Chapter 1: The End of the World

Severus awakened with his head stuffed under his pillow after a few hours of broken, nightmarish sleep. In the first few moments, he was actually groggy and exhausted enough not to remember what had happened, but then his stinging eyes and a nameless ache in his chest told him that something bad had occurred, and it all came rushing back with brutal clarity. ''What's wrong with you? And where’d you go in the middle of the night, anyway?'' Avery asked in a mocking tone, fastening the last button on his uniform shirt and then tossing a dirty sock that glanced off Severus's shoulder as he sat at the edge of his bed, trying to get his bearings.

Brushing it aside, Severus shook his head and managed to croak, "Nothing—nowhere," as he pushed himself up from the bed and stared into the mirror, realising that his hoarse voice and puffy eyes would be a dead give-away. And thus the rising panic of the first day without Lily gave way to the mundane details of living at Hogwarts without her.

Without her, or in spite of her? -- he had no idea which way to play it. What was more likely to make her forgive him? Pleading with her hadn’t worked, as his vigil the night before had demonstrated -- perhaps seeming not to care was the answer after all. Maybe she would come back to him if he seemed like he didn’t give a damn. He had never personally found being ignored to be much of an aphrodisiac, but for now, it was all he had, so he would ignore her. In the meantime, his roommates were heading down for breakfast without him. He scrambled into his uniform, ran to the bathroom to splash cold water in his face in a vain hope that it would do something about his bloodshot eyes, and pondered the fact that for someone who couldn’t care less, he looked truly awful. To make things worse, he was too late for a shower, which he really could have used the day before but had bypassed to study. He gave up and threw on his robes in an attempt to catch up with his roommates so that he wouldn't have to go down to breakfast by himself and appear any more pathetic than he already felt. To his surprise, he actually managed to catch up with them as they were walking into the Great Hall, and he slowed down from a canter to a long stride as he joined their ranks, and tried to control his breathing so that it didn’t appear as if he had just been running.

Step one was to look like he wasn’t looking for Lily. Glimpse of red hair -- no, not her, just the redheaded Hufflepuff with glasses. He trained his eyes away from the Gryffindor table and sat with the group of Slytherins he had walked in with, making sure that he faced away from Gryffindor so that he wasn’t tempted. Breakfast appeared and his companions tucked into it, but Severus found himself unable to stomach more than a couple of bites of oatmeal, despite his failure to eat anything at dinner the night before. Avery and Wilkes were giving each other significant glances -- had they noticed something? Did they know what was going on? Did he even want them to?

But he needn’t have worried. The turn of the conversation showed that they were merely making their usual knowing comments about the pretty dark-haired third-year Slytherin girl who wanted nothing to do with them and whose name Severus could never remember.

The atmosphere in the Great Hall was actually rather quiet. Many students who would normally have been talking were instead poring over thick texts or sheets of parchment, since O.W.L.’s were still going on. With a sickening wave of panic, Severus realized that he hadn’t studied for any of today’s exams in at least two days; instead, he had spent the previous afternoon and evening in a succession of unproductive activities including pacing, composing his apology speech in his head, and camping out in front of the Gryffindor portrait hole with the Fat Lady alternately teasing and harassing him. The night had been spent becoming reacquainted with the unpleasant sensation of trying to keep himself from crying, something he had not had to do in a long time, followed by a few hours of uneasy sleep. He felt groggy and he ached all over, and he realized full well that none of these things were exactly conducive to getting an “O� on History of Magic or Herbology, which were today’s topics. He forced down a couple of bites of oatmeal and a swig of pumpkin juice, not because he felt hungry but because he knew he ought to, informed his compatriots that he needed to go study, and hurried out of the Great Hall just as Lily was walking in with two of her friends. She made eye-contact with him for the briefest fraction of a second, then looked away. She looked tired, and he wasn’t sure whether that should give him hope -- they were studying for O.W.L.’s after all, and everyone looked tired. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, but they would definitely have undermined his intended appearance of not caring, so he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, regained his composure and kept walking. In the hallway outside the Great Hall, he stopped when he realized that he had been so focused on surviving his first encounter with Lily that he had absolutely no idea where he was going or what he wanted to do next. Study. He had to study.

---

He couldn’t study to save his life, he concluded, slamming the History of Magic text shut after staring at it blankly for an hour. He had read the same sentence at least a dozen times. A wave of murmurs and annoyed looks went through the library, where he had gone because Lily was unlikely to, and Madam Pince gave him an admonitory glare from behind her desk. The test was in less than an hour anyway, and although he always did study until the very last minute, he would just have to do without this time and rely on all the work he had done during the term. Why did this have to happen right in the middle of O.W.L.’s? Having given up on studying, he was in the middle of a reverie about what to say to Lily that would make everything better, with reunion scenes playing themselves out in his head, when the door opened and Lily and her friend Mary walked in. The sight of her had always warmed him somehow, like a pleasant surprise that the world had Lily in it, but now it was more like an electric shock coursing through his body, followed by a wave of nausea. He tried to relax his shoulders and look as if he hadn’t seen her and didn’t care, with minimal success. As he trained his glance on his textbook and tried to look interested in it, out of his peripheral vision, he could see Lily and Mary conferring with each other quietly, and then turning around and leaving.

Was she leaving because she didn’t want him to have to see her when they weren’t talking, or because she simply didn’t want to see him? He wasn’t sure anymore; he had thought he knew her, but the Lily he knew had never gone this long without speaking to him. When was she going to come up to him and say she forgave him? The moment that was hanging suspended over the two of them was somehow failing to happen. He felt sick whenever he thought about it, because Lily’s forgiveness was now ominously long in coming. Maybe she had meant what she said: maybe this was it.

As the girls walked out, he found himself slowly and almost automatically standing up to walk after her, as if being pulled up by strings like a puppet. But the door closed, she turned down the hallway, her voice trailing after for a few seconds, and he just as slowly sat down. He had to suppress an unbearable urge to follow her, just to know what she was doing. He knew it was ridiculous, because even when they had been friends -- just a day before, although it now seemed like an eternity -- he hadn’t been able to follow her everywhere and know her every conversation and activity. But the fact that now he couldn’t check up on her, ask casual questions that were actually carefully crafted to see whether he had any competition, the fact that he no longer even had any right to know what her life held, made him feel almost terrifyingly powerless.

---

Neither exam had been easy, he reflected a few hours later, but at least the pressure of the examinations had driven her from his mind for a few hours. His natural competitiveness had finally switched on, and he had plowed through the exams in his usual driven and compulsive fashion. When they ended, with his wrist cramped and aching from all the writing, he took his papers out to review them, with the realisation that he now had no one to go over the answers with: all the Slytherins he knew were either too competitive or too stupid, and he didn’t trust any of them. Any foolish errors on his part would be broadcast throughout his entire house within hours; there was always a malicious joy that went around when he made a mistake, since it was a well-known fact that he was, in most subjects, the one to beat. That he didn’t have any friends in the other three Houses went without saying. Not anymore.

Footsteps behind him alerted him to the fact that someone was following him out of the Great Hall after the History of Magic test, trotting at a fast pace to catch up with him and calling, “Snape! Snape! Wait up!� It was Mulciber. There was no point in ignoring him at such a short distance, so Severus halted but didn’t turn around, ready for a session of bickering about why he didn’t want to compare exam results. Because you’re a lazy idiot. Because I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you. Because I’d rather ruminate on my own broken heart right now. But Mulciber didn’t want to talk about the test. He wore a wide grin and extended his hand -- for a handshake, Severus realised belatedly, as he held out his own, tentatively, wondering what he had done to merit a handshake. Pumping Severus’s hand vigorously, Mulciber said, “So, I heard you finally lost the Mudblood girlfriend. Nice one.�

Severus nodded stiffly, hoping that Mulciber hadn’t noticed him wince at the term he threw around so casually. “She was never my girlfriend. She was always my friend,� he said quietly.

“Well, not anymore—good going,� Mulciber replied obliviously, slapping him heartily on the shoulder and taking off after a group of Slytherin boys that had headed in a different direction. Severus wanted to know where Mulciber had heard it and what he had heard -- was it from someone who had witnessed the scene yesterday? Or had Lily been telling people that she was finally through with him? He didn’t know any of her friends well enough to ask, and if he did ask them, he knew it would make its way back to her, but he was longing to know what this meant and how long it was going to continue, and there was no way to get an answer and keep his dignity intact at the same time. Sticking with his earlier plan, he opted in favor of dignity.

---

By dinner time, he was ravenous, which gave him an excuse to talk very little as he shoveled in whatever was being served; he didn’t care what it was. The news of his fight with Lily had apparently made it to most of his Slytherin companions by then, making him something of a temporary celebrity. Despite the fact that he was famished, he quickly learned that he had to eat carefully because the occasional thumps on the back from passers-by were vigorous enough on more than one occasion to nearly cause him to choke. At one point Rosier raised an informal toast to him -- “To Snape, for putting the Mudblood in her place� -- which had been followed by a hearty round of cheering with his name figuring prominently that drew the attention of the other tables, Gryffindor included. He could feel the intensity of Lily’s glare without even looking at her; she was no fool, and she had to know what this was about. He felt as though he were betraying her again by accepting all this praise and attention for doing something that he desperately wished he could undo. But Lily wasn’t talking to him, and these people were. Since there was no point in incurring the wrath of wizards who had access to him while he was asleep, he managed to conjure up an anemic smile and then returned his attention to his plate of stew and his own thoughts.

How long was this going to go on? One day was enough -- one day was killing him. The most chilling realization was that Lily had never actually cut him off for more than about five seconds before; twenty-four hours was exponentially more than that. How long would she be able to hold out, a few days? A few weeks? Forever? He had never pictured his life without her. His life had started when he had met her, really, and he had thought that they would always walk their respective paths at least in a close parallel, even if those paths might never intertwine the way he wished they would. In his amorphous vision of the future -- the alternative one that didn’t include her as his wife -- they remained best friends, maybe living near each other in some interesting city, maybe traveling together to see the world. They were brilliant and cosmopolitan and happy, and so much a pair that they wouldn’t even need to be a couple, somehow. Perhaps he might never convince her to go out with him, but that would almost be acceptable as long as she never went out with anyone else, as long as his friendship was enough for her and they were always together the way they had been since they met. Being best friends was almost good enough -- after the last day, best friends seemed like a very welcome option. But at this rate, he might always be as alone as he had been for his first nine years. Sitting with this group that persisted in cheering and congratulating him for something of which he was thoroughly ashamed, he felt more isolated than ever. The thought of his life without Lily made him so anxious and miserable that it ruined his appetite, and the meal that had seemed so appealing a few minutes ago was now tasteless. Pushing the plate aside, he got up, muttered a hasty farewell with the excuse of going off to study, and headed out of the Great Hall, head down with his gaze downcast, as quickly and anonymously as possible. He wouldn’t need to avoid Lily’s eyes this time unless she threw herself at his feet, which was seeming less and less likely as time went on.

In the quiet, dwindling light of the late spring evening, Severus took his books and walked outside, desperate to get away from any kind of company. He found himself wandering back to the tree under which he had had insulted Lily the day before, like a murderer to the scene of the crime, and he stood there looking at it, wishing he could turn back time and do everything differently. Why had he let that slip out? And why had she come down so hard on him? He knew it was a terrible thing to say, the worst thing he could possibly have called her, but this was Lily, and they had been friends, best friends, for seven years. He never would have believed that she would just cut him off after one mistake, with no way of making it up to her, with no possibility of forgiveness. He was angry at himself, but by now, he was becoming angry at her as well. He seemed to be able to focus better while he could actually find fault with her instead of just chastising himself, so he cultivated it, allowing the seething rage to flow through him as the scenes from the day before passed through his mind -- “And I’d wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus. � God, she had actually called him that: his fists clenched and his shoulders tensed as he remembered it. He threw his books down and settled in under the tree for some reading while the light still held, taking advantage of his mood of grim determination. If living well was the best revenge, then Snivellus needed to stop moping and actually study in order to do better on the O.W.L.’s. For almost the first time since the events of the day before, his mind was actually his own.

---

When the last of the daylight was dying in the sky and the Lumos charm from his wand no longer gave sufficient illumination for studying, Severus reluctantly picked up his things and walked back across the lawn up to the castle to get cleaned up and go to bed. From the other direction, a couple he vaguely recognized was walking back toward the huge front doors, hand in hand. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the light tones of their voices and their laughter carried on the air to him, and something about the warm evening and the twilight and the sight of their obvious contentment and togetherness made him miss Lily again. The atmosphere was like that of so many summer evenings during school holidays when he and she had walked around the town together -- when she was all his, with no competition for her attention. His anger at her had abated for now, and he ached with her absence, even though he knew he had really seen her relatively little lately. There had been a lot to be said for just knowing that she was out there, somewhere, and was kind of his.

The shower didn’t make him feel any better, just cleaner. Back in his dormitory, he once again kept to himself as he got into his pajamas and into bed, laid his still-damp head down on the pillow and pulled up the covers, trying to make up for lost sleep and avoid any chatter with his roommates, who were all still studying in the library or common room. But although he was exhausted after the night before, he couldn’t sleep, and instead lay there in the dark with his eyes open and his mind racing. After all of his acting, his calculations and his planning, he realized at the end of the day that it had made no difference. No one else had even understood the earth-shattering importance of the terrible event that he was trying so hard to downplay. The Gryffindors were so oblivious that he had no need to put up a front for them to cover the magnitude of his loss -- as far as they were concerned, he guessed, he probably called Lily a Mudblood three times a day with meals and once more for good measure -- as far as they were concerned, he probably didn’t even notice her absence. The Slytherins had misinterpreted him, as usual. And the one person he so deeply needed to talk to about it, the one he always talked to when things were bad, was the one who had bid him goodbye.

Chapter 2: Predestination

Severus had never liked the last part of the school year after exams were over. The lack of routine and dearth of tasks to accomplish had always bothered him, although perhaps he might have enjoyed the freedom more if it hadn’t always been accompanied by his dread of his upcoming return to the ancestral abode. Every Slytherin seemed to have an ancestral abode, so of course Severus had one too; his just happened to be a run-down row-house in a declining mill town. The reason behind the smirk on his face when he used the vague term was his own business.

Summer itself had become something that he both anticipated and dreaded ever since starting at Hogwarts. On the one hand, he was forced to return to the home that he hated and the parents he had once feared but now mostly loathed. But summer was his time with Lily, almost three months of having her all to himself. There was no interference or competition: no gaggle of Gryffindor girls who looked askance at him, no James Potter, no Marauders, no blood-status-obsessed Slytherins needling him about his “Mudblood girlfriend.� The week Lily’s family went away to the shore each year was always a dark one for Severus, and he could hardly believe that this year, the entire summer would be like that.

He had moved past the raw sadness and fear that had gripped him in the first week or so after the fight, onto a kind of twilight state in which nothing really mattered. After about a week he had stopped trying to put on a front of nonchalance; it was too much work, and just making it through the day was work enough. Severus had never been sure whether he actually dreamed about Lily, as he only rarely remembered his dreams—but his prior life had been full of daydreams about her, and he couldn’t even get himself to indulge in those anymore, because they only made him feel worse. He lacked the energy and the interest; where Lily had been, there was now just a sense of loss. She became more and more abstract to him, even though he technically saw her multiple times each day without even trying, and he realized how much of their friendship in recent years had consisted of his imaginings about her and how much of his inner life she had filled. They really hadn’t spent that much time together in recent years, if he was honest with himself about it, but the Lily of his hopes for the future had rarely been out of his thoughts. Since she couldn’t read his mind, he reflected, she probably had no idea, or she might have understood how little he had meant what he’d said.

Packing his things, he looked around his room at Hogwarts, with the stripped beds, the now-empty dressers, the debris of four boys scattered around: discarded parchments, sweet wrappers, broken quills, unclaimed socks. The warm early-summer daylight filtered in through the window, with dust motes floating gently around in and out of a sunbeam as Severus stuffed his things into his trunk, disturbing the quiet air and sending the dust briefly into swirling eddies. Empty, abandoned rooms like this always made him feel elegiac and mournful, but this year was worse than ever. Everything made him feel mournful lately.

On the Hogwarts Express, he sat with a few of his classmates from Slytherin -- by default, not really with any kind of active volition -- barely caring that, with his temporary popularity from the Lily incident having diminished, he was now back to being the odd man out in their group. They made vague references to plans for seeing each other over the summer -- plans in which he was not included -- and unlike in past years when he would angle for invitations, trying to ferret out who would be seeing whom and why he hadn’t been asked, he simply didn’t care. He seemed to just be moving from one bad situation to another: Hogwarts with Lily’s coldness tormenting him, or the train with this lot, or Spinner’s End with his parents. Nothing ever got better.

The train pulled into Platform 9-3/4 and he said his goodbyes to his companions, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be invited to see them over the summer and wouldn’t particularly miss them. Lily’s parents were at the station to meet her, of course, and in recent years, he had gotten a ride home with them in their car after the train ride north with her family. He had always done relatively well with adults and was comfortable around them, so he had actually enjoyed these trips: something about being under the wing of Mrs. Evans was very reassuring, and with Lily’s parents chatting with him and asking questions, he felt as though he were her boyfriend being quizzed by her parents, a fantasy that he was happy to entertain. On this day, though, things would be different; he hadn’t even thought about it until he exited the train and saw them on the platform. Mrs. Evans beamed at him and Mr. Evans gave him a friendly wave -- in response, he cast them an anxious smile and muttered something about having to go catch his train.

As he walked away from the puzzled pair, he could see Lily walking up behind him briskly, a frown on her face, gesturing silently with a sharp wave of her arm for her parents to cease and desist. Petunia appeared to have begged out of the annual trip to pick up Lily this year, he thought, reflecting that Lily wouldn’t have her sorrows to seek either this year. She didn’t need him at Hogwarts, but they had always been each other’s refuge in the summer; maybe that was what it would take to bring her back. Perhaps Petunia would make him look like an attractive companion by comparison. But somehow he doubted it. He hoisted his rucksack into a more comfortable position on his shoulders, dragged his trunk over to an empty trolley, and went off to find the train schedule that would let him know what platform he needed to begin the long trip home by himself.

---

“You’re later than usual,� his father said, without bothering to look up from his television show.

“I walked from the station,� Severus answered, depositing his things on the floor near the foot of the stairs. “I couldn’t get here any sooner.�

Still looking at the television, the elder Snape asked, “What happened to your girlfriend? Doesn’t she always give you a ride?�

Severus had thought his mother would be the one to torment him about Lily, whom she had always believed to be putting on airs for a mere Muggle-born, since “pretty� equaled “conceited� in her estimation; he hadn’t been ready to answer questions about her from his father. In a quiet, bitter voice he answered, “I’ve told you before, she’s not my girlfriend. She’s not even my friend anymore. Just leave it alone.�

His father ignored the warning in the final sentence and went on badgering. He actually bothered to look up from the BBC at this point, and with a knowing shake of his head he continued, “Good-looking bird like that, Severus -- can’t say I’m surprised. What on earth would she see in you? I always told you: stick to your own level and you won’t be disappointed.�

“I said leave it alone!� Severus yelled, slamming the kitchen door behind him as he stalked up the stairs and flung himself face-down on his bed.

God, he was going to start summer vacation with a beating for talking back to his father, and nowhere to go after it. He waited for the creak of the chair, the heavy footsteps on the stairs, and as inevitably as night follows day, a minute later they came. Usually he braced himself, heart racing: cowering in the corner, pressed against the wall, anything to partially shield himself from the blows and occasional kicks. It had occurred to him at the winter break that he was finally almost as tall as his father and perhaps big enough to fight back even without magic, but this time he was too miserable to care.

The door opened, but more slowly than it usually did when his father was about to burst in on him in anger and tear into him until his rage had been exhausted. “You listen to me, you good-for-nothing git,� his father began in a low, savage tone, still standing in the doorway. “Look at me. Look at me! � Severus, who had pressed his face into the covers, raised his head enough to make eye contact with his father, wondering vaguely and almost impersonally whether his look of weary hatred would only incite the older man to further violence.

Having wrested from Severus the courtesy that he rarely extended himself, his father continued, “You come back here every summer with those books full of freakish nonsense and that plummy accent and your pretty redhead from up the town. Well, you listen to me. You’re no better than the people you come from, Severus Snape -- thinkin’ you’re some bloody Roman emperor like that ridiculous name your mother gave you. You’re nothing. You’re a leech, is all, and you’ll be lucky if you manage to live half as well as the life we’ve provided for you. Bloody high-and-mighty freak,� he spat, waiting to see the effect of his words on his son.

Severus remained impassive, too depressed already for the speech to even wound him. How many times had he already heard the same rant from his father? At least it would apparently be just a speech this time. Satisfied, or fed up waiting -- Severus couldn’t tell which -- Tobias Snape turned around and thumped back down the narrow staircase to the waiting TV.

Plummy accent? At Hogwarts, Severus had managed to lose some of the local drone, but not enough to keep the London types from mocking him. He couldn’t seem to win no matter where he went. He waited for a few minutes to make sure that his father wasn’t coming back up the stairs to beat him -- the old man had a tendency to return for seconds-- and finally went downstairs to collect his things. Welcome home.

---

The summer, of course, turned out to be every bit as bad as Severus had expected. His dad, being out of a job again, spent the days downstairs in the back room reading the paper, particularly the want-ads, and watching whatever garbage was on the small, staticky television on the rolling cart. Clearly it wasn’t a good time to be a mill-worker; had there ever been a good time to be a mill-worker? The fact that he hated the job made his situation even more pathetic: the older man was actually intelligent, where his wife was merely shrewd, but poverty and circumstances had denied him the education and opportunities he could have made good use of. When younger, he had been perpetually angry and frequently brutal; now that he was older and a bit wary of his son’s stature and powers, Tobias Snape mostly seemed defeated.

He had been a good student, apparently, perhaps even an outstanding one. But his family had been poor, secondary school back then had cost money, and tuition was a luxury they could not have afforded. The first cohort of students who benefited from the new public funding for secondary education had been born a few years after him, at least in northern England, which had lagged behind the rest of the country. His younger brother had eventually gone to university; Tobias had gone to work at the mill.

The books in the small bookcase in the front room were mostly his: crumbling textbooks with outtakes from Wordsworth, Tennyson, Pilgrim's Progress, cheap editions of Dickens and Shakespeare, remnants of a stunted but thorough education. He never talked about his disappointment and seemed to take it for granted as the first of many, but Severus's late grandmother had mentioned it once before her grandson left for his mysterious boarding school: that one of her greatest regrets was that they had not been able to send Toby to school beyond age thirteen. Sometimes Severus could pick up hints of that traditional primary education in his father's everyday speech, turns of phrase of surpassing beauty or power that pulled Severus to attention. But mostly the years of studious attention and rote memorization had just given Tobias Snape something grand to declaim when drunk.

Severus knew his father had no interest in the company of his son, the freak, and this at least was a relief. He was able to spend his days as he saw fit, which mostly meant up in his own room, with the shades drawn, free to ponder his sorrows. Pondering his sorrows held little interest for him anymore, though; he just wanted to sleep and forget it all. He occasionally managed to get out of his pajamas by noon, but some days he didn’t, and some days he fell asleep in his clothes. Some days he didn’t actually get out of bed at all. With the exception of occasional bursts of righteous anger at her lazy son by his mother, who actually had a job and therefore the right to complain, no one seemed to notice his absence. The air in the house was close and uncomfortable in the seemingly never-ending heat-wave that had hit about a week into the summer; Severus’s father moved as little as possible, getting out of his faded armchair only to change the channel, adjust the antenna on the telly, or boil another pot of tea, which he drank incessantly, heat wave or not. Eileen Snape spent her days away at the factory doing mindless bookkeeping and spent her nights complaining.

“Get out of bed, you lazy lump, and get down here for your tea!� his mother called shrilly up the stairs, announcing her return from work in the usual fashion.

“I’m not hungry!� Severus yelled back, his voice scratchy from lack of use.

“Then help with the dishes!� came the reply. Stiff from lack of movement, he heaved himself out of the bed. He preferred not to go downstairs at all, but the house didn’t have the upstairs plumbing that many of the neighbors had apparently installed; despite his lack of sustenance, his kidneys still seemed to be magically functioning, and he did require a trip to the antiquated outdoor privy. Some sort of innate survival instinct had made him keep pouring glasses of tepid water and drinking it, even if he didn’t feel like eating. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to be able to let himself just shrivel up and die.

He was getting pretty close, though, he pondered. He looked at himself in the mirror and wished in some perverse way that Lily could see what had become of him in her absence. His hair, after nearly a fortnight’s neglect, was flat and stringy, separating into oily strands that fell in his face. His eyes looked hollow, with dark shadows under them from his nocturnal vigils and erratic sleep. His clothes had the rather animal smell of an adolescent male who hadn’t bathed in many days, which bothered him surprisingly little. And the inadvertent hunger strike had left him visibly thinner, which made his nose even more prominent. He looked almost sepulchral, he thought -- like he might die of loneliness and unrequited love like something from a book -- but he seemed unable to pull it off.

---

Even he couldn’t stay in the bell jar forever. Maybe he was just getting used to being away from Lily and being at home, or maybe it was the change in the weather, but in the second half of July, his mental fog started to lift, and one day he actually got up, bathed even though it was sooner than absolutely necessary, put on some Muggle clothing that no longer really fit, and headed out of the house for a walk. He had no idea where he was going. Lily’s area was out of the question, so he headed away from her direction down to the river, hoping that his clothes wouldn’t make him a target for one of the gangs of out-of-work toughs that seemed to congregate down there. Straight, slim jeans seemed to be something of the fashion among certain Muggles, but not ones so short that they hit above the ankles, and he had actually finally started to develop something resembling shoulders, which meant that he had outgrown all of his old T-shirts and had to borrow an enormous one of his father’s. It had been almost funny watching his father’s response to that question, torn between not wanting to lend something to his spoiled, ungrateful git of a son and yet not wanting the boy to go out in wizard gear that to him resembled a dressing gown. Snape Sr. had forgotten and had briefly made eye-contact during the conversation, and Severus had enjoyed rifling through the petty conflict at the surface of the man’s mind.

