. I tossed a meaningful look at James, hoping he’d call it a night soon. Though it was obvious to our friends, we hadn’t officially told anyone that we were together, and I enjoyed our secret rendezvous. The others seemed amused at our attempts to be subtle, but didn’t comment on the subterfuge. If anything, they seemed relieved that the tension between us had finally dissipated.

James caught my eye, gave me a slight smile before waving his wand at the miniature Quidditch players, causing them to freeze and fall to the table top. “I’m calling it a night,” he announced to Peter with a devilish glint in his eye, crossing his arms in satisfaction. “Looking forward to practicing a few of these moves on Sunday, though.”

I grinned at Peter’s enthusiastic acknowledgement, and turned away just as he peered in to study the pitch, as though visualizing the many players and balls soaring through intricate formations. I bade everyone a goodnight, and headed slowly up the dormitory stairs. The fire in my room had burned low, but I didn’t bother to stoke the flames. As I stared at the glowing orange coals, my heart began to race, and Emmeline’s voice played over and over in my mind: Don’t take it for granted.

My hands began to shake as I made up my mind. I rushed into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face, feeling too nervous to stand still. I caught my reflection in the mirror as I toweled my face dry. My cheeks were flushed, eyes were sparkling with excitement, and an embarrassed, anticipatory grin split my face for a split second before nerves took over once again. Distractedly, I ran a brush through my hair, letting it fall wildly around my shoulders, and tore at the red and gold tie around my beck, pulling it off and leaving it in a crumpled pile on the countertop. Finally, I rummaged through my drawer of toiletries, at last pulling a small vial of a red potion out of my drawer of toiletries. I stared at it for a moment before uncorking it and chugging the potion without further thought.

I extinguished the candles in the bathroom and slipped into James’ room, thankful that he hadn’t locked his door. His fire had burned low as well, and its light was barely enough to dimly illuminate the room. Through his room’s windows, I could see the shadowy movement of a thick, swift snowfall. Before I could step over to the bed, I heard James’ footsteps hurrying up the stairs. I pressed myself against the wall behind his door, staying out of sight as he entered his room and kicked the door closed behind him.

James sighed as he stepped across the room, pulling off his tie and throwing his shirt onto the foot of his bed. With a lazy flick of his wand, the flames grew in the fireplace; he placed his wand on a shelf over the hearth before reaching for his dressing robe, which was hanging on a peg near the fire to keep warm. He changed his mind halfway through the motion, and instead decided to lean with both hands on the hearth, as though trying to absorb as much warmth from the fire as possible. He looked slender in the darkness, the firelight illuminating his face and chest in bronze, but unable to distinguish the rest of his body from shadow.

He half-turned his face towards the door as I stepped out of the shadows, but didn’t get a chance to say anything before I kissed him, smoothing the mild surprise on his face into contentment. I paused only to place my wand beside his on the shelf before grabbing his hands and pushing him backwards until the back of his knees caught on the foot of the bed. He lost his balance, and with a laugh, pulled me down onto the bed beside him, slipping his hands under the hem of my shirt to hold me around my waist.

“What’s gotten into you, love?” he asked quietly. His adam’s apple vibrated against my lips as I kissed his throat, and I pushed on his hands, urging him to slide my shirt over my head.

I felt a nervous sweat break out over my skin as he followed my lead, throwing my shirt to land next to his own. I could feel myself blushing as I curled up against him, listening to his rapid-fire heartbeat and excited breathing, satisfied that I could cause his body to react so. “Well, to be honest, I thought I would see how good I am at seducing you.”

“Bloody hell, Lily!” He laughed almost bitterly, pressing a kiss into my hair and propping one leg up on the mattress. “You can’t tease a bloke like this.”

“I’m serious,” I whispered, sliding my hand across his chest in a hopefully-sensuous manner. I looked up to meet his eyes, peered at the dark smear of hazel through the lenses of his glasses before shifting my weight so that I was lying on top of him, straddling his waist. My free hand rose to twirl fingers through his hair. “Why wait any longer?”

James tilted his head at me, eyes never leaving mine. “Lily Evans, are you propositioning me?” he asked, his face bright with amusement, though his halfway disbelieving voice was threaded with desire. I grinned at him and nodded, my face burning. “Are you sure?” I nodded again, my heart beginning to race once more. He stared at me for a moment and took a long, deep breath before abruptly rolling me onto my back with a smile. His tone was light as he said, “I just wanted to be certain.”