Now out on the front step wearing the shirt, he remembered quickly that as long as he was still in the vicinity of the house and undetectable by the Ministry, he could actually do something about its size and surreptitiously cast a shrinking spell over the garment. There -- now he was just walking around in trainers, jeans, and an old Muggle undershirt, not a baggy old Muggle undershirt. Since sartorial spells had never been necessary for him before, he had stood gazing into the wardrobe with no idea how to lengthen the legs of the jeans without simply expanding the whole thing until it was much too large for him -- Engorgio? not really -- so he gave up and headed out looking vaguely ridiculous and acutely aware of it. He wondered, again with amusement that somehow came more easily to him now, what Lucius Malfoy would think. Not that he particularly cared.

The days all seemed basically the same to him, but his mother was not at work and yet had worked the day before, so therefore it was Saturday. He walked around the streets of the city, paths he had walked with Lily so many times when they both needed to get away or just wanted to go out for the fun of it. One of their favourite sites to visit had been an old church that reminded them both of Hogwarts; entering its great wooden doors and standing under its heavy stone arches had assuaged some of the homesickness they felt for their school when they were away. Severus’s father dragged him to church occasionally when the spirit moved him, but one with Puritanical roots and an austere simplicity that was nothing like this. He didn’t belong in this place, but no one had ever seemed to mind him and Lily being there. On this particular day there was apparently a fair going on in the lot next to the church, which interested Severus not at all. He walked along behind a chatty, festive crowd obviously headed toward the fair, but turned into the church itself while they went on.

As always, he wished he knew something of the appropriate ritual for entering -- when in Rome, after all -- but after all those visits with Lily, it was comfortably familiar. Coming in from the brightness of midday outside, it took a while for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dimness -- the place was lit only by a few lamps, the high stained-glass windows, and the candles lit by worshippers. He walked around the walls for a while, soaking in the coolness and ancientness, the lingering smell of incense and candles, the Latin inscriptions, the atmosphere so like the only real home he had ever known.

After a while, out of some combination of need and respect, he knelt in one of the wooden pews to think, or pray, if that’s what became of thinking while in a church. Living in a world with magic as daily evidence of it, he had to believe in some power greater than his own, but he wasn’t sure if it was what people thought of as God. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to be watching over him, and if it was indeed watching him, he couldn’t see the signs.

He looked at the worshippers kneeling by the candles that they had lit for their intentions, murmuring prayers in any number of accents, most of them Irish, and he wished he could believe in something the way they did. He had believed in Lily, and she had abandoned him -- to what? The Dark Arts? Was that what he had left without her to turn him from it? He had always known that there were two sides to his nature, and without Lily, the Dark Arts fascinated him more than ever and drew him like a moth to a beautiful, dangerous flame. In a place like this, though, it seemed sacrilegious to even think of such a thing, so he closed his mind to it. All the same, the simple, unquestioning belief of the immigrant faithful left him feeling deeply alone, and he got up to leave.

Squinting in the bright sunlight, he walked slowly away from the great edifice and continued up the street past the fair, stopping on the sidewalk to see what was going on. His glance was immediately arrested by the sight of a familiar face: Petunia Evans, with her usual discontented look. She had cut her hair and done something different and probably trendy with it, he reflected, but she still looked like Petunia. He almost didn’t recognise Lily for a second; in the mid-day sunshine she was wearing a floppy, broad-brimmed straw hat and an earth-toned, rather Bohemian sundress that looked like something from the previous decade. There was nothing trendy about her; knowing Lily, she had probably borrowed it from things that no longer fit her mother. She was just herself, as always, and she was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Why did he have to be drawn to both the Dark Arts and a girl who seemed like the very antithesis of darkness? There she stood in the sunlight, with her Muggle sister, wearing her Muggle sundress and sandals. Petunia looked self-conscious and made-up as if she were going out to a disco instead of a fair, but Lily just looked happy and perfect. The man working the booth was obviously trying to flirt with her; who wouldn’t? She smiled back at him and chatted casually, a pretty girl aware of her powers. He wasn’t her type, Severus reflected, worried much less about a thirty-something Muggle than about James Potter, who even now could be a threat from miles away, sending Lily letters by owl, petitioning her to see him over the summer, taking his opportunity to fill the place that Severus had vacated. But there was nothing Severus could do about it, and it didn’t do to dwell.

Nobody was flirting with Petunia, and she obviously wasn’t particularly enjoying the event; she kept pulling on Lily’s arm and appeared eager to go, and rather than watching her sister’s attempts at the ring-toss booth, she looked around as if she were watching for someone. Severus knew that she wasn’t looking for him, but unfortunately, her eyes lit upon him, narrowed, and then turned away as she started poking Lily to alert her to Severus’s presence. It was time for him to move on. By the time Lily could look up, there would be nothing for her to see.

Safely away from the crowd with Lily and Petunia -- and slightly disappointed despite himself that Lily hadn’t tried to follow him -- he stopped outside a pub to figure out which way he wanted to go next. As he looked around, getting his bearings, a heavy-set middle-aged man on his way into the pub stopped and called to him: “Severus, right? Tobias’s boy?�

Severus recognized him immediately, a companion of his father’s from the mill, back in the days when his father had still been working. The name filtered up to his consciousness: Harold Perry. Severus had seen him occasionally when he still lived at home, but rarely since starting at Hogwarts, and not at all since his father had been unemployed. “Mr. Perry,� he answered, sufficiently polite. He had no desire to talk to anyone, but Harold Perry had never done anything against him and deserved common courtesy.

“How’s your old man, eh?� Perry continued. “Found work yet? I haven’t seen him since the mill shut down.�

“He’s still looking for a job,� Severus responded, honestly enough. “Yourself?�

Perry scratched his head and then shook it, looking down at his feet and then back up at Severus. “Eh, here and there. I’ve picked up a bit of work at the railroad yards, but nothing that’s stuck. Mostly on the dole, truth to tell. How’s your mum?� he asked, seeming a bit anxious and fairly obviously changing the subject.

“Same as always,� Severus answered, letting Perry take that whatever way he wanted to. Nothing ever changed with his parents. Perry nodded awkwardly, seeming eager to end the conversation and get his drink.

“You’re your da’s son, Severus,� Harold Perry said. “Every time I seen yeh, you’re more and more like him. Well,� he concluded, as Severus had failed to reply to this comment. What could he say: that he had spent his entire life wanting to be as little like his father as possible? That he hoped to God that the similarities ended with the dark hair and big nose? Perry probably had no idea what Severus’s father was like. Or perhaps he did.

“Good seeing you, Mr. Perry; I won’t keep you any longer,� Severus answered, putting out his hand for a handshake from this man who seemed even more uncomfortable with the social niceties than he himself was. Perry shook, his hand large and calloused, and Severus wasn’t sure whether to feel lucky or effete that his own hands were not those of a working man.

“Good luck with school, lad,� Perry said, with a last gesture at friendliness to a boy he barely knew. “Don’t come back here. There’s nothing left here.� Severus nodded, Perry pushed open the pub door, and the awkward encounter ended. It had unsettled him, and he didn’t know why. He walked around for a while longer, but eventually went home and up to his room.

The next few days were harder than the ones that had preceded them. He had gone over a month without seeing Lily-- without even trying to see Lily-- but after accidentally catching a glimpse of her, he couldn’t stop wanting to again. Logic would have dictated that seeing her should have assuaged his need to see her further, and yet it somehow only made the craving even worse. It made no sense. After their one-sided encounter, he found himself pacing like a caged animal when at home, driving his father into rages with the constant footsteps above him. The resultant shakings left fingerprint-shaped bruises on Severus’s upper arms, but were not enough to deter him; it was uncomfortably primal, but if he didn’t do something, he felt like he would go mad. He finally started getting out of the house regularly, going for long walks that always started with him walking in the opposite direction from where she lived but inevitably winding up in places that they had gone before together. Once or twice he even stood at the end of her street and waited, but had no success in catching a glimpse of her. Knowing by now how the new Lily would respond if she thought he was stalking her like that, he never ventured any closer.

---

Over half of summer had passed without Severus really knowing where it had gone. He almost sympathized with his mother over the uselessness of the males in the family; he had inherited many of his books for sixth year from the ones from her schooldays, so at least his own studying technically served a purpose, but despite being sixteen and old enough to have a summer job, he wasn’t doing anything to bring in money. His father was still out of work, and was so permanently glued to the chair in the back room that Severus had concluded that the old man’s legs were largely ornamental.

Sometimes his mother attempted to get Severus to “actually do something;� most of the time, she seemed to have given up. She did assign the task of cooking dinner to him, and cleaning up the dishes afterward, since she was understandably tired after work and didn’t see why the lazy so-and-so who called himself her son shouldn’t do something to earn his keep. Severus had no argument for that, and so he began cooking a nightly dinner. It could hardly have been called cooking -- tinned baked beans on toast, Birds Eye pudding from a packet, canned salmon with salad cream-- it was more like reheating, really, and it rarely involved creativity, herbs and spices, or anything green. Based on his efforts in Slughorn’s class, he was sure he could do much better if he gave a damn enough to crack open the Delia Smith cookery book that inexplicably had made its way to their kitchen, a tome which appeared to be to Muggle cooking what Libatius Borage was to Potions. But it kept his mother happy, and gave his father a nightly excuse to ask him what kind of a bloody fairy he was, making dinner, and would he like an apron or maybe a dress? Somehow this taunt didn’t bother Severus; he wanted desperately to talk to Lily and listen to her and plumb the depths of her soul, but he also knew perfectly well how his body yearned for her, how some days he longed so badly to wrap himself around her that he could hardly think of anything else. If there was one thing he was sure of, he was definitely interested in girls. Or one girl, anyway. The problem was that she had no interest in him.

In any case, another one of his boring, repetitive dinners had finished, he had endured the usual taunts about being a great ruddy pansy, and even in the long summer twilight, the day was finally growing dim. For dinner conversation, Severus’s parents had been arguing again about his father’s lack of employment, and his father had retreated to his chair to give the want-ads another go. While doing the dishes in the sink, Muggle-style --Tobias Snape never allowed his son to do chores with magic, or his wife either if he could help it -- Severus had been trying to decide between going for a solitary walk or just returning to his room to read; when his parents’ fight exploded, it made up his mind for him.

“You’d do better if you actually tried a bit harder,� Severus’s mother said, half helpfully, half spitefully, leaning over her husband and weighing in on his useless job search. “You could look in this section-“ -- the sharp tap of her thin finger made the newspaper rustle --“or in this one, or here.�

“I don’t need help from a bloody freak like you!� Tobias Snape erupted, standing up to his full height and towering over his wife. Severus was already in the front room by this point, half way to the door and glancing back at his parents. There was no point in doing anything. Either his mother had her wand, or she didn’t, and even if she didn’t and he helped her, there was a significant chance that his intervention would only cause his parents to form an impromptu, temporary alliance with his mother egging his father on out of relief that she wasn't the target. He could live with being beaten by his father for trying to protect his mother; he could no longer just submit to punishment that she actually encouraged for daring to intervene on her behalf. He was no coward, but he was also no fool. As he opened the door, his parents’ raised voices carried out into the street. He closed it, and all was silent.

Head down, hands in his pockets, he walked briskly down the cobbled street to the river, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible because now more than ever, he needed to be alone. He sat down on the deserted bank with his knees pulled up to his chest and laid his head on them, closing his eyes tightly, but the hot tears leaked out anyway. His father’s words echoed through his head -- I don’t need help from a bloody freak like you-- I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her -- he had the man’s voice, and as of a couple of months before, he even had the man’s words. He was becoming him. In thirty years, he thought, the only difference would be that Severus would be able to torture his own wife and children using magic: Crucio, you ungrateful brat. Crucio, you worthless excuse for a human being. Crucio, because I’m a bully and I’m angry and you’re small enough and helpless enough for me to take it out on. By this point, he realized, he was crying in earnest, his body shaking with silent sobs. Helpless to stop it, he felt grateful for the darkness.

Lily had gotten out while the getting was good. He loved her, of that he was certain, but his father had loved his mother once. It wasn’t enough. His parents were both unhappy people who thrived, in their own way, on the anger they created, and he was becoming like them. He was more like his father already than the old man would ever know; he didn’t bully and beat the young and small, but he had spent his time hanging around with a pathetic group of pure-blood bullies just to have friends and feel like he was better than someone else. And he too gave free reign to his temper as if he were some dumb beast with no control over it. He had even allowed his mother’s petty prejudices to mean something to him. Slipping into the rut that his parents had carved for him, he had lost the only person who had ever actually loved him.

Without even opening his eyes, he could picture the part of town that Lily lived in as if he had turned around to look up at it: the lights in the distance that he always imagined were hers. He wanted to walk -- no, run -- through the dimly lit streets of the old industrial quarter, up past the park and the playground, over through the neatly manicured lawns and tidy, comfortable houses of Lily’s neighborhood, and knock on her door and beg her to take him back, swearing once again that things would be different. But aside from the fact that he knew by now that she wouldn’t be that easily swayed, he knew too well that she would be right not to believe him. He didn’t even believe himself. His future was laid out for him; his future was unfolding in that kitchen in that dismal house at the end of a row of equally dismal houses. It pulled at him; it held him in some sort of orbit that he couldn’t seem to pick up enough speed to escape.

The suffocating nearness of his family home and his predetermined fate was getting to him, and he had collected himself enough by now to stand up, wipe his eyes roughly on the sleeve of his jacket, and walk away from the house, heading along the bank. The river was filthy, surrounded by shuttered factories and despairing homes, and the walkway that he paced was littered with garbage: sweets wrappers, drink bottles, decaying bits of newspaper. But at least by walking, he felt like he was doing something. He had to do something: he had to show himself that he could become something different than that which he was inexorably becoming. Somehow he was turning into nothing more than a more subtle version of his brutal, bullying father, a Tobias Snape with a wand. He didn’t know what the alternative was, but if he could ever get to that point, maybe he would finally be right in asking Lily to come back. And maybe she would be right in doing so.

He stayed out for a long time, eventually making his way to the playground and sitting there lost in thought, until he was fairly sure that his parents would be asleep. Catapulting over the back-yard wall, he let himself in through the back door that led to the kitchen and dining area where his father sat, asleep in his chair, with the end of the day test pattern running endlessly on the television in colorful vertical bars. Severus turned the knob on the television to switch it off -- his father shifted in his sleep -- and walked noiselessly through the kitchen and crept up the stairway to bed. Nothing had changed -- his parents obviously weren’t speaking, his dad still didn’t have a job, his room still looked bare and dismal -- but for the first time in ages, perhaps the first time in his life, he felt like he at least understood where he was going wrong.

---

August was drawing to a close, and he would soon be returning to Hogwarts. He was certainly doing better than he had been in June, Severus realized, as he packed up his trunk a few days early, even though technically nothing had really changed. He had survived a summer at home despite only catching sight of Lily once, and was eager for all the chance encounters that Hogwarts provided and the opportunity to bask in her presence, however distant.

On the other hand, her coldness would probably pick up exactly where it had left off, and with the recent development of hope, and plans, he dreaded the quelling effect that reality would have on those things. It would be so easy to just fall back into his old patterns, whatever they were. He was already slipping into them now with precious little in the way of provocation; he was a creature of habit, and remaking himself was not going to be easy. On the other hand, it might be easier than the future that lay in store for him if he didn’t.

At the root of the problem, now that he had crawled out of whatever pit of despair had engulfed him a few months before, was that the studies which he found so beguiling didn’t seem to lead him to anything that remotely resembled happiness. Perhaps there was some sort of law of nature that, after enough exposure to terror and anger and hatred, a fascination with the Dark Arts was inescapable; if so, then he of all people was doomed to be entrapped by it. The idea of being so weak, of lacking control over his own mind to such a degree, repelled him, and yet here he was, unable to stop himself from mentally exploring those pathways, the perplexing challenge of crafting spells, most of them tending toward what would be considered Dark magic. Sometimes he told himself that it was harmless and merely a creative outlet, an antidote for boredom. It was all theoretical: he had made no conscious practical use of any of his creations, and didn’t intend to. Sometimes, though, it felt more like an addiction.

In which case, what was Lily -- how was she any different? She invaded his thoughts, drove his manic energy, and left him craving her. But the comparison between his two obsessions was never an argument against her, he realized, but always one in favor of continuing to submit to his own fascination with the Dark Arts. Lately he and Lily had mostly seemed to argue and make each other miserable, but before, even just the previous summer, without the world of Hogwarts to intrude, she had been the only thing that had made him happy. He was always left wanting more, and yet he would come away from a day with her, with their shared jokes and her bright wittiness and spontaneous tenderness, more soaring than frustrated. She knew what his home was like -- she had known for years -- and yet she really couldn’t know the demons that she pulled him away from every time they were together. If he had told her, it might have been too much; it might have scared her off to know that she was his only happiness, his salvation, his everything. He had bottled it up for fear of losing her that way, and instead had lost her by calling her something hateful. Usually he enjoyed irony, but this one held no pleasure for him.

With the renewed interest in the world that the impending return to school spurred in him, he found himself actually thinking about Lily in terms of the future, rather than just the past. Once again she populated his daydreams: in class with Lily, defending Lily against some nameless evil or even the Dark Lord himself -- but mostly, of finally making her realize after all these years that they were made for each other, which thought led to musings on all the many permutations of happily ever after.

The problem was how to get from “not talking to each other� to “happily ever after,� which, despite his renewed and somewhat uncharacteristically optimistic sense of purpose, seemed like a rather broad divide to cross.

One way to make oneself unwelcome in a carriage full of relative strangers was, apparently, to cough and hack convulsively like someone in the end stages of tuberculosis. The random collection of benign-looking seventh-years had initially seemed nonplussed as Severus lined up to join them in their carriage for the trip from the train station up to Hogwarts, but they had shrunk from him as his entire frame became racked with violent coughing just as he stepped through the door.

“Are you all right?� one girl asked, unnecessarily.

“Counter-- spell--“ Severus managed to choke out between spasms, doubled over and simultaneously clasping his chest and covering his mouth as his companions attempted to press themselves against the carriage walls as far from him as possible.

A serious-looking blond boy pulled out his wand and chanted “Finite Incantem!� and the spell lifted, leaving Severus gasping for air.

“Thanks,� he managed to whisper, still breathing hard.

“Sorry-- I just thought you’d had a Chocolate Frog go down the wrong way,� the girl stated. And this was a Ravenclaw? Standards in the Tower seemed to be slipping.

The others in the carriage cast concerned looks at each other. “That was fairly nasty. Any idea who did it?� one finally asked.

“No, but I have four good guesses,� he responded before pulling out a book, illuminating it with his wand, and leaving the others to their conversation. One thing was certain-- he had apparently let himself go soft over the summer. It was still four-on-one, and this year, he would have to separate himself from the pack of notoriously malevolent fellow Slytherins who had inadvertently served as a collective bodyguard. He wasn’t sure what to think of the fact that they had shown no interest in seeking his company yet, on either the train journey or the carriage ride. Business as usual, probably, since his membership in the group had probably always been on sufferance. Regardless, this year he was on his own, and his chances of remaining in one piece long enough to win Lily back seemed increasingly slim.

---

The train ride had demonstrated to him that Lily still appeared annoyed by Potter’s attentions, and that she had looked better pale than with the pathetic excuse for a suntan for which she had probably suffered all summer. The start of term feast had similarly taught him only two new things: that his need for Lily and his inherent tendency toward solitude could outweigh his desire for inclusion, and that the inevitable new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was almost preposterously young and altogether too cheerful-looking to know anything about the Dark Arts. Slytherin House was going to eat the poor fellow alive.

Leaving the dishes sitting on the table and shaking off a brief sensation of empathy with the house-elves, he waited until his former cohort had left without him and followed the general crowd of Slytherins down to the entrance to their House. The common room was packed as people reunited and caught up after a summer apart. A bevy of first-years plugged the hallway to the dormitories, so Severus found an unoccupied corner of the hearth and sat down to await a chance to unpack.

Evan Rosier walked by, accompanied by several of their classmates, and acknowledged Severus with an upward jerk of the chin and a recitation of his surname. Clearly Avery wasn’t around, or Rosier would not have been in command. Severus nodded back and returned to his book, reflecting that a year earlier, he probably would have been following after them like a faithful dog. In some ways, he still wished he could; it would have looked a lot less pathetic than sitting by the fireplace with only a book for company.

It was a good thing he liked reading. He was obviously going to be doing a lot of it this year.

---

Dumping an armload of clothes and other necessities from his trunk onto the top of his bed, Severus went to work putting his books and supplies in their places for the year. He had already read most of his mother’s old copy of Advanced Potion Making, a text that hadn’t changed since her days at Hogwarts. He would be needing the jump start to do as well as he had last year since he no longer had Lily to bounce ideas off.

When his OWL results had arrived later in the summer and he had surprised himself by qualifying for NEWT level Transfiguration, which his mother had never taken, he had gone to Diagon Alley, by himself for once, to buy the required texts for McGonagall’s class. In reality, he could have ordered the books by owl; it had just been an excuse for a day away from home, soaking up the atmosphere, buying books he didn’t need with his savings, and even using his remaining knuts to enjoy a cup of rather interesting tea that tasted suspiciously like a contentment potion.

The textbooks he had actually needed. The other books he had merely desired -- The Art of Spellcrafting, Useful Everyday Potions! -- might make a bit of money brewing up some of those -- and Muggle organic chemistry and pharmacology texts that he had picked up used and inexpensive in a book shop at the local university. The Muggle books’ focus on chemical structures, reactions, kinetics and dynamics fascinated him and, not coincidentally, gave him something of an advantage in Potions class. Libatius Borage clearly hadn’t studied this stuff. Severus had already carefully charmed the Muggle texts with the covers resembling Wizarding books and titled in Latin, something certain to deter his roommates from even considering investigating them.

Becoming the new and improved Severus Snape had meant that he had passed over the enticing Compendium Artis Oscuris without even so much as touching it, even though, with last year’s small but steady income from his cottage industry in Potions, he could have actually afforded the thing. The fact that it was available for purchase at Flourish & Blott’s was puzzling, but there it was year after year, large and heavy and beautiful in its dark leather binding. He had stood before it for a minute or two, thinking, coveting it, looking around the shop to see if anyone was watching him, and his hand had reached out for it, as if the volume itself had put the Imperius curse on him instead of just promising to show how it could be done. At the last second he had pulled his hand away and tucked it in the pocket of his coat, and walked briskly over to a much duller section of the shop, where he found himself closing his eyes and breathing deeply and trying with limited success to clear his mind. It was only a book. But weeks later, hundreds of miles away, he still wanted it.

The books went onto his shelves; the remaining contents of his trunk needed new homes now that he had been resorted into a different part of the room. In one drawer he placed the rolls of parchment, quills, ink, and other such like supplies that his mother insisted be purchased in cheaply bulk every year, and put a slightly modified version of his usual set of spells on the drawer so that his roommates wouldn’t pilfer from it. Not that they lacked money, but they did lack foresight, and morals, ethics, or whatever it was that would prevent someone from permanently borrowing a classmate’s school supplies without asking. And since Severus did lack money, noblesse oblige with school supplies was not an option.

After unloading the books and school supplies, he hung his robes up-- the same ones as last year, with the hem let out by the lady down the street who ran a seamstress business in her parlor. He had grown depressingly little in the previous year, but at least he had outgrown Lily, at last. Then underclothes-- possibly even more dingy than they had been when on display for the entire Hogwarts community a few months before. The concept of washing white articles of clothing separately, to which Lily had introduced him, had not impressed his mum. His socks had seen better days; his shoes, though, were new, since there was no way of avoiding that he had outgrown the old ones.

The few Muggle clothes would remain in the trunk on the off chance that he would actually need them. In the meantime, he cleared out the random collection of oddments and debris in the bottom of the trunk to tidily make room for them, realising that he hadn’t bothered to clean it out when summer had started. Potentially useful parchments containing old notes went into a drawer for possible NEWT study; some loose coins made their way to his pocket. Finally, he felt around under the peeling lining of the trunk to the secret compartment that he had made there, and his hand found something small and familiar.

It was a book, a Muggle paperback this time, the pages already beginning to yellow at the edges. It was an Arthurian legend that Lily had bought him for his eleventh birthday, half a year before they started at Hogwarts. He had never been sure what made her pick it for him, but she had been right, as usual -- once he had started, he had devoured it, and had read it over and over.

Recalling the simplistic numerology of his eleven-year-old self, he opened to page 130, and it was still there: a lock of dark red hair tied with a piece of yarn, a childish token of friendship from what now seemed like a different world. Lily had suggested the idea, apparently (and surprisingly) a trendy one among Muggle children, of sealing their friendship with blood; Severus had already drawn, shed and tasted enough blood at the time that being Lily’s blood-brother held no charm for him. Hence the Victorian throwback instead.

The lock of black hair given in exchange, he was certain, had gone in the bin at the Evans house this summer. Lily was selective in her sentimentality, and Severus knew that he no longer merited it. His attachment to her, on the other hand, stood a fairly good chance of being a permanent feature of his life, since after more than seven years it showed no signs of waning.

The book and his other hidden souvenirs from Lily went into the spell-bound drawer: a few Muggle photographs of the two of them taken by her dad; the annual series of photos from a booth at the local shops, with her trying (successfully) to look goofy and him trying (unsuccessfully) to look impressive; and a large, beautiful shell from her family’s trip to the shore given so that he too could hear the ocean.

There were also an utterly useless oversized pencil with Parisian landmarks on it from a more exotic holiday; a cassette tape which, if it still worked, held a recording of the two of them doing a ridiculous radio show in which they pretended to be various characters and interviewed each other; a handmade woven potholder in Slytherin colours (why? why on earth?); and an old box that had once held the fancy Cadbury’s Roses chocolates but which now contained seven years worth of notes from Lily and even a few notes to her which he had never dared to send. Recent years had brought fewer gifts, and most of them practical or edible, like she didn’t quite know what to give to him anymore.

---

He wasn’t actually avoiding his Slytherin classmates, he rationalized the next day at breakfast, taking the open spot next to Mulciber at the end of the bench in the Great Hall. He just wasn’t seeking them out anymore. There was no reason not to sit next to Mulciber, who didn’t appear to object to his company. Wilkes sat across from them and started piling his plate high with food. They began talking about some apparently hilarious exploit regarding Muggles in the vicinity of someone’s London townhouse, which had obviously occurred over the summer. Severus wished that the laughs and inside jokes didn’t bother him as much as they did, and reminded himself that technically he was attempting to break free of an association with this group, and that therefore it was a bonus if they jettisoned him first.

Unfortunately, their Muggle-baiting did sound rather funny to him. He was never going to win Lily back at this rate, considering that he was actually smirking at the idea of performing surreptitious memory-charms on Muggle Londoners so that they didn’t remember where they had parked their cars. Pranks on Muggles were one step away from pranks on Muggleborns, which were one step away from taking blood status as a significant indicator of one’s worth as a human being. Which already sorely tempted him, and which led nowhere that he wanted to go.

Wilkes finally turned to Severus. “So, Snape,� he began, “What’d’y’ do this summer?�

“Not much. Read some books.�

“Spend some time enjoying the company of your favourite Mudblood?� Wilkes asked, stuffing in another forkful of food before continuing in a revolting and semi-comprehensible fashion, “Where is it that you two live again?�

“I didn’t see her,� Severus answered automatically, immediately ashamed of the impulse of deception that came so easily to him. He just couldn’t get past it. Somehow he still wanted them to believe that he didn’t see her by choice. And somehow he really didn’t want them to know where he came from, although the accent was obvious enough. Why the hell he was still trying to impress people who obviously couldn’t care less about him puzzled him immensely.

“Too bad,� Wilkes replied, surprising Severus, but then went on to add, “being summer and all. About the only good thing to be said about that one is that she’d probably look good in a bikini.� Mulciber snorted and made some obscure and vaguely threatening remark about Mudbloods being useful for some things.

Not for you, Severus thought, sensing a knot of cold fury and averting his eyes from his classmate’s lascivious grin, but at the same time trying to convince himself that he’d be of more use to her, better able to protect her, if his old crowd didn’t know how he had changed.

Tried to change, anyway-- and so far, failed. There was no reason to believe that he would gain anything by defending an abstract idea of Lily from a boy whose ideas of what to do with her almost certainly didn’t involve consent on her part. There was every reason to believe he would suffer for the rest of the year for any kind of angry outburst. He was, in the final analysis, too much of a Slytherin to come charging to her defense with odds like these. Yet he wasn’t sure whether holding his tongue was wisdom, or just cowardice.

“I wouldn’t know,� he answered, shrugging and picking up his things to go to class. “I never went to the swimming baths with her.� Not that she hadn’t tried to persuade him to go on countless occasions-- he just had no intention of her finding out that he had never been taught to swim. All those summers, the two of them had been practically joined at the hip, and he had thrown it all away for this lot. Even her avoidance of him on principle was so very different from their casual dismissal. And she probably did look gorgeous in a bikini. Damn it. Now he was starting the first day of school not only annoyed at himself, but also hot and bothered.

Walking toward Flitwick’s classroom, he realised with something akin to panic that he had no idea where to find Lily, a first for their five years together at school. The preceding years, he had known her class schedule by heart, her haunts in between classes, the exact spots she usually chose to sit in during meals in the Great Hall. Even if -- or, given his propensity for espionage, when -- he managed to piece together her schedule, all the information that in past years he had put to use casually running into her had to now be reapplied for purposes of avoiding her, or at least, staying out of her way and obtaining information on the sly.

The problem was that he couldn’t stand not knowing what she was doing, how she was doing, and most importantly, how Potter was doing in his eternal quest to get her to go out with him. Without being able to talk to Lily, he found Potter -- with his proximity as a Gryffindor and his ability to still speak to her -- to be an even greater threat than he had been before. Their return to Hogwarts greatly improved Severus’s chances of seeing her and maybe even becoming friends with her again, but it also renewed the threat posed by the great Quidditch-playing oaf who also happened to be smart and rich and good-looking and popular.

Bloody hell.

As always, if he spent too much time ruminating upon the enviable characteristics of his favorite bully, he sank into the depression that came with knowing that he didn’t stand a chance. Especially now that Lily’s one great objection to James -- “treats my best friend like dirt� -- would no longer be an objection, and in fact would probably score points in Potter’s favor. But perhaps the three of them might have at least one class together, which would allow Severus to keep an eye on how the Gryffindor Chaser was doing in his pursuit.

---

The first such class had turned out to be Potions. Lily was sitting with her friend Mudblood Mary, and the three Marauders in the class hovered around a pair of unoccupied seats, arguing over who would sit together and who would get stuck sitting with Severus. As always, they didn’t even make much of a point of keeping their voices down in the presence of the person they were insulting. He felt the old hatred coursing through him as he bent over his station, organizing his supplies.

Eventually the werewolf appeared to pull the short straw, and sat down in the chair next to Severus’s with an apologetic hello as Slughorn entered the classroom, slightly late. Severus did his best to ignore him. It would probably have made sense to try to cultivate something even approaching a mutual tolerance, since, next to Mudblood Mary, Werewolf Lupin appeared to be Lily’s closest companion, probably born of their connection as prefects. But despite the possible personal advantage, he just couldn’t stomach it.

He would really have to stop thinking of Mary like that, but it was difficult when that was all he ever heard her called. Muggleborn Mary, Lily’s cute, brunette, freckled side-kick, the character foil to the sinister, pallid side-kick that he has once been. Mary seemed to serve as a normal, pretty, sociable piece of evidence that Lily wasn’t completely mental when choosing her friends. She also served as an easy target for anyone with an interest in blood status, since she was a Muggleborn with a notorious temper.

Time to stop caring about the Muggleborn thing, also. Right then, just Mary. Accepting Lupin’s lycanthropic tendencies would do nothing toward regaining Lily’s friendship, however, since she was seemingly unaware of the bleeding obvious. Besides, the spineless git was technically a Marauder, so his nickname stuck.

At least Lupin didn’t seem interested in giving Severus any trouble. Across the aisle and two rows back, on the other hand, Potter and Black were back in top form after a summer off. Black had started the class by asking in his usual sneering fashion, “Been to Madam Pomfrey yet, Snivelly? You sounded like you were catching a cold last night.� He and Potter looked at each other and snickered. Severus pretended not to hear him and made a mental note to come up with an interesting jinx for retribution.

Actually, sitting with Lupin was hardly any better than sitting with Potter or Black, since the two of them insisted on visiting their friend incessantly to make up for his bad luck in seatmates with their charming company.

“So, Severus,� James had begun in a mocking tone while on a social visit to Lupin’s desk. “I hadn’t thought you could possibly get any more scrawny. On a slimming diet?�

“No, just cigarettes and heroin--the usual,� Severus lied with equal measures of sarcasm and boredom, and went quietly back to his work, fairly certain that the great James Potter probably would not attack him with Slughorn six paces away. Based on his quick glimpse of the look on James’s face, either James was trying to figure out whether Severus was lying, or he had no knowledge of Muggle narcotics. James had probably spent his free time in the summer playing Quidditch instead of reading, among other things, a Muggle pharmacology text.

As long as he hadn’t spent it with Lily.

At the end of the class, Severus hurriedly gathered up his things to leave the Potions classroom without running into Lily. Since they no longer sat together, they were paired with classmates who had appeared to have either scraped by on their O.W.L.’s or curried favor with Slughorn to get into Advanced Potions. Severus found that as of day one, he and Lily were both completing their work and leaving the class a good while later than they typically had been before when they had worked together. He might even have been willing to acknowledge to himself that he had dragged things out a bit more to stay near her, out of old habit of protecting her from Slughorn’s unabashed and embarrassing favoritism, and out of sheer longing to be around her, to see whom she was talking to and what she was doing, to overhear her conversations, and to figure out whether she had taken Potter up on any of his repeated propositions yet.

So far, Potter appeared to have been unsuccessful, but waiting for Lily’s resistance to crumble was agonising, and not knowing was even worse. In a weak moment, he wished they would pair up and get it over with so that he could just join the Dark Lord or kill himself or become a monk or whatever other drastic step might leave her with a lifetime of lingering guilt for setting him on such a path. In stronger moments, he remembered that he was no longer that person. Theoretically.

It was therefore partly chance and partly design that caused Severus to be the only other student still in the room as Lily was cleaning up and preparing to leave. With no further puttering to be done, he slung his bag over his shoulder and slouched out of the class without looking at her, acutely aware of her exaggerated interest in something in her supplies and her obvious determination not to look up at him. She would be walking down the hall right after him at this rate, so he headed out quickly to put some space between them and save her the necessity of dawdling to avoid him. Just as he turned into the hallway, however, Slughorn called her back.

"Lily, my dear!'' the cheery voice boomed, ''I noticed that you and my other top student no longer sit together in class. Lovers’ quarrel?" Slughorn spoke jokingly but with obvious interest. Severus halted and stood next to the door where he could hear but remain unseen, and stooped for unnecessary fumbling with his shoelace to justify himself in case he was caught.

He could barely hear Lily's reply, but he could tell from the forced lightness of her voice that she was indulging the old man. "--nothing interesting, Professor,'' he could pick up, ''Just a friends' quarrel.''

“What, no sparks between you two, no chemistry?" asked Slughorn again, pursuing the topic with the tone of someone both seeking good gossip and enjoying his own painful metaphors. "You always made a wonderful pair."

Lurking just outside the door, Severus cringed as he awaited Lily's response. He didn't want to hear it, but he couldn't tear himself away. "Maybe when we were younger," she conceded. "But not anymore. We've... grown apart. But I'd rather not discuss it, sir. With all due respect,'' she added hastily, and then concluded in a slightly harder voice, "You'd be better off talking to Severus."

Slughorn obviously knew not to question her further, but Severus could tell from the yes, yes, tut, tut replies that he should be prepared for a good grilling the next time he saw his Head of House.

The shame welled up again as he walked quickly away from the room before Lily emerged, and he knew that he had no idea how to answer when the inevitable question was asked.

I called my best friend a Mudblood.

That was it-- amid all the excuses, all the rationalisations, there was nothing that could justify it-- not his own humiliation, not James Potter's cruelty, not the bad influence of a dorm full of so-called friends who tossed around a word like "Mudblood" as casually as if it were part of the polite vernacular. He had called the only person who had ever loved him something unspeakable, and it was his own stupid fault.

The year was not starting auspiciously. Severus hadn’t expected much; he had steeled himself for flying solo, enduring Lily’s ongoing rejection, and being an easy target for the Marauders. Living it, though, was a different thing altogether. He had already been caught off-guard, apparently by Sirius Black, hadn’t had a chance to retaliate, had ascertained that Lily was still angry at him, and had spent practically every free minute alone, giving himself the impressive appearance of being friendless and pathetic. His old crowd had verified his suspicion that they weren’t that interested in his company unless they needed something from him, which obviously they didn’t yet. There was an interrogation from Slughorn in the offing, courtesy of Lily, and a new teacher for Severus’s favourite class who looked like he would know about as much about Defence Against the Dark Arts as Father Christmas. When Severus entered the Defence classroom, he was in a particularly foul mood.

The new professor was almost preposterously young, Severus concluded upon seeing him close up for the first time-- certainly no older than his mid-twenties. He was tall and lanky, with sandy hair and bright, eager eyes and a rather loose-limbed gait, and while no one would have called him handsome, his face was not unappealing. He wore his academic robes over a tweedy suit that looked like something professors from the Muggle university might have worn. The latter had clearly not escaped the notice of the Slytherins sitting near Severus, who were muttering sarcastic comments about blood status. As the remaining students filed in, the young man stood over his desk, shuffling and resorting some papers with what appeared to be nervous energy. He finally turned to face the class.


“Right!� he declared, clapping his hands together once and almost rubbing them in his enthusiasm. “Welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts. I’m Davis Llewellyn-- Professor Davis Llewellyn, sorry-- and I’m your professor for this year. And probably not next year. Wonder what will happen to me. Anyway,� he continued, as a buzz went around the classroom, confirming that Severus was not, in fact, hearing things. He had really said that. Bloody hell.

A hand went up somewhere toward the front of the room. “Yes?� Professor Llewellyn asked, not seeming a bit annoyed that he couldn’t get through his introductory speech without being asked questions.

“Any relation to--?� the boy started.

“Father’s second cousin,� Llewellyn replied, cutting him off, and then continued apologetically, “My wife is a Healer at St. Mungo’s, and when she was in training, she got asked that all the time. Eventually I had to look it up.� An excited buzz went around the room a second time: Davis Llewellyn was distantly related to… someone famous! Not only that, but just think: a professor at Hogwarts who was actually married! Severus hated to admit it, but he actually shared in the eager interest that his apparently gossipy classmates had in this particular topic. Professorship at Hogwarts had always seemed to come with a vow of celibacy written into the contract.

Apparently not completely oblivious to the stir he was creating with even the most minimal mention of a private life, Professor Llewellyn continued, quickly changing the subject, “So, right-- on to more important things: my qualifications to teach you Defence Against the Dark Arts.� Apparently Llewellyn had not been informed that the only requirements to teach Defence appeared to be a pulse and a passing familiarity with the English language-- and as Professor Becker had demonstrated two years before, even the latter was seemingly optional.

When Severus tuned back in, Llewellyn was stating, “… most of my work has been in Dark objects, Dark potions and their antidotes, or potions to counteract conditions brought on by, or related to, Dark magic. Most recently, I’ve been studying more locally, but a few years back I spent some time in Eastern Europe on vampire-related potions. Before that, I was in western Africa researching their potion to counteract involuntary animal transformation, in hopes that this might lead us to come up with a potion to prevent or at least ameliorate the monthly lunar transformation of our werewolf population.� A promise was a promise, and Severus had made one to Dumbledore and therefore didn’t turn around to look, but the twitch of movement in his peripheral vision at that comment was almost certainly Lupin snapping to attention.

“In certain parts of Africa,� Llewellyn continued, probably encouraged by the obvious interest in the class, “they have a potion of that nature, but it’s one to lessen the effects of the transformation of the Bouda werehyenas, wereleopards and so on-- for those for whom it’s cursed and involuntary, anyway. Which you’ve probably never heard of -- I certainly hadn’t when I was at Hogwarts. Fascinating stuff, African magic. Positively ancient, and very different from ours, but there are all these similarities if you dig deep enough.� He looked like he could talk all day about his research.

Clearly Severus wasn’t the only one who had come to that conclusion, because Avery raised his hand and asked with exquisite sincerity, “Sir, could you tell us about African magic?� Severus turned around and half-snarled at him; attempting to distract Binns or Flitwick was one thing, but why get the professor to go off on a tangent in a class that was interesting in and of itself?

“Well, perhaps I could, a bit,� Llewellyn conceded. “The first thing that’s so interesting is the connection between the magical world and the Muggle world is so much closer than in our society. The International Statute of Secrecy isn’t as international as we’d like to think here in Britain. To start, there’s the social position of the Witchdoctor…� His eyes glowed eagerly, and Severus could hear Avery and Mulciber murmuring in amused satisfaction behind him.

About ten rather intriguing minutes later, Llewellyn was expounding on the role of human remains in African Dark magic when he seemed to realise that he had gone off on a tangent and reigned himself in, switching back to what appeared to be their regularly scheduled programming. By the end of the class, however, Severus was much more impressed than he had thought he would be.

The new professor could clearly be distracted to go off on a detour at the drop of a hat, and he gave the impression of being something like a Golden Retriever of the Dark Arts, energetic and enthusiastic and cheerful, which was a rather odd combination to get one’s brain around. The likelihood that he would get his more talkative students to shut up long enough for their classmates to learn anything was also looking rather slim.

On the other hand, he presented them with a well-organised syllabus that seemed to contain both theory and practice, something that only one of their five previous professors had managed to coordinate. Furthermore, he had ideas about interdisciplinary work with Potions, which would serve the noble dual purpose of combining Severus’s two favourite classes and scaring the living daylights out of Slughorn, who was not only lazy about making changes to his curriculum, but also, for a Slytherin, surprisingly terrified of anything pertaining to the Dark Arts.

Socially, this year was shaping up to be a dead loss, but academically, sixth year was actually starting to look rather promising.

Chapter Four- Satisfaction


Potions class began as it always did-- with most of the students arriving before Slughorn. As usual, Severus was one of the first, and he sat in his typical spot and began preparing his supplies and ingredients for the day before Lupin could get there and, more to the point, before Lupin’s gentleman callers could ruin Severus’s concentration. Lupin did arrive shortly thereafter, as usual without James or Sirius, since he sometimes appeared to come from a different class in a closer classroom, but surprisingly, he sat down in one of the seats that his two friends usually occupied, right in front of the customary location of Lily and Mary.

Lily came in next, looked surprised and pleased that her fellow sixth-year Gryffindor prefect was sitting right in front of her, and struck up a conversation with him. The two were talking and preparing their stations when Black and Potter arrived.

“Oi, Remus-- out of my seat,� Potter ordered casually, clearly expecting compliance.

“I’m sitting here today,� Lupin answered mildly, sounding slightly worried.

“We sit together, and you sit with Snivelly. It’s some sort of natural law,� Sirius Black countered. “Now go over and keep Snivellus company, and let me sit with James.� Neither he nor Potter appeared particularly concerned.

“I’m not going anywhere,� Lupin responded, sounding a bit more confident this time. “You or James can sit with me for a change.�

Black and Potter exchanged glances.

“Is this about Saturday?� Potter asked. “We said we were sorry, Remus. We even tried to talk to McGonagall for you. Come on.�

“You know it wasn’t on purpose; it was just -- thoughtless. Honestly, we won’t do it again,� Black added. Obviously something interesting had happened; it was unfortunate that Severus had really no way of finding out exactly what that something interesting had been. Whatever it was, it seemed to have triggered one of the rare episodes in which Lupin attempted to grow a backbone. Black continued, “Good friend that you are, couldn’t you please just do us a favor and go sit with him? You two actually seem to tolerate each other.�

“And if you two are MY good friends, you’ll sit with me now and again,� Lupin countered. His voice was a bit tight on that one-- clearly Black had hit a nerve. Severus made a mental note of this interesting fact for possible future use as the less-than-witty repartee continued. One could never have too many weapons against the Marauders, even the relatively benign Lupin.

“Don’t you care at all about our marks in Potions?� Black asked, in what seemed to be a desperate and fairly useless argument.

“Or points being taken from Gryffindor, more like,� Potter added darkly.

“Not particularly. Besides, your marks will probably improve if you sit with Snape-- he’s much better than either of you. Or me.�

“C’mon, Moony.� Potter was pleading now, and using that bloody nickname. “You seemed to be getting along with Snape.�

“Swimmingly,� Lupin replied. As they sounded more and more worried, he sounded more and more casual. “We’ve had no trouble. I’m sitting here on principle -- sorry to spoil the daily love-in, but you two are just going to have to decide.� Potter flushed angrily, and Black’s eyes narrowed.

The whole drama was giving Severus considerable amusement, the only downside being that Mary still hadn’t arrived, leaving an empty seat beside Lily, and eventually even one of these two dunderheads would have to realise that there was a third option. Hopefully it wouldn’t be--

“Right then!� Potter announced jovially. “I’ll sit with Evans instead. Hello, Evans!�

Lily glowered at him. “Do I have a say in this ridiculous argument?� she asked, “because Mary will be expecting to sit with me.�

“Well, not today,� Potter replied merrily, dumping the contents of his pack out onto the chair and making himself at home as Lily looked on in disgust.

“Fine-- I’m not going to lower myself to your level,� she said, and turning away from him, nose in the air, continued getting her station set up for class. Black sat down next to Lupin, not speaking to him and still looking disgruntled. Lupin looked like he was unsure whether he had won or lost.

Notably, at no point did Lily seem to even consider the option of sitting with Severus.

Mary arrived in a hurry a couple of minutes later, when the entire crew was all comfortably, if not amicably, ensconced in their various seats and Severus was returning to his desk with ingredients for the day’s work. None of the combatants had dared move from their seats to collect the components of the day’s potion, since that might mean returning to find that they had been moved, presumably into the reject seat next to Severus. Mary stood in the aisle, looking puzzled. “James,� she said, “You seem to be sitting at my station.�

“Sorry, Mary!� he said in a cheerful tone that sounded not the least bit sorry. “This would be my seat today.� Mary cast a questioning look at Remus, whom she clearly considered to be the only sensible one of the lot. He smiled an anxious, apologetic smile.

“You see, Mary,� said Black, “We’d rather sit with each other, or Remus, or Lily, than with Snivelly. First come, first served. The early bird gets the worm. Well, you get the worm, actually.� He and James snorted with laughter at this bit of hilarity.

Mary, on the other hand, did not look a bit amused. “Oh for Heaven’s sake, is THAT all?� she asked, and stalked over to the station next to Severus, leaving all three Marauders and Lily staring after her in surprise. Planting her books on the table next to his, she announced tensely, “Hello, Severus-- it appears that we’ll be working together today.�

“Not necessarily -- you could spend the next two hours arguing why you deserve to sit over there,� he replied frostily. As soon as he said it, he was immediately unsure as to why he had even bothered replying to her.

She looked like she wasn’t quite sure what to think of that. After a loaded pause, she finally responded, loudly enough for the others to hear, “Or, unlike my housemates, I could act like I’m not a complete arse.� Before he could reply she snarled, more quietly this time, “And don’t answer that one, Snape -- it’s just too easy.� She pulled out her cauldron and began setting up her station with a bit more crash and bang than necessary.

Severus shrugged and said, “Suit yourself,� shelving the obvious rejoinder as he moved aside a bit to give her some room. In truth, however, Mary had surprised him with, to use her delicate phraseology, how little of an arse she had actually been and how little of a fight she had put up. By now he was so accustomed to being openly treated by his classmates like the vomit-flavored bean in the Bertie Botts’ box of life that tolerance, wariness, or really anything better than utter revulsion was actually becoming somewhat welcome.

---

Sirius Black still deserved a repayment for the coughing spell, and the fact that, several weeks into school, Severus hadn’t yet served up his revenge was evidence that he was still not quite himself. He had no intention of becoming again the Severus Snape who tagged along with the Voldemort Youth -- which crowd seemed to be doing quite well without him now that they had Nott to treat as second fiddle -- but his quickness with interesting jinxes and hexes was not a trait that he was willing to lose.

That he would have to exercise caution and restraint was obvious, and, given that the target was Black, truly a pity. But the incident with Lily the previous spring had brought him to the attention of the Headmaster himself, Professor Slughorn having seemingly been passed over altogether for the management of anti-Muggleborn bigotry. Dumbledore apparently usually handled those presumed to be heading toward the ranks of the Dark Lord, and Severus’s words had obviously labeled him as part of that coterie.

Given that James Potter appeared, for no good reason other than his usual charm, to be a great favorite of Dumbledore, Severus was surprised in retrospect at how fair the Headmaster had been. The circumstances of Severus’s outburst had apparently not escaped his attention, and although Dumbledore did not say so directly, Severus was not so witless as to miss that Dumbledore knew much of what had preceded his slur against the Gryffindor prefect. The Headmaster had discussed the seriousness of the use of such language and what it imputed about the speaker’s views, and had gone on to suggest to Severus, with his customary tactful eloquence, that Severus might reconsider his choice of companions, a piece of advice that Severus had deliberately chosen to ignore. His mind appeared to have been changed for him over the summer, however, since his current choice of companions included himself and himself alone.

Dumbledore had also recommended that, “while the occasional indulgence of a passionate temper can be, alas, only too enjoyable,� he would endorse control of the mind and emotions as a general principle to give Severus practice for, as he had put it, “a -- might I say -- less visceral response, even under the most trying of circumstances.� Less visceral. All his life Severus had liked to think of himself as responding from the mind, not from the gut like his father, and here was the Headmaster suggesting that he had been angered into some mindless, knee-jerk reaction. At the time Severus had been too angry and too unhappy to give the Headmaster’s suggestions much thought, but subsequent reflection had forced him to conclude that the old man, Gryffindor and James Potter partisan though he was, was probably right.

That Dumbledore seemed to possess an uncommon degree of understanding did nothing to ameliorate the fact that Severus was clearly on the watch list and had to exercise caution in his choice of revenge tactics against Black. He had once been known for creating interesting uses for seemingly benign charms, and for witty jinxes and hexes, as well as dangerous and Dark ones. Witty and interesting, he concluded, should be the goal.

Lily had been an integral part of that, though; Lily had been the one who had guided his anger toward creativity. His ideas of vengeance tended toward physical acts against the perpetrator, whereas Lily’s tended toward Charms and Transfiguration. Hers were lighter, more girlish, funnier -- and harder to create Latin incantations for. Why were so many Wizarding incantations derived from a language that possessed a one-word verb for “to run someone through with a sword?� Latin was a language of action, of war. Not that he would have had any objections to running Sirius Black through with a sword, using a one-word verb or otherwise, but to think more like Lily, Severus thought, he might have to tackle Greek. Greek seemed to be better suited to subtlety and cleverness and wit. Unfortunately, this would probably require consultation with Binns.

In the meantime, he spent a daydreamy lunch, solo as usual, in which he tried to plot revenge like Lily would. He started, as always, from areas of weakness or hubris, and came up with several ideas -- interesting variants on Black’s pre-Raphaelite curls, which were obviously a point of pride, and a more generic but definitely clever hex on the private regions which even Black didn’t seem to deserve. In the end, though, he came up with a response based on Black’s characteristic pretensions to Muggle-style rebellion, one that was just too perfect not to be employed as soon as the chance presented itself. For a jinx created without Lily’s clever assistance, it was really not half bad.

He and Lily seemed to have reached a tacit agreement that they would just act like they didn't know each other. This was easy enough for him to do-- there were many people in their class whom he didn't know, although he had no doubt that most of them had formed strong opinions about him. It was undoubtedly harder for Lily, who knew or was known by everyone, to add one more to the list of Death Eaters she tried to avoid. It also seemed against her nature to treat someone she had once liked as if he were a ghost, but a ghost was clearly what he had become to her. And he still had no idea how to undo the damage he had done; staying away from the group she despised had seemed to make no difference.