“I took a potion,” I said breathlessly after a moment of staring into one another’s eyes, unmoving; neither of us really knew what move to make next. “So… we don’t have to worry about anything.”

“Good thinking,” James sighed as he reached behind my back to unhook my bra. Abruptly, he untangled his limbs from mine and rolled off of the bed. “I’ll be right back, just going to brush my teeth.”

I rolled my eyes, slightly taken aback at his departure. I suddenly felt very vulnerable, and didn’t want the momentum of my actions to slow lest I suddenly change my mind. “Take your time.”

He snorted, and ran a hand through his hair as he walked toward the bathroom. One hand on the door frame, he turned to face me. “Lily, you’re lying half-naked in my bed, and you’ve just asked me to shag you. Trust me, I won’t be any longer than basic hygiene permits.”

He shut the door behind himself. As the tap ran, I decided to make myself more comfortable. I kicked off my remaining clothes and burrowed under his coverlet. Hugging a pillow to my chest, breathing in the comforting scent of James’ hair on the pillow case, I stared at the falling snow as I awaited his return. My mind was abuzz. Was I sure that now was the right time? I thought of Alice and Frank, of all the time they were forced to be apart. They didn’t waste any of their time together, and in this uncertain present, I was determined not to, either.

I didn’t turn to watch James re-enter the room. After a moment, I heard the whisper of clothes falling to the floor and felt the bed stir as James climbed in beside me. His touch on my skin was light, a slight pressure insisting that I turn to face him. When I did so, he met me with a slow kiss. As his hands explored my body, the kiss gradually grew more passionate, our grinding more desperate. At long last, I pressed myself tightly against him, aroused and eager for the next step.

“James…” Feeling bold, I reached down to help James position himself. He was trembling slightly, but moved with his usual confidence; with a small gasp, he obliged my request, bracing himself with one hand on the wall behind my head, the other on the bed next to me. The muscles on his arms were tensed with effort, and suddenly I was overcome with how physically weak I was compared to him, appreciated how easily he could have forced me to do this at any time, had he wanted to.

Remembering my cousins’ admonitions to communicate with my partner, I forced myself not to freeze up in uncertainty and instead reached up to stroke his face with one hand while the other steadied his waist, attempting to control his speed. I gasped in turn as pain shot through me. “Go slowly,” I whispered, staring up at his right ear. I felt unable to meet his eyes; they were blazing with intensity, and I felt ashamed at the thin tears now streaking from my own.

We were clumsy, but the pain soon faded, replaced by a strange pleasure. I tried to relax, rocking my hips in time to James’ careful thrusts, but the added motion was too much for him. Half-laughing, half-panting, he shuddered over me, eyes closed as he rested his forehead on my collar bone in ecstasy. I felt a rush of fire thrill through me as I watched—and felt—him completely lose himself to the pleasure I had given him.

“I’m sorry that was so fast,” he groaned after he collected himself, looking dismayed at my tears. Shifting his weight, he kissed my eyelids before muttering, “And that I hurt you.”

I took a shuddering breath, fighting the absurd urge to cry. “Don’t be sorry. It was painful… yet brilliant.” I grinned and reached up to wipe away my tears, comforted by his weight pressing down on my body and the cocoon of warmth created by the covers. “James?”

“Hm?” He rolled off of me before pulling me into an embrace, my back pressing into his chest. He wrapped his arms around me and began idly running his fingers from my stomach to my breasts. To my amusement, he was beginning to fall asleep.

“I hope you’re not nodding off…“ I stretched languorously under his fingertips before twisting to straddle him again, leaning forward so that my hair fell in a curtain around his face. “Because I think I want to try it again.”

9.6

Alice and I both decided to forgo Hogsmeade the next day, deciding instead to take a walk around the ice-rimmed lake. It was a strange morning; a fresh layer of snow lay thickly on the ground and draped the trees of the forest, but the sky was a clear, endless blue. Perhaps it felt so odd, as though the calm weather was a façade, blanketing the frenzied intricacies of the world, because every day there were people dying and being kidnapped by Dark Wizards, the entire society of Muggles threatened, and at Hogwarts I lived in a bubble emanating a false sense of security. Or perhaps I felt odd simply because I did feel so incredibly calm inside, despite everything.