---

On the morning of the first Hogsmeade weekend, Sirius Black walked into the Great Hall for breakfast surrounded by his friends, as always, and Severus realised with a glow of pleasure that his moment had come. The other three boys were dressed in nondescript casual attire; Sirius, in typical fashion, wore tattered denim jeans and a T-shirt bearing the motif of a famous Muggle rock band, a favorite affectation of his and one that Severus had been waiting for, convincing himself that revenge was best served cold.

He had practiced on an article of his own clothing, so he knew the trick to be effective, and he had finally gotten good enough to perform it nonverbally. When leaving the Hall, he walked past the Gryffindor table and silently cast the charm with a delaying modification, pondering the fact that it was a pity that he really couldn’t be around to see the results of his hard work. The one risk was that even Black would find it to be funny. But fortunately, Severus had thought of this in advance, and had taken steps to make sure that the humor would be short-lived.

As it so happened, he actually did get to see his masterpiece in action. A couple of hours later, he sat quietly in The Three Broomsticks, reading, drinking butterbeer and bothering no one, when he heard the angry voices of his four favorite classmates as they entered the pub.

“Hey, Snivellus! Did you do this?� Black demanded. Half the populace of the establishment turned around to look, just as the enormous lips on Black’s Rolling Stones T-shirt began speaking, beginning unceremoniously with a string of obscenities.

“No, but I wish I had,� Severus lied smoothly, as the crowd burst into shocked laughter.

Black didn’t respond right away. He was clearly aware that he had the attention of the crowd, and by now he must have figured out that his own speech triggered the charm on the Rolling Stones logo. After a few moments of what must have been quite an inward struggle, however, Black continued, albeit quietly.

“I don’t believe a word of it, Snape -- it seems like exactly the kind of thing you’d do,� Black hissed. The lips on the T-shirt, as Severus had jinxed them to do, spoke every time Black spoke, this time informing Severus in no uncertain terms that he had a fat arse and a face like a goat looking through a hedge. Ah yes, here was the string of comments specifically intended to be insulting to girls, since Severus had assumed that Black would probably be up to his usual tactic of catch and release. The timing could not have been better: while the goat looking through a hedge point was debatable, one thing Severus definitely did not have was a fat arse. The crowd roared, now totally riveted on the spectacle before them.

“And when would I have done it?� Severus asked. “I haven’t seen you all day -- believe it or not, Black, I actually avoid you. Perhaps you’re not as popular in Gryffindor as you’d like to think you are.�

Black replied with something befitting the jinxed lips on the shirt, which, triggered by his speech, followed up by stating that Black would rather be off doing something to Pettigrew which really should not have been mentioned in polite company. There it was, the built-in guarantee that Black would not be amused by the trick: plentiful references to the wearer’s imputed desire to do interesting things to his mates. Pettigrew stood nearby, looking very uncomfortable, and Severus wondered how he himself was going to get through the upcoming declarations of Black’s desire to shower with Potter or fondle Lupin without laughing so hard that he’d make an easy victim for the quartet.

On the plus side, there were now students actually sobbing with laughter, and Severus was rather pleased that he had responded to Black with wit rather than violence, even though he knew he was probably really in for it at some point in the not too distant future.

“Just you wait, Snape,� Black murmured savagely, turning and exiting as the lips on the shirt began to talk longingly of undressing Lupin. The other three Marauders headed after him somewhat sheepishly, followed by the laughter of the denizens of the Three Broomsticks.

“Hie, Snape -- any idea who did that to Black? Was it really you?� The low and incongruously mellow voice belonged to a big Hufflepuff from Severus’s year, one of the Quidditch players, who had walked over to Severus’s table.

“Black certainly seems to think I did,� Severus responded obliquely, finally remembering Sam Douglas’s name.

Douglas took that in, and then, with a wide grin, proffered a thick hand for a shake, which Severus accepted. “Well, if that was you, it was brilliant, and you have my admiration.�

“If I ever find out who did it, I’ll make sure he knows of your appreciation,� Severus said. The jinx had appeared more clever than it actually was: it had a continuously recycling program of comments and insults which would, Severus was sure, seem less impressive if someone heard them for the second time. The key to its success, he realised, was that Black would never stay in the same place long enough for anyone but his dearest friends to hear the shirt’s commentary more than once.

“Tell him to teach me how to do it while you’re at it,� Douglas replied. “Might be useful for the occasional well-chosen Quidditch jersey.� He returned to the table with his friends and girlfriend, an oddball collection of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who, notable for their refusal to remain House-bound in their friendships, had been nicknamed the Ravenpuffs by some of their classmates. Siobhan Mulalley, Douglas’s longtime girlfriend, was still dabbing her eyes and attempting to regain her composure.

Returning to his reading, Severus concluded that whatever the Marauders came up with for punishment, it had definitely been worth it. Sirius Black wouldn’t live this down for a long time.

At the same time, although Severus hated James Potter and his little group, he envied the easy friendship they had, which was unlike anything he had ever known. His only real friend was -- had been -- Lily, but that friendship had been so complicated, largely because he was a boy and she was a girl and no matter how they pretended it didn’t matter, it did matter: it was everything. One boyfriend for her, one girlfriend for him -- who was he kidding? One boyfriend for her, and the whole thing would have fallen apart like a house of cards. What boyfriend would have let her continue hanging around with him the way she had? Not to mention what Severus’s own jealousy could have wrought if given the opportunity.

The Marauders, on the other hand, would probably always be together, and obnoxious though they were, he occasionally wished he had something like that. His companions of the last few years, he knew, were nothing like the Marauders -- unlike the Four Bloody Musketeers of Gryffindor, his Slytherin friends had been all for none and every man for himself. But he envied the Marauders, and even the Ravenpuffs who, unlike himself and Lily, seemed to get past the House issues without their friendship falling apart. In any case, although he didn’t seem to be cut out for such a thing, that didn’t keep him from wanting it. The easy companionship, the belonging to a larger entity, the sense that someone else was always there to defend you -- in the abstract, anyway, it definitely had its appeal.

Something that had lost its appeal, however, was being part of the Avery and Mulciber group. Unlike Lily, whom he seemed to miss more in inverse proportion to the amount of time he spent with her, their company had become less attractive from a distance. Perhaps he had taken offense that they were not more interested in keeping him around; maybe he just enjoyed the independence more than he had thought he would. Or maybe it was just self-justification, since he knew it was something of a joke to think of himself as independent. In the previous few years, he had constantly been torn between two masters, trying to keep fitting in with the Slytherin crowd but at the same time, trying to remain friends with Lily. The only difference this year was that he had finally chosen to be ruled by one rather than both. She just didn’t know it yet.

---

Chapter 5- A Fairly Useless Lesson

One bright spot in the drudgery that was sixth year was Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was far from perfect: the class was not completely out of control, but was a fair approximation. Llewellyn’s attempts at keeping his students quiet had improved somewhat the day after McGonagall had passed by the loud and chatty class; undoubtedly some wisdom had been imparted to the young teacher posthaste. Severus had to wonder why, in the current climate, anyone who actually wanted to learn Defence at the N.E.W.T. level would spend the entire class period babbling and generally paying as little attention as possible. It seemed that his fellow students did so just because they could.

Nonetheless, whereas Llewellyn had little control over his students, he had impressive control over his subject matter and, sitting in the front of the classroom and ignoring everything going on behind him, Severus managed to learn a great deal of useful information, not to mention an abundance of superfluous knowledge on the Dark Arts in Africa and Eastern Europe. So far the interdisciplinary work with Slughorn appeared to be going nowhere -- Llewellyn gave occasional, anxiously optimistic updates about how Professor Slughorn was “still thinking about it� -- but the class itself was truly an advanced course pertaining to the Dark Arts.

Even so, Severus was surprised one day to look up at the board and see the words “Cruciatus Curse� up there in Llewellyn’s untidy scrawl. He looked down at the syllabus, but there was nothing about the Cruciatus Curse, only the topic “Compartmentalisation and Desensitisation,� which was easy enough to decipher but which, in the context, meant nothing. So far, no professor had reviewed the Unforgiveables in anything other than the most desultory manner, though, so Severus was interested to see how Llewellyn would manage it. When the class commenced and Professor Llewellyn clapped his hands together and announced, “Right, the Cruciatus Curse,� with his usual eager grin, the room was unnaturally silent.

“This is a pleasant change of pace; maybe I should teach the Cruciatus Curse all the time,� he observed lightly, looking around the quiet room, and then went on to announce, “As with our other lessons, we will begin with Theory and move on to a Practicum. There’s a lot of theory for this one, so we’ll start the Practicum tomorrow.� The blessed silence was broken as the class buzzed with interest over practical teaching of an Unforgiveable Curse at Hogwarts.

“Quiet please, quiet,� he called out, in his usual almost-pleading fashion. “Today’s lesson is going to require a great deal of focus, so I’d like you to start focusing now. In essence, this is what the lesson is about.� Avery made a disgusted sound and said something to Rosier.

“I won’t ask who is familiar with the Cruciatus Curse, either on the giving or the receiving end,� he stated. “Hopefully none of you. I will tell you that, the world being what it is lately, unless you flee the country there is a fair chance that you may need to defend yourself against this Curse or others like it. It is a favorite of the followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.�

Avery’s hand shot up, and before he could ask anything, Llewellyn preempted him by stating darkly, “And yes, you should still take this seriously even if you get along like a house on fire with the Death Eaters. It sounds like a popular method of maintaining discipline in the ranks. Have I answered your question?� Avery scowled at him, but his hand had indeed gone back down.

Llewellyn moved on to the inevitable use of the Socratic method, which seemed to be a favorite of his, leaving Severus wondering whether Socrates’s students had also babbled endlessly to each other while the great philosopher was trying to teach. “Now then,� he began, “in case anyone is unfamiliar with it, can someone tell me the effect of the Cruciatus Curse?�

“To cause intolerable pain,� Potter answered, being both bright and a show-off.

“I’ll tell you who the intolerable pain is,� Mulciber murmured to Avery, and the two of them started snickering. Severus could feel his shoulders shaking with laughter, even as he tried with everything in him to remain serious. He didn’t want Lily, who was sitting a few rows back, to see him laughing at something Mulciber had said, least of all an obvious insult to Potter, whom she had always been far too ready to defend. And somehow he didn’t want Llewellyn to think that Severus was one of the idiotic masses who preferred talking in class to actually learning something. None of the professors seemed to be warm and friendly to him the way some of them were to, for example, Potter, who appeared to be highly charming to his elders. But they didn’t dislike Severus, and he preferred it to remain that way. He took a few deep breaths and went back to being a model student.

“To cause intolerable pain -- yes, exactly,� Llewellyn agreed, going on to explain, “Excruciating pain, actually, which is why the two have an identical Latin root: cruciare, to torture. Also the noun crux , plural crucis, which means ‘cross,’ since crucifixion was not only a form of execution but also a form of torture, faster forms of execution being available, even in the Roman Empire, for those lucky enough to receive them. Another question: what are the effects of prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse?�

There was a longer pause before the answer this time. It was Black, interestingly enough. “It can cause nerve damage that can’t be repaired,� he stated, uncharacteristically soberly. “And madness. It can cause madness.�

“Very good,� Llewellyn responded. “The Cruciatus Curse works on the nervous system, through the pain nerves, basically igniting them all at the same time. It can only be tolerated for so long without irreparable damage being done.�

“Sir?� It was Mulciber.

“Yes?�

“Do we get to practice the Cruciatus Curse? Sir,� Mulciber asked.

“I was wondering who would be the first one to ask,� Llewellyn answered mildly. “This is Defence Against the Dark Arts,� he said, simply, and then moved on.

“So, to answer the obvious questions: No, we will not be practicing casting the Cruciatus Curse on each other. No, I will not be casting it on you and seeing how you fight it. No, we won’t be using it on animals or insects. And no, I will not be demonstrating it by having one of the senior faculty practice it on me. I already get enough grief from them about how loud my classes are without giving them an opportunity to use the Cruciatus Curse.� Most of the class laughed in a somewhat guilty manner at this bit of humor, but Mulciber, Wilkes, Rosier and Avery brayed scoffingly and pounded their desks, mocking everyone who actually laughed along with the young professor. Severus opted not to join them.

When Llewellyn had finally regained control of the classroom, he spoke softly, and even the most talkative students strained to listen. “If this curse is used on you,� he said quietly, “and you’re too late to dodge it or block it, the best method of surviving a prolonged exposure to this degree of pain with your physical and mental health somewhat intact is to compartmentalise your mind and your body -- to separate the two. It’s impossible to do completely, of course, but separation of the two to some degree is possible. The more you can do it, the longer you can survive until help comes along or the perpetrator is distracted. Are any of you familiar with the practice of Occlumency?�

A few hands went up. Severus didn’t raise his; he had heard of it and knew about it in theory, but he would not have presumed to call himself “familiar� with the practice. Llewellyn nodded. “Occlumency is the practice of blocking or shielding the mind from probing or investigation by another, by one skilled in the practice of Legilimency.�

“Like mind-reading?� someone asked.

Llewellyn looked thoughtful. “More complex than that, in practice, but you have the correct general idea. To keep it in those simple terms -- if someone tries to use Legilimency to read your mind, you can use Occlumency, or blocking, to shield your mind from this kind of invasion. Those who are skilled in Occlumency can block their minds from invasive attacks.�

“Er, Professor?� It was Pettigrew this time. “What does this have to do with the Cruciatus Curse?�

“I’m getting to that,� Llewellyn responded, with a hint of impatience. “Occlumency is -- is something of an analogy for what I’d like to teach you over the next few lessons. You can block your mind from invasive probing by using Occlumency. I would like to teach you to block your mind from the sensations of your own body, and the skill is not dissimilar to that of Occlumency. It will not guarantee that even the most skilled practitioner of this kind of compartmentalisation will survive extensive use of the Cruciatus Curse intact. However, it improves your odds, by focusing the mind on something else and thereby blocking or redirecting it to some extent.�

He went on to explain in some detail the mental component of pain, the idea of pain tolerance and how that threshold differed in various people, and how the mind could, in certain extreme cases, choose to ignore pain altogether for a limited amount of time. “I’m sure you all know the examples,� he stated. “Mostly parents who suffered through some excruciating experience without even noticing, in order to save their child. The idea, basically, is that focus on something other than the pain itself can make you notice it less, and thus stand a greater chance of surviving it. Does anyone have any questions?�

After something of a puzzled silence, someone asked, “Yes -- what on earth we’re actually going to do.�

“We’ll get to that tomorrow. Any questions about the theory behind this?�

Severus had plenty, but having no intention of publicly looking even more like the swot he actually was, he remained silent, as did the rest of the class.

“There is actually a method to my madness,� Llewellyn stated, “based on the Muggle study of physiology, actually -- a bit of useful information from my wife’s Healer studies.�

“Figures,� Avery scoffed softly.

“Muggle-lover,� Mulciber replied. Severus was starting to discover that a bonus of no longer having to appease Avery and the others was that he could actually listen to something like Llewellyn’s fascinating discussion of a concept called “desensitisation,� how people could learn to become gradually less aware of offensive stimuli, instead of pretending to be too Pureblooded to learn from Muggle science.

The lecture ended when Llewellyn looked up at the clock, closed his text, and stated, “More on that concept tomorrow, and we’ll start the actual practice. Don’t forget -- essay on the Cruciatus Curse, one foot, due by the end of the week. Details are in the syllabus. Ave atque vale.� The same goofy Latin closure at the end of every class: every professor had their own tics and traditions, and this was one of his. Hail and farewell.

Severus was putting away his parchment and quill and heavily-annotated text when Llewellyn asked, out of nowhere, “Severus, is that correct?�

Severus looked up and nodded.

“You looked like you had a question.�

Severus considered for a moment whether he should even ask it, but then figured that his reputation probably preceded him, and went ahead and replied. “I did, but it’s more of a philosophical point. I was wondering whether the Cruciatus Curse is always considered Dark magic. Sir.� He had never actually spoken to Llewellyn individually before, and here he was forgetting the “sir� part just like everyone else. The professor was just so very young that “sir� didn’t slip off the tongue naturally the way it did with, say, Flitwick.

“Considered Dark magic by whom?� Llewellyn asked. “In ethics or under the law?�

“Either. Both. I don’t think I’ve really thought that far.�

Llewellyn looked thoughtful. “I would have to say… I would have to say that you should ignore the topic in the syllabus and write your essay on that instead, if you’d prefer. And then we’ll discuss it. You’ll find what you need in the philosophy and ethics section of the library, if you’d like to start from sources. Bellingham’s Dark Magic and the Law is a good starter text on the legal end of the subject.�

It sounded a hell of a lot more interesting than the assigned topic, which was a brief description and history of the Cruciatus Curse. Severus nodded in agreement, thanked him, remembered to call him sir, and left the room.

---

The next day was the Practicum, which turned out to be less terrifying than most of the class had imagined it would be.

“So, after all this high-minded scientific theory, the spell I’m going to use to teach this skill is… rather silly, actually,� Llewellyn stated when he had concluded the physiology lecture from the previous day, leaving half the class riveted and the other half in slack-jawed boredom. “We’re going to use the Tickling Hex, which creates a different kind of intolerable physical sensation, one that I’m sure you’ve all experienced. You’ll be able to tell me better than I can tell you when you’ve achieved some measure of success at blocking it, but we’ll also have some more objective indicators: reduced laughter, increased composure, regaining the ability to speak in full sentences and so forth.� Severus had never been so glad that he wasn’t particularly ticklish.

“BEFORE WE START!� he yelled over the hubbub in the classroom as people ceased paying attention and began chatting with each other. The class quieted down a bit. “Before we start -- another similarity between this technique and Occlumency is that there are no baby steps, so to speak -- there is no building up to it. You have to jump right in. To learn Occlumency, you try to defend yourself as a skilled Legilimens attempts to invade your mind. In this practice…�

He paused. “In this practice, I suppose I could have you using light Tickling Hexes on each other to build up to the real thing, but that’s probably a much less useful way of learning it. There is nothing halfway about the Cruciatus Curse. Like all Dark magic, it is cast with either expertise or feeling, and usually both. Someone who dares to use an Unforgivable Curse on you will probably not be seeking to cause a little bit of pain.�

Llewellyn paused again to let this sink in, and then stated, “I believe you’ll learn more effective methods of redirecting your mind if you learn to focus while under a strong Tickling Hex. You alone will know what to focus on -- a good thought, an angry thought, a chant or meditation, or even just clearing and emptying your mind, but whatever it is, it should be something that helps you separate your mind from the sensations being experienced by your body. I can’t tell you what that will be; you’ll only find out with practice.�

The professor handed out parchments for tracking progress, and then went on to explain, “You’ll be working with a partner, and I ask you all to keep track of how long it takes for your partner to regain some semblance of control. This will help him or her figure out whether any improvement is being made. You can use the large clock at the front of the classroom. Row 1 will work with Row 2, and Row 3 will work with Row 4: pair off with the person next to you. I will be going around the room and checking on your work, and if there is any indication that any spell other than a Tickling Hex is being used on your partner, your wand will be confiscated and the Priori Incantem will be performed.� Apparently Llewellyn had learned a thing or two in a month and a half of teaching.

He finally announced, “Please pair up and begin.�

Severus turned around to greet a terrified looking Ravenclaw, Geoff Oglethorpe, and decided not to bother with pleasantries. Setting down his wand and opening his hands, palms up, in a gesture of surrender, he smirked “Do your worst,� and wondered what Oglethorpe was capable of. Oglethorpe looked as though he was going to be sick.

Clearly this was going to be a fairly useless lesson.

---

First sign that a hex is not working: when the object thereof is able to reach over, grab the wand out of one’s hand, and thereby stop the hex altogether.

Severus handed Oglethorpe his wand back and exclaimed, “Bloody hell, Geoff, I need to learn this stuff. I’m not going to sneak into your Tower and slit your throat for putting a Tickling Hex on me as part of a class assignment. Now would you please just bloody well do it?�

There, he’d said it. Perhaps he might actually convince Oglethorpe to perform something a bit stronger than whatever he had been doing, which appeared to be the Mildly Annoying Hex, if there was such a thing. The fact that Severus could continue to develop a persuasive argument while being hexed was evidence enough that whatever Oglethorpe was doing was very weak.

“You’re really not going to take this personally?� Oglethorpe looked very, very uncertain.

“Why would I do an idiotic thing like that?� Severus snapped. “I actually want to learn something. Consider that even if you do believe I’m in training to become a Dark wizard, I might need to know a thing or two about defending myself against the Cruciatus Curse. More so than if I’m not.� The possibility of Severus turning a wand on Geoff was not even remotely being considered at this point.

“Fair enough,� Oglethorpe said, the logic clearly appealing to his Ravenclaw mind. He drew a deep breath, pointed his wand--

It had been a while since anyone had used a Tickling Hex on Severus, and he had forgotten how incredibly irritating it was. Oglethorpe meant it this time, and he was actually very good. In no time, Severus was doubled over in mirthless laughter, short of breath, trying to control his mind and focus it elsewhere -- fight it, focus, focus on something else -- and just as he was regaining enough control to catch his breath a bit, he felt an odd, slippery sensation on his head, and the hex suddenly lifted.

A cool, rather viscous liquid had either been dropped or charmed over Severus’s head while he’d been in the throes of the Tickling Hex. Wiping the dripping substance off his brow so that it wouldn’t trickle into his eyes, he quickly discovered that it was oil of some sort. Even with his eyes still closed, he knew who was behind it. The “greasy git� comment was an all-purpose insult that any member of the Hogwarts student body could use on him, but the Marauders in particular seemed to be fixated on the idea. And Sirius Black had still owed him one for the foul-mouthed Rolling Stones T-shirt. Apparently now Muggle Without a Cause once again had the lead.

As Severus blinkingly opened his eyes, he found that Oglethorpe was standing now, with his wand aimed at Sirius Black and James Potter, both halfway across the room and laughing as uncontrollably as all their classmates who were currently being hexed.

“That was just wrong!� Oglethorpe was saying angrily to the pair. “He wasn’t even in a position to know what you were doing, never mind defend himself. And you’re not bloody well going to make me look like I was involved in it.� He turned to Severus, all fear having apparently been replaced by anger. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see them coming.�

Oglethorpe undoubtedly had nothing to do with it. It was another question entirely, of course, whether he would have been so sorry to see this particular event if he hadn’t been worried about suffering the wrath of a suspected Death Eater -- but he did seem genuinely angry that Black and Potter would perform a nasty trick on a classmate who was incapacitated as a result of a classroom exercise. Severus chose to think the better of him for it.

What to do about James and Sirius was another question. Llewellyn was making his professorial way over from the far end of the classroom, which limited the options, and Lily -- Lily was no where to be seen, which probably had determined Black and Potter’s timing. She didn’t even appear to be in the classroom at this point. Most of the class was too focused on the Practicum to notice anyway, but at least Lily hadn’t witnessed Severus’s latest humiliation at the hands of the Marauders.

Unlike the previous spring, he wasn’t going to let them get the upper hand this time -- although, in truth, it was a bit late for that. James Potter already had the upper hand, standing there nearly doubled over laughing with his friends while Severus stood mutely with oil of some sort dripping off the ends of his hair down his neck and shoulders. But regardless, Severus wasn’t going to let James goad him into doing something stupid -- not while he still had a chance to avoid being seen like this by Lily. Besides, there was no way that he would give James Potter the satisfaction of seeing him use what would probably be multiple Scourgification spells to clean himself up. The best response, much and all as it galled him to do so, was just to leave.

He couldn’t leave without getting in the last word, however. He belatedly shot what looked like a small jet of soot in Potter, Black and Pettigrew's direction, turned on his heel, and despite his efforts to amble, sprint, saunter-- anything but stalk -- stalked, head down, toward the door.

At which point, he nearly crashed into Lily, who was walking equally quickly inward through the door just as he was walking out. She gasped “Sev!� under her breath as both of them reared backward to avoid running into each other, an occurrence which would have probably been funny if they had still been friends but which was, under the circumstances, only painful and awkward.

Severus stepped backward and put out one arm to indicate that she should pass through first, averting his eyes so that she wouldn’t have to avert hers, and trying to make sure that the gesture could not be interpreted as mockingly gallant. She straightened her shoulders and walked past him with a quick, cold “Thank you.� Typical Lily -- he might be her worst enemy, but she still couldn’t accept a courtesy without saying thanks.

The yells and squeals from the classroom let him know that the cloud of fleas was having the desired effect. Severus was too angry to care how much trouble he would get into, but not too angry to grimly make a mental note that the section on ancient pestilential magic in Professor Binns’ class deserved some additional study. And Dumbledore was right: the fleas were not only less visceral than slurs and obscenities, but also apparently very effective.

On his way to the boys’ lavatory to clean himself up, though, Severus felt the anger gradually abating as a new realisation dawned on him, one that left him happier than he had been in months. He suddenly hardly cared that he had been humiliated in front of the entire class and mocked yet again by the Marauders for the same bloody thing, or that he was currently dripping some sort of herbal-scented oil that would probably require a great deal of trouble to remove.

She had called him Sev -- she had actually blurted out the same old affectionate nickname. She still thought of him like that, at least a bit. It wasn’t much, but it was something. No matter what that fathead James Potter thought, it wasn’t over yet.

Chapter 6 - Death Eater Boyfriend

This was not how it was supposed to happen, Lily thought as she carried her books out of the Great Hall, making her way briskly toward the library. In the spring, everything had been so clear-cut. Or perhaps it hadn’t been, but that’s what she had told herself at the time. Since then, she hadn’t given it a lot of thought, because there hadn’t been a lot to think about. Severus had chosen his path; she had chosen hers. Period. End of story.

Except that it wasn’t the end of the story. He had at first done exactly what she had expected -- sulking, ignoring her, hanging around incessantly with his Death Eater friends -- and that had been something of a relief, because she hadn’t been completely sure that she was correct about him, but how he had responded to her ending of their friendship had affirmed that decision. In the summer, Petunia had caught a glimpse of him at a local fair they had attended, just lurking around the periphery like he did with everything, and Lily had been surprised to find that she really didn’t care.

In fact, she had been annoyed: why couldn’t he just do something for a change, like a normal person, instead of slinking around watching? Why couldn’t she bump into him with a group of friends having a good time, rather than moping by himself, or hanging around with a bunch of head-cases who revered a power-mad psychopath and treated her like dirt because of her parentage? She had no interest in seeing him; she couldn’t have been less excited if Petunia had told her that Vernon bloody Dursley was around. For the past seven years, home had always been equated with Sev, but apparently she had finally gotten so fed up with him that it just wasn’t anymore.

Then they had gone back to school, and while she had done her best not to notice him, of course she couldn’t help it, not after seven years of being attuned to noticing a certain profile, a certain nervous gait, or the contrast between pale skin and black hair. Those things caught her attention as surely as a particular throaty laugh that told her that Mary was around. And before long, she had noticed that Severus was usually off by himself rather than with his customary crowd of Slytherins. Of course, this was Severus, who had spent his first five years at Hogwarts trying to polish his provincial roughness and adopt the manners and prejudices of that crowd; if he wasn’t with them, chances were that they had turfed him out. She felt a bit sorry for him, but it was his own stupid decision, and he was no longer her problem.

The puzzling thing was that he showed no signs of his old pathetic efforts to fit in with that lot. In Llewellyn’s class, where anyone who actually wanted to learn anything had to stake out prime territory at the front of the room, he sat at the front where all the swotters sat, rather than following Avery and Mulciber and Rosier around. At meal times, it was uncommon for her to see him with the people he used to spend most of his time with, and usually if that happened it was because they arrived after he did and joined him, not the other way around. Strangest of all, his old crowd still said casual hellos to him, and he always said hello back, but then walked on rather than making an effort to socialise. She didn’t know what to make of it, but she decided not to give it too much thought.

The problem was that other people kept making her think about it. Sirius Black, for example, who had interrupted her quiet after-dinner study time this evening in the Great Hall by plunking himself down opposite her and asking, “So, what happened with you and your Death Eater boyfriend? I never see you two together anymore. Did you break up?�

Lily had looked up from her Arithmancy text and stared coolly into his handsome face. “The last time I checked,� she had answered in a tone of calculated boredom, “he was neither a Death Eater nor my boyfriend.� She turned back to her book and did her best to ignore him.

Sirius was not to be ignored. “Well, if you’re missing him, I could be an acceptable substitute. I can’t pull off the Dark Mark bit, but I could go without bathing for a few days. Might be a nice change of pace.�

Lily had picked up her books, gotten up, and walked out of the Great Hall. Even if he had followed her, he couldn’t have said anything in the library without getting crucified by Madam Pince.

“What?� Sirius had called after her, mockingly and far too loudly. “Was it something I said?�

So now she was walking quickly, angrily, down the hallway to the library. There was no good answer for that sort of taunt, because even though she didn’t want to have anything to do with Severus Snape anymore, she also didn’t want to take sides against him with people who disliked him for all the wrong reasons. Since Sirius Black fell into that category, and since he was probably doing reconnaissance for Potter, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of a reply renouncing her former friend. Based on what had happened the other day in Defence, apparently the old rivalry was still going strong, and she had no interest in taking sides -- especially since Severus had apparently managed to come up with a vengeance that, unless those fleas that Professor Llewellyn had Vanished had been carrying bubonic plague, wasn’t even remotely Dark.

Too peevish and distracted to study Arithmancy anymore, she permitted herself to think about the forbidden topic. The reason she allowed it to bother her sometimes, she supposed, was that while it looked, to anyone who cared, like she had ended their friendship because of Severus’s words and beliefs, in reality her motives hadn’t been quite so pure. The decision to end their friendship had been coldly calculated in some ways: it had certainly been a long time in coming. Sev had pulled the trigger, but she had already been holding the gun -- a Muggle metaphor, she thought grimly, that he would have been ashamed to understand.

She should have known that she was reaching the end of her tether with him in fifth year, the day she had failed to stick up for him in Potions class in response to some of James Potter’s customary tormenting on the subject of hygiene. Severus had been lauded by Slughorn for excellent work on some sort of particularly difficult potion, the Draught of Peace, probably, and Potter had called over to him, “Hey Snivellus. If you’re such a genius, why don’t you invent a potion to do something about your hair? Oh wait! They’ve already made that one! It’s called shampoo!�

The inevitable uproarious laughter from the rest of the Marauders, quite a few of the Slytherins, and most of their other classmates had followed, and Lily alone had stood with Severus, who was scowling into the cauldron of potion he was decanting, lost for an answer, and probably searching for a curse. She had felt her neck and ears and cheeks growing warm as she blushed angrily -- angry at them, angrier at him -- why the hell didn’t he just clean himself up more often? Why did he leave himself open to this kind of teasing? He had turned to her to make some sort of comment about Potter, and she had found herself snapping, “Give over, Sev. You know he’s right.�

She had immediately regretted it; what was an annoyance from Potter was torture coming from her, and the look of puzzlement and misery in Severus’s eyes was not one that she had managed to forget. But he embarrassed her -- over and over and over again -- and she found herself almost wanting to humiliate him in return and then hating herself for it. He brought out the worst in her as well as the best, and her life had been a lot more placid since their break-up in the spring.

That episode in Potions class had probably been a prelude to their big fight, now that she looked back on it; it wasn't a far cry from him calling her a Mudblood like the Slytherin he was, and her mocking him and calling him Snivellus like -- well, like one of the Marauders. If the things Severus heard every day in his House had broken through and done their part to destroy the friendship, so equally had the things she heard in hers.

In occasional moments of brutal honesty, Lily realised that their friendship had ended not only because of the disturbing and hateful views he espoused, but also because he had become inconvenient. True, the possessiveness had gotten on her nerves and had turned her quirky, fascinating friend into a tiresome watchdog, and the Mudblood thing... she wouldn't be alone in believing that to be unforgiveable. She had good reasons for putting Severus behind her. It bothered her, though, that these hadn’t been the only reasons she had done it; she held herself to a high standard, and yet she knew that the decision had not been motivated purely by high-minded objections. After all, she understood him enough to know where his covetousness was coming from, and she had long since accepted and forgiven it; she knew his temper and tongue and the vocabulary of Slytherin House well enough to know that "Mudblood" meant little from him, at least when applied to her. But she had been tired of explaining him, tired of coming up with excuses for him, fed up with the taunts in the common room about being the object of adoration of one of the creepiest Slytherins.

Like all the things that gnawed at Lily about the boy who was the only friend she had ever actively gotten rid of, the Death Eater boyfriend comments were disturbing because although she had spent five years denying or ignoring them, they contained a kernel of truth about herself to which she didn’t want to admit. She had rather fancied Sev when she was nine or ten, in so far as a child that age could; he had been brilliant and mysterious and intense and magical, both literally and metaphorically. She had been quite smitten. Hogwarts had changed all that.

At Hogwarts, suddenly she belonged to a world where everyone could do the things he had introduced her to, including herself. And at Hogwarts, she had discovered that there was a sharp divide between those who accepted Muggleborns and those who hated them -- and that Severus fell on the wrong side of that division. He and his friends would make some sneering remark about a Muggleborn student, and then he’d see Lily nearby and wipe the smile off his face and look guilty.

Unlike Petunia, who drew her social attitudes from her snobby friends, their parents had been self-consciously progressive enough never to care that Lily spent so much time with a boy who was probably what they would have referred to as poor. He came from the same neighborhood that produced the people Lily’s barmy, bigoted uncle used to rant about: the gangs of out-of-work young men who drank and fought, the good-for-nothings who lied to get on the dole, and “all those bloody immigrants.� Her parents were far more broad-minded than that, though, and Severus had always been more than welcome. Sev, on the other hand, hadn’t returned the favor; as soon as he had the chance to espouse a form of bigotry that gave him the upper hand, he had jumped at the opportunity.

It probably came from his mother, Lily knew, since he had entered Hogwarts already thinking those things. Mrs. Snape had a miserable, badly-paid job, a husband who was out of work half the time, and a run-down home in a declining neighborhood, but compared to a mere Muggleborn, she was a lady of quality. Why she had ever married a Muggle in the first place, Lily didn’t understand, but she had realised eventually that it was not unlikely that Mrs. Snape had developed her views about Muggles and Muggleborns as a result of the bitterness of her marriage. Severus’s parents never seemed particularly happy, and his dad wanted nothing to do with the whole wizarding world. Maybe that was how Severus’s mother had fought back: raising their boy to think that his own father was beneath him.

In their early days at Hogwarts, however, before they had settled into groups of friends that couldn’t stand each other, she and Sev had once had a friendship that had been somewhat unique. No other girl seemed to have a best friend who was a boy, which drew some teasing, but eventually people got used to it even as she and Severus slowly grew apart. As she got older and people started going out with each other, Lily never really felt the need for that sort of thing; she had never had a boyfriend because she always had … a boy.

Besides, she’d had an on-again, off-again fancy for him that she’d never told anyone about and that, she was certain, he had never suspected. Usually it was over the summer, and only occasionally during the school year, and it was always short-lived, because Severus inevitably did something to ruin it. That he did was a bit of a relief, because while Lily knew girls who were drawn to boys who needed to be saved from themselves, she really wasn’t that type. She had friends who were looking for dangerous, thrilling boys, but in that regard, Lily recognised herself to be as boring as Petunia: basically, she was looking for a potential husband, not a youthful mistake.

Sev fit the bill in some ways. His wit and brilliance were very attractive -- mandatory, really, since she couldn’t imagine herself going out with anyone who wasn’t at least as bright as she was. He was a voracious reader, also a non-negotiable point. Severus, however, was both brilliant and troubled, and he wallowed in it, and therein lay the problem. The funny, prickly, mercurial companion of her childhood became known around Hogwarts not only for being extraordinarily gifted, but also for being angry and hateful. Meanwhile, Lily was making friends who couldn’t understand why she had anything to do with him. If they had ever thought that she had fancied him, they would have laughed her out of the school -- or taken her to Madam Pomfrey for something to clear her head.

There was a list she had written, at about thirteen years of age, in a journal she mostly neglected: Things To Do With Sev. Most of them involved experiences that his parents either couldn’t have afforded, or couldn’t have bothered with, since they didn’t seem particularly interested in their son. They were mostly fairly ambitious: teach him how to ride a bicycle. Take him to see the ocean. Teach him how to swim. There were a few others: a particular favorite was a day trip to Diagon Alley minus the crumblies, once they were both old enough. She never wrote down “Kiss him,� because those occasions on which she wanted to were inevitably succeeded by occasions in which the very idea repelled her, and she knew she would just have wound up scribbling it out.

Only one had been checked off the list: she had convinced him to learn how to ride a bicycle, aided by the fact that her bike, while built for a girl, was a dark forest green and was thus not ridiculously feminine, especially not once she had removed the basket with the plastic flowers and the bell. Actually, the look on his face when he had seen the bike, still complete with the flowery basket and bell, had been rather priceless, just as she had known it would be, which was why she hadn’t just taken them off in advance. As with his efforts on a broom, the process was very awkward at first, but he had gotten surprisingly good rather quickly. Her dad had loaned them his bike for the excursions they had taken that summer, which went a long way toward assuaging Severus’s offended masculinity at having learned on a girl’s bicycle, and they had reveled in the new-found freedom of exploring the town on wheels. That particular “Thing To Do With Sev� had been a success.

He never liked to be indebted, so in return he had taught her the waltz, something his Muggle grandmother, who was thrilled that any grandchild of hers was going to boarding school, had insisted on teaching him before he went off to his mysterious school, “in case they had a cotillion.� Lily still had no idea what a cotillion was -- she suspected that Severus also had no idea what a cotillion was -- but she was happy to learn how to do the waltz. After the requisite clumsy toe-stepping efforts without music, when Lily had achieved a bit more fluency at it, Sev had flipped through her record collection and had found that, to no one’s surprise, she didn’t exactly have the best of 1800’s Vienna. Her parents’ records were mostly either Elvis Presley, the Beatles, or folk tunes of the Joan Baez and Peter, Paul & Mary variety, and thus were equally useless.

Lily had put on one of the Beatles albums for background music while they chatted, and at some point Severus had noted that "You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away" had kind of a three-four time rhythm. So he had re-set the arm on the record player and showed her how to do the waltz to an actual song. It was fun, and clumsy, but then somewhere in the middle of the fourth or fifth repeat of the song, he had made the perfectly innocent comment, "This is surprisingly tolerable," meaning the music, but his voice had been softer than usual, almost husky, and somehow that reminded her of his guilty-sounding muttered excuses, the ones he gave every time she argued with him about something he and his friends had done.

That had made her realise that she was in the middle of her family’s living room standing very close to a boy whose views were so retrograde and disturbing that she might as well have been dancing with Jeffrey, the Evans's idiot neighbor in Petunia’s year who had gone fascist, shaved his head and joined the National Front. She was fourteen and too young for whatever it was she felt like doing -- slapping some sense into Sev, or kissing him -- so she had pulled away and said brightly, "Well, now I know how to do the waltz. How about some lunch? Chicken sandwich?" And then he had sat there, arms crossed, sullen and puzzled, while John Lennon finished the song and the next one came on and Lily made him a chicken sandwich, which he had eaten in silence as though he were starved.

He hadn’t been the only mercurial one in that friendship, which is why she made a point of never telling him on the occasions when she fancied him, because she knew that, within days or weeks or minutes, it would blow over and she’d wonder what she had been thinking. That was at least one thing that she had done right. Whether she had done the right thing in getting rid of him, however, was another question.

Her life had certainly been simpler since putting Severus behind her. No fights. Practically no interaction with the Voldemort Youth, which was a blessed relief, although she had to give him credit for secretly calling them the Voldemort Youth. No concerned questioning from her friends. No embarrassment about being friends with someone who -- pick one -- A) was planning to be a Death Eater, B) was alarmingly possessive of her and went on like a broken record about the only boy who obviously fancied her, or C) washed his hair about every four days when he really couldn’t get away with more than two.

She did miss his humour; every now and again something happened in class, and she wanted to whisper something to him or send a note to him to share a joke that only he would understand, but she couldn’t anymore. She missed his casual brilliance as a study partner, especially in Potions. Sometimes she even missed meaning that much to someone, because nobody had ever needed her like he had. That last one was easy to dismiss: it had been bad for him to rely so much on one person, and there was no way that she could have kept up her end of things. Better to break it off now than having to let him down for a boyfriend in future.

Besides, the War had picked up in intensity, and as she grew up and found out more about it, and as more and more of her friends who had graduated became involved in it, she felt that there was a role for her there, too. It was the great event of their time, justice versus injustice, good versus evil, and they needed all the help they could get. Her disagreement with Severus over this issue was just too fundamental; much and all as he hemmed and hawed over it when she pressed him about it, the fact remained that he wanted to commit himself the very cause that she wanted to spend her life defeating. There was no reconciliation between their views in this all-important matter.

No, she had made the right decision. She brought to a close the reverie that Sirius Black had inadvertently triggered, and -- her mind at ease, her conscience at peace for the present, anyway -- tried to figure out the Arithmancy homework. The mental gymnastics had been a good warm-up to it, oddly enough: Arithmancy was complicated, but not as complicated as the ins and outs of seven years with Severus Snape. She pulled out a quill and parchment, and set to work.

Chapter 7- Flammae Diaboli

Sandalwood. It had taken Severus the better part of a day to figure out the odd scent of the oil from Black’s revenge, and he hadn’t even managed to do it himself: he had only realised what it was after Siobhan from Hufflepuff had told him that the lingering remnant of Black’s vengeance smelled “lovely, like a christening.� Strangely, he had apparently become sufficiently benign for a girl like the quiet, serious star of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team to compliment him, however obliquely. In any case, Black had probably not tried to use an ecclesiastical spell on purpose, but he had inadvertently baptised Severus in oil of sandalwood. It could have been much worse -- and probably would have been if Black had known better. Severus could have gone around for a few days smelling like petrol, or rancid fish and chips, instead of the exotic, somewhat mysterious scent that he was actually rather enjoying.

He sat, contemplating where to find such a spell in case he wanted to use it, in the unusually quiet atmosphere of the Slytherin common room, where groups of fourth and fifth year students huddled over books and parchments, readying themselves for tests the next day. The sixth years were luckier, for now, but a huddle of sixth year boys, that looked much like any other study circle, sat near Severus. They spoke quietly; Severus, who generally liked to know what was going on, had to strain to hear them.

He sat in a chair near the corner, his customary seat to the degree that younger students hopped out of it with alacrity when he entered the room even though he had never so much as jinxed someone to gain access to it. The younger Slytherins were mostly terrified of the older ones, and apparently his reputation for creative spells preceded him and had taken on the usual sinister cast. If it gained him the most private chair in the common room, so much the better. There he sat while in the corner behind him, Wilkes, Rosier and Mulciber turned toward Avery in quiet discussion.

“Care of Magical Creatures seems like the obvious one,� Mulciber was offering. “Access to the creatures is pretty easy. They’re kept all over the place, and Kettleburn can only be in one place at a time.�

“Right, but do you have any idea what to do with them?� Avery asked.

“Not yet,� Mulciber responded. “Can you think of anything better? I mean, anything you do in Potions would involve getting access to their actual cauldrons or other supplies, which we won’t be able to do, since most of them are in other houses. And Slughorn just has everyone get their supplies at random as they arrive.�

“Well, that’s the problem with any subject,� Avery responded disparagingly. “You can’t just rig the entire class, or you’d risk getting purebloods as well.�

“So, is there any class where the Mudbloods are easy to single out?� Mulciber asked. Rosier, not quite the sharpest knife in the drawer, just looked back and forth, from Avery’s sharp features to Mulciber’s chiseled ones, an almost-handsome face ruined by cold, dead eyes.

“Transfiguration,� Avery responded. “They actually use the same objects several days in a row, and they hand them back to McGonagall with their names on them to pick up where they left off the next day, remember? Actually, order is what we need to look for. Just hex the objects--�

“--and no other student will go near them after the first one or two go off,� Mulciber concluded.

“At least it’s something.�

“We can do better,� Mulciber answered dismissively. “How about Astronomy? A little Jelly Legs on top of the Astronomy Tower might do the trick. Particularly among the first years, who’d have no idea how to reverse it.�

“Let’s keep that one in mind,� said Avery, as usual, the leader of the group. Despite being the smallest of the four, short and wiry enough to still play Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team at sixteen, Avery was the brightest and most assertive and most accustomed to being in charge.

“How about Defence?� Rosier asked.

The other two looked at him. “How about it?� asked Avery.

“I don’t know. Just seems like if we’re working with the Dark Arts, there ought to be something we could do.�

“Yeeeeesss,� Mulciber replied with mock patience, “except that Llewellyn has all the Practicums so carefully staged and monitored that it would be virtually impossible.�

Practica, Severus thought, cringing. He could live with all the bad Latin that abounded in the naming of spells, but the botching of simple plurals was always painful.

“Transfiguration definitely has possibilities,� Avery went on, ignoring Rosier’s suggestion. “Nobody is as well-organized as McGonagall. We could try a few inventions of our own on the appropriate objects before the class starts.�

“And then sit back and watch the fun,� Wilkes pitched in, grinning.

“Not our class, you idiot, the first or second years. The likelihood of any of them having enough of a clue to undo anything is fairly slim -- at least, if they’re as gormless as this lot.� He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the youngest Slytherins, studying and chatting in small clusters on the other side of the room. “The only problem is that McGonagall might be able to handle it all on her own. We’ll need to come up with something that she can’t quickly contain,� Avery finished.

“Or that’s over before she can do much about it. I vote for Transfiguration,� Mulciber said, decisively.

“Since when did this become a democracy?� Avery sneered.

“Since when did I say I’d help if it’s not?� Mulciber countered.

Avery remained quiet for a few seconds, and then said, “Right, Transfiguration. Now we just need to figure out what the first and second years have coming up, get into the classroom, and put our own spells on the Mudbloods’ supplies in advance.�

“Is that all?� Mulciber smirked.

“We can do it,� Avery said lightly. “No one around here will know who to thank, but I’ll make sure Rabastan hears about it the next time I see him, and he’ll take it right to the top. Besides, there’s a certain satisfaction in a job well done, gentlemen. Not to mention the joy of knowing that the Mudbloods will have a better idea of their place afterward. Right, I need to go talk to Nott about Saturday’s game.� He got up and left the group discussing the topic at hand, and Severus wondering what the hell he should do.

…

He was still considering whether and how to respond to Avery’s upcoming anti-Muggleborn activity several days later when he met with Professor Llewellyn for a discussion of his Cruciatus curse essay. The Voldemort Youth, based on the one discussion Severus had happened to overhear, seemed to have a rather broad spectrum of possible activities in mind, ranging from the merely annoying to the potentially fatal, so whatever they eventually wound up doing might not even require intervention. Besides, Severus’s intent in such matters was to remain neutral enough to find out about any plots that might involve harm to Lily, so as to stop them in advance. He had subtly deflected a few mean pranks from her in years past, although she hadn’t known about it; her friend Mary McDonald or some other Muggleborn had always been an acceptable substitute. But that was then. The problem was that now there was no such thing as an acceptable substitute: that mindset had led him to lose everything.

He knocked on the door of Professor Llewellyn’s classroom at the appointed time. “Come in!� Llewellyn called, and when Severus entered, the professor was sitting at the large wooden desk at the front of the room. Rolls of parchment were piled on the desk next to a quill and a pot of red ink for grading, and a mug of apparently oversteeped tea sat nearby, with rings on the blotter suggesting a fondness for tea and a certain sloppiness in personal habits.

“Sit down, sit down,� Llewellyn offered, waving his hand in the general direction of the front rows of desks. He pulled a desk out of the first row, turned it around to face Severus, and settled his lanky form in it. Unused to this degree of informality from his instructors, Severus was reminded that some seventh years actually remembered Professor Llewellyn as a Hogwarts student, a seventh-year Ravenclaw prefect when they were in their first year. He was therefore probably only twenty-three years old, which seemed ancient, but compared to McGonagall or Dumbledore…

“Let’s talk about your essay. What did you think about the law and the Cruciatus Curse?�

“That it’s very ambiguous. Sir.�

“It is. Sorry to send you on something of a Wizarding law goose-chase, but I thought it would be best if you discovered that yourself, instead of just hearing it from me.�

Severus dived in to a more specific question. “Might I ask -- the Gingold case seems practically identical to the Smyth case in its particulars until you get to the outcome. Neither one of them exactly had a spotless record beforehand; you could easily argue that either one was performing the curse not out of self-defence but because he was a--“

“Sick bastard? Llewellyn finished, looking amused.

“Ah -- that, yes. But Smyth was allowed off because it was done in self-defence, whereas Gingold was sent to Azkaban. To be completely honest, sir, I couldn’t understand why.�

“Bellingham is a Wizarding law professor, not a historian,� Llewellyn said simply. “The best law professors are both. In his case, he has a great mind for legal details and intricacies, but little interest in the context. Keep in mind that the Smyth case occurred in 1926, whereas the Gingold case occurred in 1942--“

“--during the rise of Grindelwald?�

Llewellyn nodded. “It makes a tremendous difference. There’s more room for leniency in … untroubled times. The law is far from black and white.�

“But is that appropriate? Shouldn’t justice be the same in 1926 as it is in 1942?�

“Or 1976?� Llewellyn asked. There was a pause as they both considered the question.

“Justice is usually represented as wearing a blindfold and holding a set of scales,� Severus stated.

“I think that may be more of an ideal that a reality,� Llewellyn replied. “I know the scales make it tempting to think that justice can be weighed out like… so much wormwood for a dream-inducing potion, for example. But this isn’t a potion. It’s not an exact science.�

Severus took a deep breath. “In that case, if the law isn’t a guide to when the Dark Arts may be used, what is?�

“Good question,� Llewellyn responded, his tone still mild but his glance sharp. “A related one is, why do you want to know? I applaud any effort to increase one’s knowledge, but the Dark Arts are a slippery slope.�

“But you study the Dark Arts,� Severus responded. “How can you study them, then, without -- becoming a Death Eater or something like that?� Severus found himself asking, his interest sincere, and somewhat terrified of how much he was revealing. He reminded himself that he had little to hide and much to gain. As a faculty member, Llewellyn would already know of Severus’s reputation from previous years, solidified by the Mudblood incident. And figuring out how to keep up his interest, or addiction, or whatever it was, in the Dark Arts, in a manner that wouldn’t repel Lily -- that would be the Holy Grail.

“The Dark Arts and the Death Eaters are not the same thing,� Professor Llewellyn responded, “as you undoubtedly know as well as I do. Besides, I’m not much of a Dark Arts scholar; I’m more of a scholar of Dark potions who will have to do because no one else is available. That being said, to look for people with an interest in the Dark Arts who aren’t Death Eaters, go to the Ministry and look in the Auror Department.�

“Sir?�

“I’m serious. The internal controls in the Auror Department are incredibly tight, and they have to be. A few of my friends from Hogwarts have become Aurors, and they talk as though about a quarter of their colleagues are in that line of work because of a fascination with the Dark Arts that really doesn’t have another reasonable outlet. They’re not the type to join He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named; the blood status thing means nothing to them. But the Dark Arts -- very compelling. Is this a good reason to be an Auror, or a very unwise one? I don’t think I’ve figured that out yet, myself.�

“The problem,� he went on, “is that the Dark Arts are virtually impossible to practice without the involvement of your -- character, your soul, the core of your very being, whatever you’d like to call it. Certainly an experienced practitioner could torture or kill someone using Dark spells with much more distance and objectivity than a beginner, but even You-Know-Who, who they say could probably kill his own granny without breaking a sweat, is said to have a look of rage and triumph on his face when he’s… doing his good work.� The professor’s voice was dry and sarcastic at the last. “So, can your average Auror who is interested in the Dark Arts study them without starting to dabble in them? And can anyone even dabble in them without being damaged in some way?� He shrugged and said, “I’m sure someone from the psychometry department at St. Mungo’s is working on that, and I’ll leave it to them. But for you -- something to think about.�

“So, do you think it’s impossible to study the Dark Arts objectively, as a scholar?� Severus asked. “Theoretically, that is.�

Llewellyn’s brow furrowed and he looked away, absently, at a random corner of the room, apparently lost in thought. “Not impossible, � he finally said. “But very difficult. Obviously someone has to do it, or we’d have no way of combating the Dark Arts; ideally the practice would be stopped before it’s even started, of course, but since that’s scarcely possible, we need to know how to undo Dark spells or create antidotes to Dark potions. But -- I think, anyway -- everyone has something in their personality, some weakness, some button that is waiting to be pushed, to use a Muggle metaphor… an Auror might use the Dark Arts for what looks like justice but is actually revenge, maybe. A scholar might use … questionable methods in the interest of knowledge.�

“Mightn’t they do that even without working with the Dark Arts?� Severus countered, trying to remain appropriately polite and deferential. It annoyed him when the arguments against the Dark Arts seemed like arguments against human nature. He had thought Llewellyn would be better than that.