I never would have expected this, but I felt no different, no older or wiser, after losing my virginity to James. I just felt satisfied, proud—and a little sore. My connection with James had deepened tenfold; I couldn’t help but smile when I thought of how intimate and uninhibited I could forever be with him. It truly was a great feeling. It burned within me, and I almost blurted it out to Alice upon seeing her—surely she would understand—but at the same time I felt these feelings were too raw to try containing them into words just yet. A blush tinged my cheeks as I imagined being with him again and again, for the rest of our lives.

To the other students, it was a long awaited day, the excited current of a Hogsmeade trip amplified by eagerness for the important Quidditch game between Ravenclaw and Slytherin that night. But Alice and I walked in silence, each lost to our own thoughts as we sipped on hot chocolate and nibbled on pieces of toast.

“They’ve increased Auror patrols around the perimeter of the grounds for the Hogsmeade weekend,” Alice said suddenly as we rounded the far side of the lake, carefully walking on the iced-over pebbles of the beach to avoid entering the Forbidden forest. The forest was silent now, and I cast a long look into its depths, wondering if Centaurs might be watching us, our actions interpreted by them according to the portents of the sky.

Setting my empty mug along the shore, I carefully made my way out onto the ice. Sliding a little, I peered down into the frozen, murky depths of the lake, trying to make out any sign of frozen fish or the merpeople that were rumored to live there. “Do you think Frank might be among them? Want to go to Hogsmeade and ask the Aurors patrolling there?” I asked, spinning on the ice to face her in imitation of a figure skater. As I tried to avoid falling, I noticed a strange look cross Alice’s face. My smile fading, I carefully made my way back to the beach.

When I was within ten feet of her, I realized she was crying. “What’s wrong?”

Abruptly, Alice reached up to grab fistfuls of her fair, a desperate sob escaping her lips as she sunk, forlorn, onto the beach. She looked completely beside herself, and I rushed over to her side, feeling as though all my happiness was being sucked into a dark void.

“Alice?” I asked tentatively, kneeling onto the ground behind her. I had never seen Alice so upset, and didn’t know quite how to react. As I reached out to hug her, she turned to lean into me, her sobs muffled against my cloak. I didn’t say anything else, figuring that she would open up to me when she was able. I simply stroked her hair and rocked her slightly, trying to comfort her. After a few minutes, she pulled away from me, rubbing vigorously at her eyes with gloved hands.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, unable to meet my eyes. “I just… I don’t…” she trailed off as she fought more tears, momentarily burying her face in her hands. “I couldn’t repress it any longer.”

“You can talk to me,” I said soothingly, reaching over to tuck a lock of her disarrayed hair behind her ear. “If it will make you feel better.”

She took a deep breath, glanced up into the deep blue of the sky as though gathering courage. “You know how last night I wasn’t feeling well?” she asked, biting her lip as she turned her attention back to me. I nodded, frowning a little as I listened, an unexplainable nervous feeling beginning to stir in the pit of my stomach.

“I started feeling worse in the middle of the night. Got up to use the bathroom, and saw…” she trailed off, deciding to spare me the vivid details. When she spoke again, her voice was stronger, and I knew she was finally able to collect herself as she got the weight off of her chest. “Well, I went to Madame Pomphrey. Apparently it was a miscarriage, less than six weeks along.” Her voice broke, and she looked down at the ground. “I didn’t even know…”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I watched my friend fight against her emotions again. I could barely begin to comprehend what she must be feeling, finding out that she had been a mother, realizing the gravity of her situation, in the same instant that it was snatched away from her. Suddenly, she stood, walked over to where I had left my mug on the beach, and stooped to pick it up. I followed her lead, shakily getting to my feet. An icy wind picked up, blasting away the last vestiges of my contentment, as we began heading briskly back towards the castle.

“I’m so sorry, Alice.” I ventured after a moment. “I can’t imagine…”

“The really fucked up part,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact, “is that I can’t decide whether or not to be grateful about it.” She stopped to pry several pebbles out of the encasing ice before flinging them one by one out onto the lake. “I mean, Frank and I want children eventually, but raising them now, with everything that’s going on…? Plus, how am I supposed to go through Auror training while worrying about a child?”

I nodded gravely. “…perhaps it was for the better.” I shot an intense look at her, taking in the set of her chin, and determined look in her eyes. Alice was strong, perhaps stronger than me. Her shock would fade in time, and she’d rebound with more vitality and confidence than she’d had before yesterday, I could feel it.

She sighed. “I can’t face Frank right now. I—I don’t think I’m going to tell him.” She messaged her temple as though trying to rid herself of a headache. “I think it’s too much for him to handle right now. He’s already worn too thin.”