“Absolutely,� Llewellyn responded. “I’m sure even Muggles do. But I do believe it’s easier. The Dark Arts -- open a door, I suppose. Make certain methods or… ways of thinking more readily available. Does that make any sense? You don’t have to excuse an interest in it, by the way. It’s a fascinating subject, Severus. But a dangerous one. I don’t care if you have an interest in the Dark Arts; I do care, as your teacher, how you use that interest and what it does to you.�

Severus froze, sitting mutely with absolutely no idea how to respond. On the one hand, Llewellyn seemed so frank and trustworthy, and as a scholar of Dark potions, he essentially had Severus’s ideal job, and here he was offering him information -- education, even -- of the kind he most deeply desired. On the other hand…

“And I’m not putting your name on a list for Dumbledore,� the professor continued. “You can ask your questions. I’d rather you ask me than--,� he paused, “-- than your fellow students who are planning on becoming Death Eaters. I’m sure you know who they are better than I do -- although a few of them are, shall I say, bleeding obvious.�

“If there is a list,� Severus offered, slowly, wondering again what the hell he was doing even as he did it, “then I think I’m already on it.�

Llewellyn smiled a bit grimly. “How do I put this…All right. You could roll up your sleeve and show me a Dark Mark and I would still talk to you about the Dark Arts,� he said. “Again, I’d rather you hear about it at Hogwarts, from someone in a position of… accountability. Am I quite clear?�

Severus nodded. There was no way he would trust anyone enough to ask all of the questions he had on this topic, and he was shocked to the core that Llewellyn even knew what a Dark Mark was. But asking about the condoned usage of the Dark Arts, if such a thing existed, seemed neutral enough, based on Llewellyn’s response to his previous questions -- and since he had already started down that path in this conversation, he would be as well to continue. He could at least obtain whatever sanitized answers Hogwarts would permit its professor of the Dark Arts to give his students. It could be a starting point for further, more interesting, studies.

He stopped himself. He had no reason anymore to pursue those further, more interesting, studies. Not if he wanted to deserve Lily, not just to regain her friendship, but to keep it for more than a few days or weeks. The scholarly musings of the intelligent and decent man in front of him -- this was his own future, although he suspected that his own ratio of intelligence to decency was somewhat different than Davis Llewellyn’s. Still, he would have to settle for Dark magic in this form, or never stand any chance at winning Lily back. He didn’t know whom to pity more: the professor, with his circumscribed, intellectual approach to the subject, studying the shallow tide pools and only guessing at the raging sea, or himself, for at least having some idea of how much he was going to be missing.

“Are Aurors allowed to perform Dark magic, then?� Severus finally asked in reply. “In the name of justice, or for self-defence, for example?� He had never thought of becoming one, since constantly putting oneself in imminent danger was not a favorite activity for him; given that he had studiously avoided Quidditch for the perfectly sane reason that he didn’t like having things hurled at him, the thought of having much worse than Bludgers fired in his direction was hardly appealing. Nonetheless, it certainly seemed like a more acceptable outlet for his interest -- at least, more acceptable in the society in which Lily moved, which was all that mattered. And if there was one such means of indulging in the Dark Arts rather than just studying it, maybe there were others. It was, in any case, a safe question.

“Ah, you’ll have a difficult time getting an answer to that one from the Ministry,� Llewellyn replied. “So I don’t know. I think they reserve the right, but come down hard on cases when it occurs. But that’s a guess, based on gossip and speculation. They use Dementors in Azkaban, of course, and that’s Dark enough, so I wouldn’t put it past them.�

Llewellyn looked thoughtful for a moment, and then pointed his wand in the direction of a low barrister’s bookcase in the corner, saying, “Accio, Compendium! � The door swung open and a large, startlingly familiar book came flying out and landed with a thud in the professor’s outstretched hand. “That was just lazy,� he stated with an apologetic smile. “But I’m a bit tired -- up too late grading, I suppose. In any case, this is the Compendium Artis Oscuris, the standard text for study of the Dark Arts -- which you would appear to be familiar with.�

“Only passingly familiar,� Severus replied, wondering how Llewellyn had figured that out so easily. “I’ve seen it in Flourish & Blott’s.� And coveted it… but the professor didn’t need to know that.

“It’s available in Flourish & Blott’s in no small part because it’s a standard text in Auror training,� Llewellyn informed him. “They need to know what they’re up against.�

“Back to your question,� he went on. “When may the Dark Arts be used. There’s a cursory overview in the introduction to the Compendium, but the ethics section of the library has several incredibly thick tomes about ethics and the Dark Arts. Given the kinds of questions you have, those might be more useful than Bellingham -- although I’m glad you read that. Understanding the legalities is a good place to start. And might I suggest skimming rather than reading, at least at the beginning.�

Severus nodded and, taking the professor’s cue, stood up to leave. “Thank you, sir,� he said. “This has been helpful.�

“Less helpful than I would have hoped,� Llewellyn said, standing up and proffering an outstretched hand for Severus to shake, “but it’s a beginning. It’s a complex subject; come back when you have more questions, and I’ll be happy to mull them over and give you more vague and useless answers.� Severus gave a small smile in spite of himself. Llewellyn pushed the desk in which he had been sitting back into place, and returned to the teacher’s desk, where the large pile of parchments and tea, probably cold by now, still awaited him. Severus was almost at the door when the professor called his name, and he turned around.

There was a pause, as though Llewellyn wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say. He finally stated, “Don’t just look for external reasons for and against using the Dark Arts, Severus. It doesn’t matter if it’s acceptable under the law if it tears your soul apart. Look for the internal reasons -- look for what this kind of magic can do to those who use it.�

“I will,� Severus said, and he meant it, but he suspected that what he discovered would not be particularly convincing. He had been familiar with Dark magic for years, and it had never torn his soul apart. It had never even come close.

…

Talking to Professor Llewellyn about the grey areas of the Dark Arts had been simultaneously helpful and confusing for Severus in his attempts to figure out what to do about the upcoming attack, annoyance, or whatever it would turn out to be. On the one hand, the group wasn’t giving Lily any trouble, and the possibility existed that whatever they were doing would be nothing worse than some minor bullying. On the other hand, they spoke freely in their periodic nocturnal chats in the common room about different possibilities, some of them fairly dangerous, and it was clear that Lily, without Severus as a protector, had become fair game. Mulciber in particular talked about Mary and, to a lesser extent, Lily, in ways that made Severus’s skin crawl.

Then, of course, there were all the various “what ifs�: if they weren’t stopped with this effort, where would they stop? Would it give them courage to take on bigger targets? Or might they leave Lily alone if they could just get out their aggressions on a few first and second years?

Severus tried to stay relatively close to the group in the evenings so that he could remain abreast of their plans. This was surprisingly easy to do; they tended to congregate near his favorite seat, since the area was somewhat removed, and they seemed to consider him little enough of a threat that their voices, while low, were usually not so low that he couldn’t hear them. Fate, however, sometimes intervened and made it impossible for him to keep an eye on his classmates. On this particular evening, it had stepped in, cloaked in the form of Morphia Mather, a quiet, awkward seventh-year girl who was oblivious enough to sit near Severus’s old friends’ favourite haunt despite the fact that they regularly bullied her when the Mudblood-baiting had lost its charm. He considered booting Morphia out of his chair, something he would readily have done the year before, preferably with the entire gang backing him -- but after a couple of months of being practically the male equivalent of the solitary bookworm who was occupying his seat, his heart wasn’t in it.

He considered her for a moment-- her hunched form, her slim torso and arms mismatched with her thick legs and ankles, her clothes, which were not out-of-style only because they had never been in style in the first place. She even managed to have unattractive breasts, which a year or two before Severus would have thought an oxymoron; whatever kind of underclothes she wore made them appear shapeless and lumpy. She wasn’t by any means the most unattractive girl in Slytherin -- her face was not unpleasant, and she’d even had some Hufflepuff boyfriend a year or two before -- but something about her invited mockery and exclusion from her housemates. Inexplicably, she had a friendship with Sirius Black, of all people, who had been known in the past to come to her defense, but within the walls of Slytherin, Morphia was on her own. Severus felt a stab of pity for the innocuous, graceless girl whom he had always been eager to torment the year before just because she was even more awkward and friendless than he was. But a year earlier, the sight of Morphia Mather had been like blood in the water to him, a signal for the hunt to begin. A year earlier, he had been terrified of slipping down the other side of the social precipice over which she had already fallen.

A year earlier, she had probably been his Boggart.

Passing up the opportunity to assert his dominance over Morphia, Severus settled himself into a quiet spot and tried to read one of the library books he had taken out at Llewellyn’s suggestion, but he couldn’t get his mind off his classmates on the other side of the room and the conundrum with which they had presented him. He could argue to himself all he wanted that the only person whose side he was on, besides his own, was Lily’s, and that he would do best to lie low until something actually threatened her. But Lily, prefect or not, would never sit idly by and let even some petty act of bullying go on, never mind something truly violent or dangerous. She had spent the seven years of their friendship defending him, after all.

Always so brave, Lily, and so bloody emasculating. All those years he had been the Prince in name only, and the nickname did nothing to assuage his silent humiliation that she was always the one riding to his rescue rather than the other way around. In a very roundabout way, it might finally be his turn.

Lily would stop them, no question, and she would do it because it was the right thing to do, and because it would be something that she believed in. Neither of these reasons held true for Severus. The problem was that much and all as he admired -- loved -- worshipped Lily, he was nothing like her. Nothing at all. Nonetheless, taking on the outer forms of penance often enough might coerce his mind and soul into actually believing in what he was doing.

…

“You’re supposed to use the stem of the poppy. Not the stamen.�

Mary MacDonald stopped chopping the ingredients of her potion and was clearly pausing to stare at him, but Severus was too busy concentrating on his own work to return her glance. This didn’t stop her from questioning him.

“The stem?�

“Read the instructions if you don’t believe me. Or even if you do. It might improve your potion-making.�

Mary turned from him in a huff but, to her credit, did appear to be reading the instructions. Under the circumstances, Severus pondered, he would probably have been contrary enough to prefer being wrong over acquiescing and reading the instructions. On the other hand, his precision was inherent; there was no way that he would have so much as lifted his silver knife without reading the instructions repeatedly in the first place. The mental exercise of comparison with Mary was purely academic.

Mary put down her book, then swept the unwanted poppy pieces off the work surface onto which she had been chopping them.

“You’ll need those later,� Severus warned her. “You just don’t distill them as long.�

There was a lengthy, loaded pause, and then Mary asked, in a much more civil tone, “All right, then, I have a question. What would happen if I did it in the wrong order?� She actually sounded curious, like she wanted to understand what she was doing, rather than merely following the recipe by rote. Severus briefly weighed whether he should be talking this much to a Muggleborn with Mulciber and Avery right behind them, versus the potential good karma he might be creating in the world of Lily.

Lily won out.

“The stem is a much less potent part of the flower,� he answered. “If you distilled the stamen that long, you’d probably create a Draught of Death instead of the Draught of Living Death. At the very least, you’d make it very hard for the person to breathe: poppies are a narcotic, so therefore they’re a respiratory depressant.�

“Fair enough,� said Mary. “Thanks.� Severus shrugged off her gratitude and went back to work. Mary usually made a good lab partner in that she neither liked nor disliked him and therefore rarely bothered him. In this case, her indifference was ideal, because the Draught of Living Death was a complex potion that required all of his focus, especially because there were, as always, points of procedure on which he differed from Libatius Borage. Somewhere in the future lay a text called Advanced Potion-Making for the Twentieth Century… or Even the Nineteenth, by one Severus Snape. It was about time.

His concentration, however, was broken some minutes later when Professor Slughorn called the class to attention. “A few words,� he said, “about ‘borrowing’ from my stores. I will be locking the supply closet.� He looked up quickly as a few muffled “Awww�s made their way around the room. Unable to figure out who the speakers were, Slughorn continued, “I will be locking up the supply closet whenever I am not in the room. The potions that can be made with such items as Boomslang skin and Archangelica root are restricted substances that students are not permitted to brew. If any of you have borrowed such items and they are still in useable condition, please return them at once.�

Archangelica root? Severus was going to have to look into the uses of that one. But Boomslang skin was clear enough: someone was brewing Polyjuice Potion.

Someone else beside himself.
…

The thing that finally made Severus conclusively decide to put a stop to Avery’s plan was some combination of intellectual and aesthetic snobbery. Avery and Mulciber had come up with a way to hex the teacups used in Transfiguration such that those belonging to the Muggleborns would explode violently when a spell was attempted, impaling their owners’ faces and hands with shards of china. It had all the wit and elegance of a nail-bomb or Molotov cocktail. If this was the best that Avery could come up with, if this was something that he would be proudly reporting back to Lestrange, perhaps it was better after all that Severus had jettisoned his plans to become a Death Eater.

The problem was how to stop it. Avery and Mulciber had done their research: McGonagall marked which items would go to which students and collected them daily, and Avery seemed to have a sixth sense for ferreting out Muggleborns. Not caring much one way or another about the blood status of eleven-year-olds, Severus had no idea whose teacups would be hexed and whose would be untouched, which made reversing the spell rather difficult. Then there was the business of quickly figuring out which spell, or spells, they had used, and managing to reverse them before being caught out of bed in the middle of the night. Besides, the teacups would probably be jinxed such that any spell -- not just the intended one from the first year students -- would set them off, so even a Vanishing spell would undoubtedly create enough of an explosive din to draw Filch. And he had nowhere to hide the accursed things, even if he could spirit them out of the room at three in the morning without getting caught. It seemed fairly hopeless. In fact, it made much more sense to just prevent the students from getting into the room in the first place.

But of course, that didn’t make sense either. As soon as McGonagall, or really any professor or upper-level student, came along, a simple Alohomora would probably take care of whatever locking mechanism he could create, and the students would proceed into class, completely unaware that the items intended for some of the students were hexed. His own efforts would just look in retrospect like part of the attack.

Whatever he did, he needed to keep people out and make it perfectly clear that something bad was going on. The most obvious answer was to send an anonymous note to McGonagall, but five years at Hogwarts had taught Severus that with all the spells at the professors’ command, anonymous notes never stayed anonymous for long. Anonymous spells, on the other hand, often did.

The barrier into McGonagall’s classroom had to be both impassable for all but the most advanced students, and alarming enough to cause the room to be searched. In short, it had to be created by use of the Dark Arts. Thinking back on all the spells he had known and used in the past, however, Severus could find nothing appropriate coming to mind.

The end justified the means, though, and for the end of stopping his old companions in a brutal and likely very damaging attack on a bunch of unsuspecting children about whom Severus could hardly have cared less, the means lay in a barrister bookcase in the Defence classroom. Asking Llewellyn for permission to borrow the Compendium, however, would be as much as admitting his part in advance. Llewellyn, decent soul though he was, was still faculty, and couldn’t know.

Severus felt guilty sneaking into the empty classroom in the golden twilight. He had felt only slightly bad about “borrowing� supplies from Professor Slughorn’s large storage closet; he never used Slughorn’s school property for his own modestly successful potions business, but rather, for intellectual curiosity or because there were certain potions that would be wise to have around, just in case. Given the increasing likelihood that he would actually need to use it, Severus was glad he had taken some Boomslang skin before Slughorn began locking up the stores more carefully. But sneaking around behind Llewellyn’s back genuinely bothered him after the Defence professor had treated him with such… respect, trust, whatever it was.

He had treated him as if he were not a Slytherin.

Nonetheless, it had to be done. As a compromise between necessity and his annoyingly overactive conscience, he took the book out of the bookcase and snuck with it into the room’s adjoining storage area so that he could read it in peace. He wasn’t even leaving the classroom with it, he reasoned; he was merely consulting it. That he was doing so without permission was of little odds. There was no lock on the bookcase; Llewellyn probably left the texts there for public use: a small library of academic works on his subject matter for the interested reader.

It would have been tempting to stay there for hours, browsing through the thing, but after ten or fifteen minutes, Severus had skimmed and read enough to know what he needed to do: Devil’s Fire. It was complex and difficult to reverse, a spell that even he had never tried before. It would block the door effectively and alarmingly. It was perfect. As for the question of why it bothered him more to borrow a book without permission from a kindly professor than to allow the bombing of a bunch of innocent kids, the analysis of that particular question and what it said about him as a person could wait for later -- although the very thought made him wish for Lily, always his companion in analysing the living daylights out of everything. Their friendship had started falling apart, he realised, when he had stopped overthinking and started blindly obeying whatever his friends told him to do. He was probably, at heart, still a sick Dark Arts bastard, but at least he was once again a thinking sick Dark Arts bastard. This was progress.

…

Devil’s Fire wasn’t FiendFyre, but it was a near relative -- a form of fire created only by Dark magic, which didn’t spin out of control like FiendFyre, yet which couldn’t be crossed without consumption of a protective potion, and which couldn’t be reversed without the exact -- and advanced -- counterspell. Finite Incantem or some other such effort would probably earn someone a good scare, if not first degree burns, since the flames would increase each time an incorrect counterspell was attempted -- but at least that was better than what lay on the other side for the unlucky few who happened to be born of Muggle parents.

Severus had no need to set an alarm; he had always been a light sleeper. His roommates were long since back from their anti-Muggleborn efforts, and sleeping soundly, when he crept out of bed, threw his dressing gown on over his pajamas and stuffed his wand, toothbrush and toothpaste in one pocket and a plausible bit of study material in the other, and crept as quietly as possible out of the room. He looked around the common room, which was, at three o’clock in the morning, empty and silent, and left Slytherin behind him.

It had been a long time since he had snuck around the castle at night. Potter and friends seemed to have an almost uncanny ability to evade Filch in the nocturnal prowls about which they were constantly bragging, but Severus had nearly been caught by him too many times, and had actually been apprehended twice. The man just didn’t seem to sleep. But tonight, or this morning as perhaps it was, luck seemed to be with him, and he made it to the Transfiguration classroom unmolested. Now for a quick spell, and a speedy return to bed.

He took a deep breath, pointed his wand at the door, and chanted the incantation as quietly as possible: Flammae Diaboli. A green flame licked out at him from the doorway, and then receded into nothing.

As the Dark Arts went, it wasn’t such a difficult spell. Advanced, yes, but he had been capable of fairly advanced spells when he was still a quite young. Why was it so difficult now? He tried to drum up the requisite strength of feeling, the necessary anger. He tried again, harder -- Flammae Diaboli -- and the same thing happened.

It didn’t mean enough to him -- this was the problem. In years past, he could have coldly cast a Dark spell out of the sheer pride of mastery and generalised ill will, but it was no longer that easy. Perhaps it was that he was too long without practice; perhaps he had changed too much to easily summon a Dark spell. He tried harder, and imagined someone trying to harm Lily. But he couldn’t fool himself like that; Lily was in no immediate danger, and he knew it. The only danger to Lily was that if these prats weren’t stopped now, they might move on to bigger and better things, like a pretty sixth-year prefect. But even Mulciber and his rapaciousness were too remote a possibility to truly inspire him; the real reason Severus was lurking in a darkened corridor at three in the morning was so that he could say to Lily, if asked, that he had been faithful, in his fashion. Flammae Diaboli. Nothing this time.

Now he was getting angry, and worried. Time was running out; he couldn’t just keep standing there in the hallway in the middle of the night trying to cast a Dark spell without Filch appearing on his rounds at some point. He wasn’t sure which would be worse: the professors catching him, or the Slytherins, and he had no intention of suffering the wrath of either group for something that, when it came right down to it, he really didn’t care that much about. He flicked the wand at the doorway angrily, with a rising temper: Flammae Diaboli! The flames lingered a bit longer this time before disappearing.

These polite incantations would do nothing, and it was starting to seem hopeless. One had to really want to cast a spell like this, but his heart just wasn’t in the cause for which he was risking expulsion. Therein lay the problem: he didn’t actually want to do it.

But he did want to do it, just not in this dull, anemic manner. Beyond wanting to, now that he had let himself think about it and taste it, he needed to do it, like he needed air to breathe. It had been so long since he had let himself even dabble in the Dark Arts, and the anticipation of actually being able to cast a Dark spell again was both terrifying and exhilarating. With time running short and more civilised means failing, he allowed the terror and exhilaration to run rampant.

He was dangling in midair, with James Potter sneeringly divesting him of his clothing while a laughing crowd looked on and Lily walked away; his father’s great form towered over him, arm raised for a beating; he was choking and gagging on soap bubbles as Potter and Black trained their wands on him… and Lily -- Lily was leaning against a pillar, lecturing him about his wicked ways, but God, she was intoxicatingly close and his mind was elsewhere, roaming over her body, imagining all the things he wanted to do to her, with her… He focused his mind on the spell and let the sensations of the strongest, darkest feelings he possessed wash over him -- his hatred of Potter and Black, his powerless, childish rage at his father, the most base and primal parts of his hunger for Lily -- until he could feel it in his blood, his eyes closed, his fists clenched.

FLAMMAE DIABOLI!

The spell ripped through him almost against his will, like the blind fury that had split his life apart half a year before, and when he opened his eyes again, panting and trembling, he saw the doorway completely blocked with violent green flames, eerie against the pitch darkness of the corridor. He had never even seen Devil’s Fire before, but now he had actually created it. It served the purpose perfectly -- tongues of fire snapped out angrily from the curtain of raging greenish flames that blocked the doorway, and there was nothing gentle or pretty about it. No one would try to enter this room. And no professor in his right mind would leave the room unsearched with this unholy barrier blocking the way.

Although tempted to stay around to admire the bastard offspring off his darkest nature, he slipped into a side corridor and made his way back to Slytherin House, where Avery, Wilkes and Mulciber lay in the room Severus shared with them, their breathing slow and even, looking deceptively innocent in sleep. He managed to close the door and sneak into bed so quietly that not one of his roommates even so much as shifted.

Now that the adventure was over and the danger of discovery was past, Severus felt as exhausted as if he hadn’t slept in days. Bone-weary, he expected somnolence to overtake him quickly, but he found that the effort of casting the spell had left him so possessed by rage, lust and emptiness that he didn’t have a hope in hell of sleeping.

Instead, for what felt like hours, he lay staring into the darkness, inexplicably sick at heart, hungering for something to which he could not even put a name.

Chapter 8: Quite the Slytherin

The world was not designed for night owls, Severus reflected for what must have been the millionth time, having started the day by hurrying through minimal ablutions, skipping breakfast, and dashing -- hungry and more or less unwashed -- off to class. Even had he not spent the night before making use of the Dark Arts to confront even darker purposes, he still probably would have been up until all hours, reading in bed, studying in the common room, or just pondering things he couldn’t change. He had read once that an inability to fall asleep was indicative of a hidden fear of death. If that were the case, Lily, the ultimate morning person, was utterly fearless, and he was an abject coward.

On this occasion, though, he had spent the hours before he finally fell asleep tossing and turning, somehow both angrier and lonelier than he had felt in months. His efforts at controlling the whirlwind of thoughts and the ache in his chest had failed, and he scarcely felt any better the next morning, after so little sleep, and now had a splitting headache to boot. Headaches were for the weak, so going to Pomfrey was out of the question, and suffering through it left him in a phenomenally foul mood. He hardly remembered a word of the lecture in Arithmancy that started his day, and he knew that his notes would probably be useless.

Arriving at the Potions classroom still tired and peevish, he discovered that it was already occupied: a displaced Transfiguration class was being taught there during a period when the room would normally have remained empty. His fellow classmates stood around in the hallway talking as McGonagall finished up her lesson. Severus found a spot removed enough from the rest of them to make it perfectly clear that he had no interest in socialising-- not that anyone particularly wanted to talk to him. Sometimes unpopularity had its benefits.

Apparently word had gotten out, though, that something had gone on in the Transfiguration classroom, because students were standing around talking about it. There seemed to be a great deal of rumor and speculation, which, Severus concluded, was probably a good thing: too much of the truth would not be helpful to him. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the person who cast the spell blocking the door may have been a mole trying to thwart the whole thing. In fact, that would probably be the most logical conclusion.

Lily was standing talking to Mary, as usual, and to the pleasant but rather nondescript fellow who sufficed as sixth-year Hufflepuff prefect. She had been spending altogether too much time with him recently, Severus reflected. It was more acceptable than James Potter, but still -- he felt a wave of hatred for Edric or Ethelred or whatever the hell his name was as Lily threw her head back, laughing at the boy’s jokes.

Mary, who seemed less than amused by flirtation that obviously didn’t include her, excused herself and stood there for a second, looking lost. Then, for no apparent reason, she walked away from the chatty crowd and over toward Severus, who immediately resumed his previous pose of feigned attention to his worn copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

It did no good. “Hello, Severus,� she chirped. She said his name crisply and carefully, as if she were afraid to slip up and say something else instead; it did not take much imagination on his part to imagine what that something else might be. Bloody perky Gryffindor. She was the last thing he needed after the night he’d had and the sight of Lily flirting with Ethelred the Insipid across the hallway. Why she had to choose this of all moments to do her good deed for the day was completely beyond him.

''Swimming against the tide?'' he asked waspishly. It had the desired effect: Mary glowered at him and walked away in a huff. If he had any luck, she’d be annoyed enough not to say a word to him for the entire class period, which was precisely what he needed. On the other hand, with the classroom occupied until the last minute and most of the Potions students flooding in at once, it was anyone’s guess with whom he’d be seated, since people were not trickling into class in their usual order.

As the last of McGonagall’s young students exited, there followed, unsurprisingly, a shoving match as people tried either to get their usual coveted seats or to shake things up for a change. Severus slipped quietly into his own customary location and set to work. Lily had actually sat down next to Potter without complaint, which made Severus feel worse than he already had, if such a thing were humanly possible, but on the positive side, the seat next to Black remained conspicuously unoccupied. Probably a full moon. Regardless, it gave Mary somewhere else to go, and Severus a more complete solitude.

Mary, however, gave Black a quick once-over, shot him a withering look, and then walked over and dropped her things down next to Severus. "Snape,� she said, still coldly. “The more intelligent of two evils.�

The more intelligent of two evils. He wasn't sure which he liked better, the compliment or the insult, but either way, he hadn’t expected Freckles to possess that degree of acerbic wit. He was impressed despite himself.

“Macdonald,� he responded, incrementally more pleasantly than before. “Always a pleasure.''

Mary seemed uncertain of how to read his greeting, and after standing considering him for a few seconds replied, ''Please tell me you'd rather work with me than one of those eejits."

"Any day," Severus answered smoothly. And he’d rather work alone than with her, but she hadn’t asked that question.

She shook her head a bit, deposited her supplies next to his on the desk, and went to work, back to the blessed silence that had characterised their partnership of two months. Just when he thought he was off the hook and free to wallow in his bad mood in silence, Mary cut into his concentration.

“Can’t you just let someone be nice to you?�

“Excuse me?�

“Swimming against the tide? � she said, in a passable imitation of the tight, pissy voice he had used only minutes before. “Give over,� she continued. “I’ve worked with you for two months, and you can’t just accept that I might want to strike up a conversation with you?�

“It’s my experience that people who are nice to me usually want something,� he snapped.

“What could I possibly want from you?�

“What does anyone want? Answers to a homework assignment. A potion that they can’t make themselves. An interesting spell.�

“Quite a high opinion of yourself there,� she answered with light mockery in her voice. “You’re forgetting I could ask Lily for answers, which is as good as asking you. The same goes for any potion I could dream up a need for.�

“Which leaves interesting spells.�

“My brother is an Auror; he’s quite good at those.� She reacted with a hint of pleasure to his thinly veiled expression of surprise. “We’re a large family. Statistically it’s not improbable to have more than one Wizard out of eight.�

“Then I can’t think of anything else,� he responded, “unless you’re seeking a bad reputation through guilt by association. I can certainly give you that.� She surprised him by relinquishing her obvious defensiveness and laughing heartily at this, a rich, throaty laugh. Mary, it seemed, was that interesting variety of Gryffindor: the sort whose bravery tended toward flying in the face of convention. She really didn’t seem to care that she was seen interacting with him and laughing at his comment, which he had to grudgingly respect, since even he had been a slave to public opinion-- Slytherin public opinion, anyway-- until so recently. Besides, good will from Lily’s closest friend could do nothing but help his cause. And it gave him an excuse to talk to someone about Lily.

“So, does Lily have a side line in potions, then? Or does she just do favors for friends?� he asked, as cavalierly as though he were merely making small talk. In reality, it was so bloody thrilling to actually speak Lily’s name to another human being for the first time in nearly half a year that he felt strangely giddy and almost nauseous at the same time. In another life, his references to her had been so casual: “Can’t make it-- I’ll be studying with Lily� or “You go ahead -- I’m meeting Lily for breakfast.� His belief that she would always be a part of his world had been so casual, the fallible heaven he had taken for granted, yet here she was, with no good reason not to talk to him -- hell, her best friend was striking up a conversation with him -- but no sign of budging after a whole summer and two months of school.

On the other hand, he could hardly fault Lily for having higher standards for a best friend, if that’s what he had been, than Mary’s standards for “better than talking to myself in Potions class.� He probably had a long way to go.

Even this thought, however, did nothing to dampen the improvement in his mood that the freedom to talk about Lily had wrought. A ridiculous image suddenly came to him, unbidden, of himself like the boy in West Side Story, running around declaiming his beloved’s name over and over again just for the sheer joy of it.

“Side line in potions? And what’s the smirk for?� Mary’s voice cut in on his thoughts, but she sounded more amused than suspicious.

“Nothing,� he fibbed. “Just the idea of what kind of a potions business Lily would have. I think it would be a failure.� Lily, Lily, Lily... Say it loud and there’s music playing…

He would have to be careful; he knew that, given the opportunity, he could babble on about her for hours at this point, nearly five months of pent-up longing breaking its bonds and bursting forth. And whatever he said would get back to her.

“Why’s that?� Mary asked, a bit more sharply this time.

“Because I think she would talk everyone out of the Potions they were seeking,� he replied, vowing to himself that this would be the last mention of Lily. “You don’t need to use Amortentia, just be yourself -- that sort of thing. You know how bloody optimistic she is.�

Mary laughed again, genuine laughter reflected in a warm smile, rather than a mere polite chuckle. “You’re right,� she answered. “She’s so relentlessly positive about everyone.�

Everyone except him, apparently. Everyone except him.

“Slughorn,� he stated as the professor entered the room, and the conversation ended. His brief good mood had passed, and despondence settled heavily upon him again. Something about Mary’s last statement had hit him hard. Lily tended to look on the bright side about everybody -- she made light-hearted fun of quite a few, to be sure, but she generally tended to like people. Once someone had crossed over to the other side and out of her favor, though, could they ever cross back? And even if she spoke to him again at some point, would it ever again be the way it was before? It was looking increasingly hopeless.

Halfway through the class, Severus excused himself and made his way to the nearest boys’ lavatory, where he locked himself into one of the stalls and thumped his forehead repeatedly with the heel of his hand. What the hell had he been thinking? That he would just stand calmly in the hallway and perform a genteel little Dark spell and make everything happy and good? Of course it didn’t work like that. He was a bloody idiot -- he was like an alcoholic convincing himself he could handle just one sip. Instead of a self-contained little effort for the public good, it had become this rushing, raging beast that he couldn’t control and almost didn’t even want to.

For the last two months he had been a fairly neutral being in the Hogwarts universe, promoting neither good nor evil, letting those battles go on around him. Now, after one stupid Dark spell, his relative contentment was broken. He wanted to do something excruciatingly painful to Avery and Mulciber for putting him in such a position, and something equally awful to the Marauders just because they were a cowardly crowd of prats who thought they were so bloody special. And he wanted to grab Lily by the shoulders and shake some sense into her so that she’d start talking to him again, because of course violent manhandling would undoubtedly help where half-hearted apologies and relatively sincere repentance had failed.

His heroics the night before wouldn’t make her talk to him again, he realised. The moral ambiguity of having done it for a good cause didn’t take away the bitter taste: Lily was the end, but the means did matter to her. No matter what he did, it seemed doomed to fail.

……………………


Days later, when he had returned more or less to his normal degree of melancholy, Severus sat staring at a phrase written on the chalkboard in Professor Llewellyn’s messy writing. He had to look at it a few times to make sure. The Imperius Curse? The Imperius Curse. Or something very like that.

“The Imperius Curse,� Llewellyn stated, settling the point. “The second Unforgivable Curse that we’ll be discussing in this class. The Cruciatus Curse, as we’ve discussed, is a violation of the body by causing intolerable pain. This one is a violation of the will. Both, I believe, can best be combated by means of a prepared mind.�

He walked over to the louder side of the classroom, which quieted down a bit. Apparently Llewellyn was catching on. He continued, “Like many unfriendly spells, the Imperius Curse can be fought. There’s nothing like practice, so I have obtained the permission of the Headmaster and, through him, the Ministry of Magic, to use the spell on each one of you in turn to give you an opportunity to practice fighting an unwanted incursion upon your own free will.�

“Of course, the restrictions upon this kind of thing are considerable. Each of you will be going one by one. Furthermore, this is voluntary: I will not subject anyone to the Imperius Curse against his or her will. I know, I know,� he said cheerfully, looking around and guessing at the nature of the chatter. “Ironic. In any case, at the front of the classroom, as you can see, I have arranged two chairs. Each of you will start in the first chair, over here, and I will order you under the Imperius Curse to walk over and sit down in the second chair, over there. Your job is to remain seated or, at least, to stay as close to the first chair as possible. It will get easier with practice. Any questions?�

Apparently he had been abundantly clear, because there were no questions, not even of the inane “Do we get to practice on each other, sir?� variety that Avery liked to ask just to spice things up.

“Now,� Professor Llewellyn said, clapping his hands together. “Who would like to go first?�

Of course Lily raised her hand, beating out Potter by a mere fraction of a second because she, unlike Potter, was paying attention and not whispering something to a friend. James Potter, unfortunately, was not bad at Defence. Was there anything James Potter was bad at? No wonder he was such an arrogant git. Severus far outshone him in the class, as in Potions, but he usually gave a more-than-respectable performance nonetheless. And after nearly five and a half years of this unspoken battle with James Potter, Severus found that it wasn’t enough for he himself to succeed: James Potter also had to fail. There was probably a very long word for this in German.

“Lily, then,� Llewellyn said pleasantly, waving her up to the front of the room. “Keep in mind,� he told her, “that if you do anything to make life even remotely difficult for me in my effort to get you from one side of the room to the other, you can consider that a rip-roaring success. Understood?� Lily nodded. “I don’t expect much, of any of you, the first time around,� he clarified to the class. “As a general rule, you have to learn what this feels like first before you can actually fight it. Knowing the enemy and all. I should add that you may find yourselves with some muscle aches after the effort. And remember, other than that, the worst thing that can happen to you is that you wind up over on the far side of the room seated in the nice leather number they’ve given me to go with this desk--� as he seated himself on the desk, presently bereft of a chair-- “which is actually a very comfortable piece of furniture. Ready, Lily?�

Lily gave the professor a quick, nervous smile and a nod, and sat down in the first chair on the right side of the classroom. “Then let’s begin,� he stated. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and opened them again, his expression now serious and his wand pointed directly at Lily. “Imperius! � he chanted, and Lily stood up in a stiff, wooden manner and took one mechanical step forward. Her face looked determined, but she continued to step forward, one foot in front of the other, Llewellyn following her with an unwavering glance.

Just watching her -- and having a valid excuse to watch her openly was a wonderful thing -- Severus could see how hard she was fighting the spell. She was breathtakingly beautiful when she looked this fierce: she had closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, and she trembled slightly as she stepped forward yet again. Llewellyn watched her like a hawk, obviously ready to reverse the spell if necessary, as Lily was pulled forward through the last few steps and made to sit down heavily into the large, leather chair that awaited her.

“Excellent work! Excellent!� Llewellyn praised her warmly, putting the wand away and walking over to shake her hand. “Go get yourself a drink of water if you’d like -- that was hard work. Top notch, Lily -- next time I probably won’t be able to get you even halfway across the room.�

Suddenly Sirius Black’s voice called out over the murmured commentary and applause of their fellow students: "Make her walk over and kiss Snape. I'd bet she'd manage to fight that."

He couldn't see Lily. Even if he hadn't been suddenly frozen, his stomach in knots, he was still at the front of the room, and she was a few rows behind. There was no way he could inconspicuously turn around to see how she reacted -- not with everyone looking at the two of them -- so he stared down at his hands and planned to deal with Black later. Anything but make it worse for her.

But the scattered laughter ended abruptly, and when he looked up, Severus realized why: Llewellyn's normally pleasant expression had altered to one of controlled fury. "Mr. Black," he intoned quietly, the softness of his voice and formality of his greeting more alarming than even the most violent of Kettleburn's tantrums. "There will be no bullying in my class; you can save that type of behavior for your own time, and ideally not even then. Thirty points from Gryffindor."

A muffled groan went through the Gryffindor portion of the class as Llewellyn said, with false cheeriness, "Right, who'd like to go next? Lily will certainly be a hard act to follow." James Potter volunteered, probably to make up to the other Gryffindors for his best friend, and Llewellyn, with a toughness Severus hadn't expected, proceeded to casually drag him across the room like a rag doll. No one laughed.

The rest of the class went quickly and without incident. Severus had gone after Potter, figuring -- correctly -- that he might fight the Imperius Curse better if he undertook to do so before his anger at Black began to abate. Llewellyn had congratulated him on his efforts -- it had felt like forever, but according to Llewllyn’s timing, it had apparently only been two and a half minutes before Severus arrived at the other side of the room and collapsed on his knees in front of the leather desk-chair rather than allowing himself to be maneuvered into it. No one else had even come close. The big surprise was Pettigrew, who had been, at approximately a minute and a half, a distant second, but much better than most.

The source of Pettigrew’s resolve became clear at the end of the class: apparently he was angry with Llewellyn over Sirius’s punishment. The professor dismissed the class, quietly praised Severus again for “strong work� and then called Lily up to talk to him.

As Severus walked past the Marauders to leave the room, Pettigrew said to Black, "Bloody teacher's pet. What do you expect -- he’s married to a Slytherin, isn't he?" Black didn't appear to be comforted and stalked out of the room unaccompanied by his friends. The moment was perfect; Severus quietly exited and followed him.

Once in the hallway, he could easily pick out Black's tall form, walking quickly away from the classroom, head down, and turning into a side hallway to get to wherever he was going. He was halfway down the empty passage when Severus cast a non-verbal Expelliarmus and sent his wand flying out of his hand and skittering across the floor.

Black whirled around, furious. "Quite the Slytherin, aren’t you? Doing that while my back was turned." He eyed his wand, but it lay about ten feet from him, and Severus was advancing on him.

"Quite the Gryffindor, you self-righteous bastard," Severus agreed, quietly but savagely. "I learned it from you lot. The only thing I’m missing is three pathetic cronies to back me up." He was closer to Black now, his wand held threateningly. Black backed up against the wall, and Severus closed in.

"Do what you want," Black sneered. "My friends will be here before long, seeing as how I actually have fr--"

"Silencio!" Severus cut across him. "Shut up and listen to me. Leave. Lily. Out of this, " he hissed. Black glared back at him.

"What's going on here?" It was Lupin, prefect pin shining on his robes, galloping in to the rescue like the goddamned Lone Ranger. The scene before him could not have looked good: Black stood backed against the wall, with Severus standing menacingly in front of him, brandishing his wand.

"I'm telling him," Severus said softly from between gritted teeth, "to leave Lily out of this." He lifted the Silencing Charm on Black, but Black, looking both miserable and angry, said nothing.

Lupin considered the two of them, and cast a quick glance over at Black's wand lying on the floor. After a silence, he finally looked at Black and then back at Severus and said, "Fair enough. Have at it." To Severus's shock, he walked away.

Severus could feel all the air relaxing out of his lungs, the tension leaving his shoulders. "Leave her out of this, or answer to me," he said, less angrily this time, and realizing that he sounded a ridiculously macho, like something out of a bad film. Lupin's unexpected reaction had completely flummoxed him.

"Oh, and you're the great expert on treating Lily well," Black replied. "Nice nickname you have for her, Snivellus."

"I'm paying for that," Severus countered. "She shouldn't have to. Leave her alone." He backed away from Black and his own anticlimactic threat, and closer to the main hallway and its crowds.

He expected to be hexed as soon as Black could retrieve his wand and follow him, but Black, who clearly didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing him stooping to pick up the wand, stood without moving, jaw tense, eyes averted.


……………………


Dear Lily, I know we haven’t spoken in months, but--

No.

Dear Lily, I will be surprised if you even read this, but I want to tell you again how sorry I am for what I said to you.

No.

Dear Lily, In case you wondered, the person who stopped the attack on those Muggleborn first-years was me, actually. Please talk to me again.

No.

Dear Lily, I am not much good at writing anything but essays, so allow me to argue (below) in no less than three feet of parchment the thesis that you should speak to me once again, with sufficient evidence, persuasive logic, and correct grammar and spelling.

Definitely not.

“Snape,� a voice called from across the common room. It was Avery.

“Yes?� Severus replied, crumpling the parchment and tossing it into the fire. It was an idea -- a bad one.

“Do you have a moment? I’d like to talk to you.�

Severus picked up his textbook and went over to where Avery sat, and looked at his classmate expectantly.

“So, Snape. Did I happen to mention our recent activity involving the Mudbloods?�

Severus tried to discern what Avery was getting at. His tone held both threat and cajoling, as though he wanted something from him but wasn’t sure how to achieve it. There was a significant chance, though, that Avery suspected that Severus had put a stop to their plan, so he took the cautious route.

“I gathered that you were doing something; I wasn’t aware of the particulars,� Severus prevaricated. He had long since gotten over how fluently and with how few qualms of conscience he was able to lie. It had been a survival strategy in his home growing up and had proved useful in Slytherin: somehow everyone thought that his father was from an inconsequential wizarding family that hailed from near the Scottish border, and he no longer really remembered whether he had put that one out there or just failed to disagree with it.

“It was not entirely successful,� Avery stated flatly. “We have some ideas for another, less ambitious effort that is more likely to succeed, but it does require some Potions work.� He waited for Severus’s response.

“It’s as well, then, that you’re taking Advanced Potions,� Severus said simply.

“You have no interest in being involved?� Avery asked, eyebrows raised.

“Not at this time, no,� Severus replied calmly, wishing to God that Avery would just leave him alone. The world lately seemed bent on dragging him into activities that interfered with his attempts at renewing his friendship with Lily. The Devil’s Fire had been, in retrospect, a poor idea on the whole, and Severus was even beginning to suspect Professor Llewellyn. Why was Llewellyn so willing to teach him about the Dark Arts and not just about defending against them? Was he some sort of well-disguised Death Eater operative? If so, he was an excellent actor, but now that Severus knew that Llewellyn’s wife was from Slytherin, he couldn’t help wondering about some kind of ulterior motive.

There was nothing ulterior about Avery’s motives. “Really,� Avery said, looking interested. “No interest. Does this have something to do with your Mudblood friend?� He said the epithet “Mudblood� so casually, as if it were a common and necessary term in his vocabulary, but he sneered the term “friend� in such a way that it sounded almost indecent.

“She hasn’t been my friend for some time,� Severus replied. “But I got into enough trouble last year that I would prefer to remain unnoticed from now until graduation, especially until I have some sort of acceptable position secured.� He had prepared this little speech months before; it had just taken longer than expected for his former companions to actually express an interest in why he no longer associated with them.

“I don’t see how this affects your ability to assist us behind the scenes,� Avery answered.

"There’s no such thing as ‘behind the scenes’ at Hogwarts,� Severus responded in an explanatory tone, relieved that he had his plausible explanation ready. “I lack an independent fortune, therefore employment is mandatory. I lack connections, charm, and membership in the Slug Club, therefore excellent marks and something approximating an impeccable record are necessary if I do not intend to spend the rest of my days cleaning toilets. Which I do not."

"You may have other options," Avery said obliquely.

"Not particularly," Severus replied, pretending to be utterly thick. "It's either work or starve. There are limits to conjuring food -- it’s one of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration.�

"You know what I'm talking about, Snape," hissed Avery. "You could choose service to the Dark Lord."

''Clearly you mistake me. I'm looking for employment, not servitude,'' Severus answered, as evenly as possible. It was hard to say when, mere months before, he would have jumped at the chance -- back when he had been stupid enough to think that Lily would actually find such a thing impressive.

"You may not have a choice," Avery spat, leaning in toward him so that their conversation remained unheard.

"You may not want to discover what I'm capable of when cornered," Severus snarled, suddenly angry at the possibility of being forced into anything that might drive Lily further away. The spell he had accidentally cast on James Potter back in the spring had taken on shape and discipline over the summer, to the detriment of quite a few flies, and although the person he wanted to become would never use it, he wasn't really that person yet, and didn't quite believe that he ever would be. He wasn’t sure himself what he was capable of when cornered, but he could not rule out that it would involve using Sectum Sempra on Avery.

Avery leaned back but continued glaring at him. "Maybe I do want to find out. What you're capable of might be useful. But you appear to need some help in discerning where your loyalties lie," he said, his voice soft and threatening.

"There will be no help needed -- I've already done that, and my loyalties lie with myself. A true Slytherin makes a poor servant. Go ask a Hufflepuff." Severus picked up his things, vacated the seat without saying goodbye, and was walking away from Avery when what felt like an impediment jinx slammed him forward into the back of a chair, which caught him right in the middle of the breastbone, knocking the wind out of him. Avery had actually had the bloody nerve to jinx him when his back was turned.

Severus spun around, with a crescendo of fury battling with an effort at self-control, pointed his wand at Avery and roared, “Expelliarmus!� as a blast of scarlet light blew Avery backward across the room, knocking the cowardly git’s head hard against the far edge of the mantelpiece.

It could have been worse. It could have been much worse -- bloody and Dark and potentially fatal, and not just a thump on the head. Nonetheless, Severus thought grimly as he contemplated Avery’s unconscious form falling slumped by the hearth as the common room burst into a concerned uproar around them, “At least I didn’t slice him from stem to stern� was not a very convincing defense. For the first time since the blow-up against Lily the previous school year, he was really going to be in for it.

Chapter Nine-- An Impossible Position



“Excellent,� James Potter grinned, nodding his head appreciatively. “It looks like your brother wasn’t having us on after all, Padfoot. There’s no way Hufflepuff can lose.�

Lily attempted to suppress her annoyance at the inside-joke nickname and followed James’s glance over to the Slytherin team as they stood waiting to enter the Quidditch pitch. She could pick out immediately what they were talking about: Severus stood there, leaning in a dejected manner against the entryway, a bit removed from the usual members of the Slytherin team. He was clad in Slytherin Quidditch gear and holding a typical Hogwarts-issue broom.

“Why would they do that?� Peter Pettigrew asked, sounding more puzzled than pleased, probably because he himself had never been picked for the Quidditch team no matter how many times he tried out, even with James as captain. Lily herself couldn’t help wondering how, rather than why, they had managed it. Severus had never shown much of a liking for Quidditch. Flying, yes; Quidditch, no. Something about not liking to have things hurled at him, which had sounded logical enough at the time, and, in fact, still did.

“I heard he cursed what’s his name, the Seeker -- some sort of duel in the Slytherin common room -- and Slughorn is making him fill in as punishment. The whole team is livid about it,� Sirius said, with some satisfaction. “Inside information from one of the Chasers,� he added unnecessarily, as Regulus Black, Slytherin Chaser, walked out onto the field with the rest of his teammates. The Marauders paused in their gossip to boo the Slytherin Quidditch team as they were announced.

“Stupid git probably hasn’t heard the rule that you put up with anything from the Quidditch team in the week of a game, rather than landing one of your own players in the hospital wing,� James declared. Lily wondered when this particular rule had been enacted, and decided that it had probably been created about four years before, in James Potter’s head. James went on, “Slughorn must be crazy.�

Crazy like a fox, Lily thought, with some surprise that the old man was acute enough to even make such a clever move. The last time most of them had seen Severus on a broom had probably been five years before in their first-year flying lessons, and he had been something of a spectacular failure. Their classmates therefore would have been completely unaware that while he had no interest in Quidditch, Severus had actually become quite adept at flying; the jitteriness that made him something of an odd bird on land somehow worked well on a broom. The fact that Hufflepuff would undoubtedly underestimate him only added to the brilliance of Slughorn’s punishment.

The problem with Severus and the Marauders, Lily reflected, was that when it came to any battle between them, she wanted both sides to lose, and this time, she didn’t see how that was possible. He had been relatively decent to Mary in Potions, although that could have just been for show, since he could be quite the actor when the need arose. On the other hand, there was that issue of a duel in the Slytherin common room that was real enough to land their Seeker in the hospital wing and Severus, scowling, on a borrowed broomstick. Lily had been torn for some time between wondering what his motives were and wondering why she always had to think so poorly of him. Most people could change. But Severus wasn’t most people. He had never really changed the entire time she knew him; only she had.

The whistle blew, the balls were released, and the two teams kicked off into the air to the usual cheers and boos that accompanied any game involving Slytherin. Lily scanned the stadium, more interested, as usual, in the crowd than in the game. Her friend Geeta, a die-hard Quidditch fan, was already cheering and yelling advice to the players from the sidelines, while Mary, never much of a sports fan, watched quietly. Professor Llewellyn, who had been out sick for a few days, was back and sitting in the Ravenclaw stands, looking enthusiastic but a bit pale. Teaching didn’t seem to be good for him, Lily thought: just a few months at Hogwarts, and he already looked somewhat older and much more tired. A tallish, slender, serious-looking young woman with dark blonde hair, presumably Mrs. Llewellyn, sat next to him, in robes conspicuously lacking any kind of house identification. Her husband, by way of contrast, was decked out in Ravenclaw blue from head to toe.

“Just curious -- why wouldn’t Slughorn just put in the substitute Seeker?� Mary asked Geeta. Benjy Fenwick, who sat on Mary’s other side, was notoriously useless at anything pertaining to Quidditch, and besides, he was too involved in making some sort of interesting contraption out of a piece of parchment, attacking the task with an unselfconscious enthusiasm more befitting of a seven-year-old than one who was already seventeen. He was so charmingly oblivious to what anyone thought of him that Lily found him both adorable and enviable, although she never quite understood why Mary had fancied him off and on for years. Mary had a proclivity for collecting odd specimens, apparently, and Ben was odd enough that he had no idea that she was even interested.

“Because they don’t really have a substitute Seeker,� Geeta responded. “Well, they do, technically -- Monroe -- but he couldn’t catch the Snitch if someone gave it to him in a basket. They’re out of luck if they don’t get some talent after Avery graduates. Still, Snape. Slughorn should have just given him some detentions.� She shook her head.

“He’s actually not bad,� Lily said, defensively, and then immediately wished she hadn’t. Mary gave her an odd look. “We used to practice flying in first and second year, and he had gotten fairly decent the last time I checked.�

“With a ball in play?� Geeta asked, clearly skeptical.

“We did some one-on-one with a Quaffle and the hoops -- he was better than I was. A lot better,� Lily replied.

“Yes, but I’m a lot better than you are,� Geeta responded rather superciliously, adding, “And I don’t play for the house team.�

“Fair enough,� Lily murmured, as evenly as possible. By now she was seething a bit: Geeta wasn’t as good as she thought she was, and Lily wasn’t that bad. Between Geeta in the stands and Severus on the field, she was not in much of a mood to watch this game.