I reached over to squeeze her hand. “I’ll keep your secret, I promise.”

She smiled at me and nodded her thanks, but didn’t say anything more on the subject. We were climbing the steep, rocky path leading up from the lake to the greenhouses, and a steady stream of students was taking the same path to down Hogsmeade. It was hard to feel miserable when presented with the beaming smiles of passing students, listening to them banter and joke, planning what they were going to buy and Honeydukes or Zonko’s.

“You know what?” asked Alice, slowing to a stop and staring eagerly down the lane to Hogsmeade with a small smile. Apparently the students’ infectious joy had affected her as well. “Mind over matter. I refuse to sulk about—I’ve got too many things to be thankful for.”

I paused, her abrupt shift in tone throwing me off a little bit. Yet it was also heartening, somehow inspiring. It made me realize once again that if we were ever to have any hope for the future, we would have to face the present head on.

Forcing myself to shove aside any negative thoughts, and pretending—like her—that nothing was wrong, I grinned mischievously at her as I jangled the spending money in my pocket. “If you feel like walking down to Hogsmeade after all, I think I could do with some chocolate right about now.”

9.7

February brought increasingly more reports of kidnappings, disappearances, attacks, the news headlines blaring that Dark Magic was being seen more frequently outside of Britain. I continued to take a subscription of the Daily Prophet if only to keep track of the scant Ministry victories as well as to scan the Obituaries for familiar names and keep a mental note of where attacks seemed to be happening most in the Muggle world. The problem was that there were no trends, and no real victories; violence happened at random, everywhere, and for every Death Eater or Dark supporter that the Ministry put away, three seemed to spring out of the bedrock. I couldn’t help but wonder how many of those new supporters actually believed in Voldemort’s policies, and how many were just trying to stay out of his way.

“This is getting out of control,” I muttered over my copy of the Prophet, feeling too sick to finish my coffee and oatmeal after scanning the headlines. I swatted in irritation at the pink and white heart-shaped confetti raining down from the ceiling of the Great Hall; I had no patience with Valentine’s Day this year, the superficiality of it when there were truly important things to focus on. “Clearly,” I whispered gravely, setting aside the paper and glancing at my friends, “the Ministry simply isn’t able to stop it.”

Emmeline shook her head, agreeing with me but not liking it. “I wish we could do more than study for our N.E.W.T.s and wait to graduate—they need more willing, capable witches and wizards now, not five months from now.”

Alice bit her lip and glanced towards the High Table, where Dumbledore and McGonnagal were locked in conversation, heads bent for privacy. “It’s true that they need every hand they can get…”

I sighed, picking up my spoon to play with my now-unappetizing oatmeal. “I should stop reading the news; it makes me feel so useless.”

“I’ve stopped reading it and I still feel useless,” laughed Emmeline, shoving aside my bowl and planting an apple down on the table in front of me. I quirked an eyebrow at her, silently making fun of her for mothering me, and she rolled her eyes.

“Man, can’t wait for classes to be over today,” said Sirius brightly, dropping down into the seat next to me. He gave the oatmeal a quick sniff before picking up the spoon and beginning to devour my leftovers.

Alice’s lip curled as she watched him. “You’re disgusting,” she told him matter-of-factly as Remus and Peter slid into the bench opposite Sirius. I wasn’t surprised that James wasn’t with them; of course he was on the Quidditch pitch, preparing for their last all-important match against Slytherin.

Sirius glanced up at Alice, a wolfish grin fixed on his face, and, with a light shake of his head, shook his shaggy hair out of his eyes. I grinned to myself; somehow, even while bolting down oatmeal, he still managed to look attractive.

“Waste not, want not,” he quoted, turning his attention back to his meal. He leaned a little, bumping his shoulder against mine in friendly acknowledgement. “Besides, she hardly touched it. I can smell it.”

“You mongrel,” Emmeline scolded sarcastically, trying not to join in our laughter as she firmly pushed her own empty plate away. She stood, grabbing her school bag and turning towards the Ravenclaw table. “Excuse me while I go sit with someone a little more refined.”

I waved a goodbye to her, and then turned my attention back to Sirius. “So what are you lot up to tonight?”

Sirius shrugged, finally dropping the spoon with a loud clank. “I dunno what these wankers are up to,” he said, gesturing towards Peter and Remus, “but I’ve got a hot date in one of the unused classrooms.”

Alice snorted, a small grin on her face as she continued to tease him. “I doubt her definition of a hot date is to snog in a classroom, Sirius. At least buy her chocolates.”

“Snog, and maybe more…” he suggested wickedly, an amused glint in his eyes. “Plus, don’t forget, it’s me.”

I groaned, casting Remus a pained look. “How can you stand to talk to him for more than five minutes?”

Remus grinned, opened his mouth to respond, but before he was able to, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Er, Lily?”

I turned to find Bertram Aubrey looking down at me, his leather school bag hanging from a shoulder. His eyes flicked from Alice to the Marauders, lingering for a second on Sirius as his brow furrowed in dislike, before finally returning to me. He seemed to be holding himself stiffly, as though he were on the defensive, and I wondered briefly if he were so uncomfortable because he remembered how Sirius and James used to hex him in the hallways, years ago.

I tried to alleviate any potential discomfort with a small smile. “Yes, Bertram?”

He cleared his throat. “Will you, ah—“ he shot another look at Sirius. “Will you walk with me to Potions?”

“Umm, sure,” I said slowly, turning back to the table for a moment to grab my bag. As I stood, I shot Emmeline a surreptitious panicked look, fearing that Bertram was going to ask me out again. I didn’t want to have to reject him on Valentine’s Day…

We walked awkwardly down the Great Hall and out into the Entrance Hall. I took a breath, preparing to make idle conversation, but he beat me to it. He stopped just inside the narrow stone staircase leading down to the dungeons, out of sight of the Great Hall, and turned to face me.

“Look, Lily,” he said gruffly, leaning back against the stone wall. He ran a hand through his brown hair nervously, before forcing his hands to his sides. “I know I’ve been a berk these last few weeks, and I just want to apologize. You’ve helped me out a lot in Potions, and you shouldn’t have to put up with me mouthing off to you.”

“I… thanks, Bertram.” I leaned back against the opposite wall, hugging myself uncomfortably. It was true, he’d been on my case ever since he heard tell of me snogging James at the end of the previous semester. I’d given him the benefit of the doubt and attributed his unpleasantness to a case of slight jealousy and lingering dislike of James, even though his tone was off-putting. “Apology accepted.”

He pulled a slightly wilted pink rose out of his bag and gingerly offered it to me. My mouth dropped slightly at the unexpected gesture, and he grinned bashfully. “Anyway,” he continued. “I just wanted to say that I still really like you, and… Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Before I could begin to think of a reply, he leaned down a stole a kiss, pressing his lips into mine for just a moment, one hand on my waist. I felt jolted—not with the electricity I felt when kissing James, but with sock. When my body didn’t respond to his, he frowned, backed away.

“I’m sorry, I guess I was wrong,” he said quietly, before turning and rushing down the steps. Empathetic heat rushed to my face as his bag tangled in his feet and he stumbled a few steps.

I watched him disappear down the passageway before sighing and stepping out into the Entrance Hall. There was still a half-hour until Potions began, but I would have given anything to be excused. Bertram was the last person I wanted to sit next to for an hour, especially with the inevitable questioning looks my friends would send my way. I groaned, preparing to just head back into the Great Hall, with my Valentine’s gift, and take whatever teasing the Marauders might offer.

I met Dumbledore just outside the entrance to the Great Hall. I pulled up short, gesturing for my Headmaster to pass through the doorway before me, but instead he stopped and beamed at me.

“Ah, Lily!” he exclaimed, his half-moon spectacles twinkling at me. “Just the person I was looking for.”

“Me, Sir?” I cast about in my mind for any Head duty that James or I might have forgotten to do, and came up blank. I peered up at Dumbledore curiously, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “What can I help you with?”

He placed a hand on my shoulder, steered me toward the Great Staircase. “If you have a moment, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you in my office.”

I went willingly with him, my spirits brightening. “I do have Potions shortly, but I’m sure Professor Slughorn won’t mind if I’m a little late.”

“Ah, yes. He tells me you’re quite gifted in Potions,” agreed Dumbledore, waving at a few of the portraits we were passing by. He stopped at the landing, waiting for the proper staircase to come to rest before us. I glanced out of the nearest window as the next staircase slowly one slid into place; I certainly didn’t mind drawing out this detour to class.

Dumbledore made small talk with me until we reached the Griffins standing guard outside his office, asking me how Head duties were going and how I was preparing for my N.E.W.T.s. However, once we had reached his office proper and he had locked the door behind us, he turned to face me, his manner shocking in its intensity.

“Now,” he said lightly, gesturing towards the seat opposite his desk, “we can speak privately.”