The game in question began with Severus narrowly dodging a Bludger pelted at him, significantly, by one of his own team’s Beaters. Severus yelled something at his teammate, who yelled something back, which was followed by Severus flipping an obscene gesture at the idiot who had tried to hit him with the Bludger. Kettleburn, who was refereeing, missed the deliberate foul but called a foul on Slytherin for obscenity. Loud booing from the Slytherin stands ensued.

This was going to be interesting.

Lily watched as Severus took himself more or less out of the line of fire by flying lazily over to the far edge of the pitch, away from where the rest of his team hovered, and stationing himself near the Ravenclaw stands.

“He’s going to throw it for them, isn’t he?� Pettigrew crowed gleefully. “He’s going to pay them back by making them lose. This should be priceless.�

“He won’t,� Lily heard herself saying.

“He won’t?� Potter asked.

“He won’t. He’s too competitive. I know him.�

“Biblically?� Sirius queried, turning around and looking at her with a smirk.

Blast -- there was really no good answer for that one without implicitly taking sides. “Wouldn’t you like to know?� she improvised, then -- as the Marauders and others sitting nearby made gagging and retching noises -- exchanged a mutually shocked look with Mary at her own audacity, followed by a quick shake of the head and a mouthed “NO� to a horrified-looking Remus. She was pulled back into the game, though, by a gasp that went up from those members of the crowd who were actually watching it and not cracking salacious jokes about the players.

A mere five minutes into the game, and Sev was already in trouble: Lily turned around just in time to see a blur of green and a flash of yellow which concluded with one of the Slytherin Beaters crashing into the Ravenclaw stands as Hufflepuff Chaser Siobhan Mulalley raced in from nowhere and pushed Severus out of his teammate’s path. Their brooms entangled, they spun wildly until Siobhan, who was a magnificent flyer, managed to arrest their freefall.

“Tibbets hits the Ravenclaw stands, narrowly missing Snape and Mulalley!� yelled Julius Hutchinson, this year’s Quidditch announcer. “Nice job, Mulalley! Note to the Slytherin Beaters: you’re supposed to protect your Seeker, not kill your Seeker.� Kettleburn was hovering at the middle of the pitch looking puzzled: Julius seemed to have a better handle on what was going on than he did. Siobhan, for her part, seemed to have recovered nicely and was conferring with Severus, who, from Lily’s vantage point, looked shaken and a bit ill.

“Looks like Snape likes Siobhan better than he likes you, Evans,� James commented sardonically.

“How so?� Lily asked, only half wanting to hear the answer.

“He appears to have taken her help without calling her -- what was it again?�

Filthy little Mudblood, her mind traitorously provided.

“You remember as well as I do, Potter,� she replied, and turned away from him, refusing once again to be drawn into their dispute. Potter looked pleased with himself, though, and she could understand why: even though the comment had left her angry at him, it had reminded her of how much angrier she was at Severus. Potter one, Snape zero.

Tibbets and his splintered broom made a jerky, awkward landing, and a time-out was called. While Professor Kettleburn and an annoyed and agitated Professor Slughorn attended to the injured Slytherin, Lily could see Siobhan shouting something and gesturing to her boyfriend, Sam Douglas, one of the Hufflepuff Beaters. A substitute was put in for Tibbets, and the game began again with the crowd on the edge of their seats, since a new rule had apparently been put into play by Slytherin: Severus could either score, thus ending the game with a Slytherin win, or continue to be attacked in midair by his own teammates until he was injured and replaced by a more acceptable substitute.

After seven years of friendship and six months of silence, Lily still involuntarily found herself putting herself in Severus’s place and trying to read his thoughts, so Slughorn’s attempt at making the punishment fit the crime left her thinking much more about her former friend than she had let herself in a while. He was in an impossible position, she reflected as he dodged yet another Slytherin Bludger. His own team was being beastly to him, but the obvious revenge -- not bothering to make any effort to catch the Snitch -- would have made him look pathetic, and she knew he was too competitive to put up with that. Watching him was too interesting for Lily to avoid, even though she kept trying.

At first, it seemed as though Sev had actually caught on and was trying to secure a win for his team. To begin with, he moved in off the sidelines and close to the new Hufflepuff Seeker, poor little Meaghan Butler, who was obviously trying to simultaneously look for the Snitch and avoid close proximity to Severus. In her one previous game, she hadn’t done a bad job, but in this one she was, understandably, flying nervously and poorly. After all, if the Bludgers that were aimed in Severus’s direction on a regular basis by the Hufflepuff Beaters and his own teammates, Beaters and otherwise, didn’t hit him, they would probably hit her. After a few minutes of relentless attempted fouls, Sam Douglas, always a decent big fellow who played fair, stationed himself near the two Seekers, fending off the repeated Bludger attacks regardless of who the actual target was.

Meanwhile, Hufflepuff was beginning to rack up points left, right and centre. As a Chaser, Siobhan had already been heavily recruited by several professional teams, and rumour had it that she would be joining the Harpies after graduation. But the Hufflepuff versus Slytherin game was typically by far her worst performance of the year, since -- as both the school’s star player and a Muggleborn -- she attracted the lion’s share of the dirty tricks that Slytherin had up their sleeves. The Bludger was almost always aimed at her, and Sam, whom she had seemingly been going out with forever, usually spent the entire game hovering closely to her as a bodyguard. On this occasion, though, Slytherin’s players were obviously so annoyed at Severus for putting Avery in the hospital wing that he had become their target instead.

Freed up not only from the Slytherin bully tactics, but also even from much of the usual attention given to a Seeker from the opposition, Siobhan was absolutely on fire. For a minute or two, only the Keeper stood between her and the goalposts as the others on the Slytherin team were too busy with either vengeance or distraction, and she took full advantage of the opportunity, scoring four goals in a row as three-quarters of the crowd cheered wildly.

Regulus Black finally gained control of the Quaffle and scored a goal for Slytherin, but the rest of his team seemed completely uninterested. Tyke, the other regular Beater and something of a thug, attempted to repeat Tibbets’ earlier effort, plowing hell-for-leather toward Severus and nearly hitting Meaghan in the process. This time, though, Severus was ready, and he ducked out of the way before Tyke could hit him. Meaghan dodged the attacker with a squeak. Even the Slytherin Keeper seemed so distracted by the mess her team was making that she was barely paying attention at her post. Siobhan again took advantage of the situation, scoring three more goals in rapid succession and putting Hufflepuff up seventy to ten.

Benjy, mercifully, had brought his Magni-Goggles, and Lily decided to make use of her seating location nearby to borrow them from him. “May I?� she asked, plucking them from his face before he had a chance to object.

“Oh, come on-- it was just getting good!� he complained, trying to grab for them. “This never gets good, and now when it does, I can’t see it!� James Potter took umbrage at the suggestion that Quidditch never got good and began arguing with Benjy about the merits of Quidditch. Five and a half years at Hogwarts didn’t seem to have taught James that arguing with Benjy, who cheerfully maintained his own opinions in the face of all reason and evidence, was hopeless. Still, when even Ben was paying attention to a Quidditch game, it definitely had to be interesting. The half-built parchment doodad lay neglected in his lap, doing occasional pointless spins and twirls.

Looking at something as active as a Quidditch game through Magni-Goggles was dizzying, but even with just a quick scan of the field, Lily could see that the only Slytherin players who gave a damn about winning the game were Regulus, who was trying in vain to get the Quaffle from Siobhan, and the Slytherin team captain, Linnaeus Campbell, who was yelling at his team to get their act together and play some Quidditch.

The Slytherin crowd looked livid, but it was impossible to tell whether they were angry at their team for valuing revenge more than scoring points, or at Severus for putting Avery out of commission. Lily tried to lip-read, but before she could figure out what they were saying, a voice ordered “Give me those,� and the Magni-Goggles were appropriated by Sirius Black. Lily didn’t bother trying to get them back-- the mere effort of trying to view so many whirling, dipping, flying forms through them had left her nauseated.

“She’s got it!� Geeta yelled, and Lily looked up as Meaghan took a sudden turn toward the Hufflepuff bleachers, with Severus alongside her, neck-in-neck.

“No, he does!� Sirius yelled, leaning forward and staring intently through the goggles.

“And neither Seeker has caught the Snitch!� Hutchinson announced in a tone of astonishment. “What a close call! Nice work from Butler! Unfortunately, no one seems to have told Snape there that his job is to CATCH the Snitch, not play table tennis with it.�

Sirius put down the Magni-Goggles. “He swatted it out of her reach,� he announced, shaking his head. “I don’t know what the hell Snivellus is doing, but he could have caught it.�

Everyone turned around to look at Lily, except Benjy, who had the attention span of a gnat and had returned to the contraption he had been working on previously. “What IS he doing?� Geeta asked.

“Why is everybody asking me?� Lily replied. “I have no bloody idea. What, we haven’t spoken in months but now he’s suddenly supposed to be telling me his Quidditch strategy?�

“Well, you know him, right?� Peter asked.

“Leave her alone,� James Potter ordered loftily, taking on the role of knight in shining armour. “Everyone makes mistakes.�

Everyone makes mistakes? It didn’t take much to guess what her seven-year mistake was supposed to have been. “My mistake, Potter,� she hissed, “was sitting anywhere near you.�

James blushed to the roots of his hair, opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it, then opened it again and commanded Sirius, “Give me the bloody goggles. I want to watch this.�

It was definitely worth watching. Lily wasn’t sure what she had missed, but apparently it involved the Slytherin team becoming collectively livid that Severus had come so close to catching the Snitch but had let it go. The team was in complete disarray, and even the Keeper was no longer defending her post, so Siobhan scored over and over again as the Hufflepuff crowd cheered wildly and Campbell yelled at his players to get back where they belonged.

“How far are they up?� Mary asked, bewildered.

“I have no idea,� Geeta said, shaking her head and at once seemingly at a loss when it came to Quidditch. “I have absolutely no idea.� Lily could understand why -- it was easily the oddest Quidditch game she had ever seen.

The Slytherin team’s attempts at obtaining a replacement Seeker picked up in intensity after the near miss with the Snitch. One of the Slytherins pelted yet another Bludger at their temporary Seeker, but Douglas noticed it and once again slammed it to the far end of the field. Severus yelled something to Sam, who yelled something back. Given Severus’s reply of what sounded very much like “It’s your funeral,� Lily imagined that he had told Sam not to bother helping him, which seemed characteristic. It seemed equally characteristic of Sam to help another team’s player who was being unfairly targeted, and either Sam was the more stubborn of the two, or Severus really didn’t mind the assistance, because Sam did not appear to be leaving.

“Another Slytherin foul on their own Seeker deflected yet again by Hufflepuff,� Julius called out. There were a few muffled boos from the Hufflepuff stands and more from the row of Marauders below Lily. “At least someone is playing for Slytherin,� the announcer called out, shaking his head at the bizarre revenge play that was going on high above the ground, “because their own team certainly isn’t.�

As he finished his comment, the other Hufflepuff Chaser, Ignatius Everett, scored another goal for his team, and Meaghan took a sudden turn to the left. Severus seemed distracted and almost didn’t follow her this time, but suddenly he took off after her with reckless determination, catching up so quickly that he bumped into her. Still, her hand was outstretched, and she seemed once again ready to catch the Snitch-- but this time, Severus pushed her arm out of the way, and the Snitch flew off. The tension was palpable -- Lily could feel the crowd holding its collective breath, and then releasing it. The bizarre game was still going, and Hufflepuff was up, one hundred to ten.

While the Slytherin captain was yelling at his team to bloody well get revenge later and play Quidditch now, with an enraged Regulus Black echoing his agreement, Siobhan had again gotten control of the Quaffle, and she and Everett had a beautifully choreographed series of points scored. Siobhan, with her typical precision, hurled the ball through the hoop, Everett retrieved it and threw it to Siobhan, Siobhan scored again, over and over until Hufflepuff was up to one hundred and seventy to Slytherin’s ten. “Are we allowed to do this?� Siobhan yelled to Kettleburn at one point, and apparently was given a satisfactory answer, but by then the Slytherin Keeper had actually returned her attention to her post and Hufflepuff’s string of goals was ended.

Hufflepuff’s Chasers couldn’t lose, but their Seeker was not having much luck. Severus never seemed to actually see the Snitch himself; nonetheless, he did an excellent job of following Meaghan and preventing her from catching it. Time after time, she bulleted after the thing, and time after time he cut her off in some regard. She was smaller and lighter, but he seemed to be more reckless, repeatedly either bumping into her or getting ahead of her but missing the Snitch. It was obviously becoming clear to his Slytherin teammates that their initial tactic had failed: so far they hadn’t managed to knock Severus off his broom or injure him sufficiently for a replacement to be called in, and instead, they’d only angered their own Seeker into prolonging a game that should have been over ages before.

Their strategy, instead, seemed to have turned to actually trying to score some goals for a change, since the Snitch was probably a foregone conclusion: the Slytherin Chasers were concentrating on the goalposts in a serious fashion for the first time in the game instead of exhorting their teammates to play it correctly. Campbell yelled to Severus that if he couldn’t be useful, at least he should hold off on catching the Snitch for now until Slytherin had enough points to win the game. From what Lily could tell as their voices carried on the wind, Severus told Campbell to go do something to himself that was anatomically impossible.

“They’re going to kill him, aren’t they?� Mary asked Lily, looking worried and excited at the same time. “They’re really going to kill him.�

“I don’t think he cares,� Lily answered, utterly transfixed.

“Well, if he wanted to get back at them, he’s doing a brilliant job,� James conceded. “I mean, if he lets Hufflepuff get all those points and then just lets Meaghan get the Snitch, there’s no way Slytherin can even dream of the House Cup.�

Sirius was just shaking his head. “Unbelievable,� he stated slowly. “Hufflepuff must be paying him.�

“Sam is a decent bloke,� Remus disagreed. “He’s probably just defending him on general principle. I doubt there’s anything underhanded going on.�

“And Snivellus is giving them the gift of an enormous lead in return,� James decided. “Either way, who cares? Slytherin is getting its arse kicked. That’s all that matters to me.�

Severus, meanwhile, moved in a leisurely manner toward the edge of the field, high above the stands, trailing Meaghan as before. The cold autumn wind whipped his hair around into his face, getting in his mouth and eyes, and Lily wondered why he hadn’t had the good sense to put it back in a ponytail. He probably was averse to looking even remotely like one of the girls. Or just too bloody stubborn. Or both. A quick movement shook her out of her reverie as, out of nowhere, Severus went into a sharp dive toward the Gryffindor stands and Meaghan tried to catch up with him.

Suddenly, two things happened at once -- the tips of Severus’s thin fingers caught the edge of a wing, curling the Golden Snitch into his outstretched right hand -- and Tyke, the other Slytherin Beater, came barreling out of the sky too late and slammed into both Seekers, catching the end of Meaghan’s broom and cracking his own broom handle hard into Severus’s left arm. Severus’s broom tilted wildly, Meaghan went spinning off in the other direction, and a collective gasp went up from the stands.

As Meaghan arrested her own erratic flight and headed unsteadily down, followed in rapid succession by some worried teammates, Severus regained his balance, made an untidy landing, hurled the Snitch to the ground, and stormed off the field with his left arm clutched to his chest. Thus the game ended with most of the crowd utterly baffled, as the Slytherin crowd let out a roar of outrage, and the Hufflepuff crowd seemed more puzzled than elated. “And Hufflepuff wins -- I think -- 170 to 160!� the announcer yelled. “What the hell kind of a game was that?!!�

“Language, Mr. Hutchinson! Language!� Professor McGonagall reminded him, and then shook her head and muttered, “Slytherins,� in a tone implying that she failed to understand the entire house.

What Lily failed to understand was why, when it had looked as though Severus might fall, she had found herself half out of her seat with her wand pointed. She had sat back down, embarrassed, hoping that nobody else had seen it, and wondering what this new equation of Severus minus the Death Eater crowd actually meant.

A few minutes later, as she and her friends departed the stands, Lily could hear a flustered Slughorn lecturing the Slytherin team on poor sportsmanship, attacking their own players, and how they’d all be banned from the next game altogether if the news of any further fallout from this one reached his ears.

“Well, I suppose that’s good news for Severus,� Mary concluded, waving a hand in Slughorn’s direction. “I didn’t think his roommates would let him live the night after letting them lose the game like that.�

“They tried to kill him, and he still gave them 150 points toward the House Cup,� Geeta reminded her. “It doesn’t matter if you lose a game if you have the most points over all at the end of the year, remember. Slytherin really has nothing to complain about, except their own bloody awful work at defence and offence.�

“I still don’t think he’ll have his sorrows to seek,� Lily replied. “That was a hard hit to his arm, didn’t you think? I’d guess he’ll get to spend the night in the hospital wing with his dear friend Avery. Anyway, let his own friends worry about him, and not a pair of filthy little Mudbloods like us.�

“Does he have any friends?� Mary asked, sounding a bit worried.

“I don’t care,� Lily replied. “That’s his problem. Let’s talk about something else now -- please?� No one needed to know how it still haunted her sometimes, and talking about it only made that fact too bleeding obvious.

Mary obligingly changed the topic to who was going with whom to the Christmas Dance, and Lily let herself forget.

……………………………….

Remus, having recovered from his latest illness, was in grand form, and thus kept up a constant stream of friendly banter as he and Lily made their rounds of the castle later that night. Lily was grateful for it, because she didn’t feel much like talking herself.

Over by the hospital wing, Lily found herself pausing for an unnecessarily long time outside the closed door. “I wonder what he did to his arm,� she said, more to herself than Remus.

“Severus? Broke it in two places,� Remus replied.

“Really?� Lily asked. “Where’d you hear that?�

“McGonagall. Both of the bones in his left forearm, apparently. Pomfrey had to move them back into place, however she does that.�

Lily cringed.

“They’ll have it all fixed up overnight, and he’ll be back to his usual delightful self in the morning,� Remus replied. “I wouldn’t worry if I were you.�

She’d had some stays in there herself: a few days in the Isolation Ward for the measles, which had been utterly miserable, and overnight once for a bad stomach flu that had left her a bit dehydrated. A stay in the hospital wing had its charm, though -- the temporary celebrity one obtained, the retreat from the hustle and bustle of school life, Madame Pomfrey’s care and attention, the outpouring of support and concern from one’s friends. The flowers, the chocolates…

“He really doesn’t have anyone, does he?� she said out of the blue, moving her train of thought into actual speech as she and Remus walked on.

“Who?� Remus asked, with a confused look.

“Sev--erus,� she said, quickly correcting herself and going from the old nickname to his given name, one she had rarely used. He had practically always been Sev, never Severus, and she had only called him Snivellus once in her life, on a day when he had called her something much worse.

“Severus? And whose fault is that?� Remus asked, suddenly sounding surprisingly tense. Lily went to open her mouth, and Remus stopped her by continuing, “I know, I know, horrible childhood. You’ve told me. He’s sixteen like we are, though; he’s been at Hogwarts for five plus years. Anything he’s up to these days, he can only blame on himself, I think. I don’t know anyone who had a perfectly happy childhood.�

“Except James,� Lily countered.

“Except James. James has had a perfectly happy everything.�

“Bully for him,� Lily found herself saying bitterly, suddenly annoyed at James for his sixteen-year run of good luck. She wasn’t quite sure why, but she had been in a bad mood since the game. James seemed as good a target as any. He was arrogant, seemingly invincible, and, most importantly, not currently present.

“You were talking about Severus,� Remus corrected her, deflecting her annoyance from his besotted friend.

“I was saying he really doesn’t have anyone.�

“And I was asking whose fault it was.�

“His, probably. Although I think it might actually be a good recommendation if half of Slytherin wants you dead.�

“I think it means absolutely nothing,� Remus stated. “They’ve probably just found out that his great-grandfather was a Muggle or something like that. I’m sure it’s not because of anything wonderful on his part. He managed to turn you against him, after all, which I didn’t think was possible.�

“You’re probably right,� she said, but somehow she wasn’t quite convinced. And at least she’d apparently done a better job of shutting her mouth about Severus’s Muggle dad than she had about the fact that his parents were dreadful. It was just Remus and Mary, but she was starting to wonder whom else they might have told. She was also beginning to wonder why Remus had ever let her into his own much bigger secret, since she was presently kicking herself for having been gossipy and indiscreet.

They took the prescribed path around the castle, with Remus continuing to do most of the talking and Lily responding with “Mm-hmm� every now and again to make it seem as though she were listening. In actuality, she was pondering how the last time Sev had been in the hospital wing, to her knowledge anyway, was when he’d caught a bad case of the chickenpox two years before. His mates had visited once; she had practically camped out there and had ticked off Pomfrey with her Muggle remedies and her steady supply of illicit sweets to her feverish, uncomfortable friend. The thought of him lying there by himself while his arm mended made her feel temporarily guilty and apt to engage in sudden and ill-advised forgiveness: she had always had a motherly streak a mile wide, and contrary to what she might have expected, he had never minded her fussing over him when he was sick or injured.

“Why don’t you talk to him then?� Remus queried, completely changing the subject.

“Hmmm?� Lily replied.

“You’re still thinking about that, aren’t you? You’re a million miles away,� he informed her.

She gave a weak laugh and looped her arm through his. “It’s like you can read minds. I won’t ask him,� she continued, “because I have no good reason to believe he’s any different from last year. I mean, he doesn’t get along with the Death Eater Club anymore, obviously, but for all I know, he might be trying desperately to get back into their good books. I’d need a solid reason to think that he’s actually changed.�

“Would you ever be friends with him again?� Remus asked, looking concerned.

“You really don’t want me to, do you?� she questioned, looking up at his worried face. He came to a halt, and she stopped along with him. “I know he’s a disaster, but he was my friend for so long, and we did mean a lot to each other, I think. At least, he meant a lot to me; he was like a brother to me most of the time.�

“Interesting brother,� Remus replied acidly. “One that fancies you.�

“That’s your theory, and you can keep it,� Lily snapped. “Besides, I never said that I was like a sister to him. And so the answer is, no, I wouldn’t talk to him again unless I had incontrovertible evidence that he had really changed. I don’t want to go back on what I’ve said and then find out he’s still--�

“-- practically a Death Eater?�

“Exactly. And then what would I do, stop talking to him again? It was hard enough doing it once. Besides, it takes away the gravity of such a decision, I suppose, if I go back on it without a really good reason. You know -- we’re friends, no we’re not, yes we are, no we’re not. He won’t take me seriously at all if I talk to him again and then find out he’s up to no good and cut him off. Nobody would -- I’d be like the boy who cried wolf.�

“You’ve really thought this out, haven’t you?� Remus looked at her in what appeared to be fondness and amazement.

“He was practically my best friend for seven years: I didn’t just put an end to that lightly. I’ve never lost a friend before -- not on purpose, anyway... So, moving on, did you ask Marlene to the Christmas Dance?�

“I did.�

“And?�

“And she’s already going with Cameron Yorick.�

“Lovely.�

“I know. I have all the luck.�

“She’d be better off going with you,� Lily commiserated. “Cameron’s very good-looking, but there’s really not much between his ears. Have you ever tried talking to him?�

“Not really,� Remus said with a shrug.

“You’re not missing much. Why doesn’t James just ask her? She’s positively silly about him. And she’s the best-looking girl in the school.�

“Not enough of a challenge, I think,� Remus answered thoughtfully. “She already fancies him. Seamus has always been one for the thrill of the chase.�

“Seamus?� she asked.

“James,� he answered. “Seamus, Diego…�

“-- Prongs, � she cut in, pointedly. “You’re never going to explain that one to me, are you?�

“I can’t, Lily. I wish I could, but I just -- I can’t.�

“It’s not an interesting anatomical feature, is it?� she asked.

“Oh God no,� he replied, chuckling. “I don’t even want to think about that. Was that your theory?�

“Mary’s theory, actually,� she answered. “I mean, think about it: Moony.�

“I hadn’t thought about that, but it’s not what you’re thinking.�

“It isn’t? Too bad, because that was an interesting image… Actually, now that I think about it, I think I finally understand Moony. And I can’t even tell anyone. Oh well -- next one, then: Padfoot.�

“You’re getting innuendo out of that?� Remus asked, still laughing and shaking his head.

“We’re not quite sure what to do with Padfoot, although Geeta thought it sounded like something someone might get when they’ve had syphilis for a very long time. Right: Wormtail, Remus. Wormtail. Think about it.�

“Not very flattering to Peter, is it?� he gasped, shaking with laughter. He was leaning against the wall, now, holding on to his sides. “I had no idea you girls had such dirty minds.�

“You still can’t tell me?� she answered.

“I can’t. Peter is going to want to defend his manhood, but I can’t.� He wiped his eyes and caught his breath as Lily stood grinning at him.

“I know,� she answered. “Why don’t you go to the dance with me? As friends. All these years I’ve had a friend who was a boy who was absolutely phobic of going to dances. You’re a friend who’s a boy who actually wants to go to the thing. Seems like something to do before we graduate.�

“It does,� Remus answered, grinning at her. “Absolutely -- let’s go. Thanks. By the way, what ever happened to Edric?�

“Never really got past the flirting stage. Too boring.�

“He is, isn’t he?�

“He really is. It’s all Quidditch, all the time. Sev and I used to make fun of the people who went to these dances,� she mused, not even bothering to correct herself on the name this time. “Well,� she said softly. “It was good while it lasted.�

“I’m not much of a dancer, by the way,� Remus warned her, changing the topic.

“I’m dreadful,� she replied with a grin. “About the only thing I know how to do is the waltz. And a bit of disco. Bad disco.�

“That’s nothing. Sirius says that my dancing looks like I’m fighting off doxies,� Remus stated.

Lily started laughing, genuinely feeling better for the first time since the afternoon. “Eh, we’ll dock points from anyone who makes fun of us,� she declared. “We can wear the prefect badges on our dress robes and look like a right pair of self-important prats. All right,� she concluded. “Let’s finish these rounds before they send out a search party.�

“James is going to kill me,� Remus said suddenly, coming to a sudden halt.

“Your answer is that you’re going with me to fend off anyone who might have designs on me,� Lily replied. “I’d never go with him in a million years anyhow, so at least you’re keeping away any genuine suitors. Not that there are any genuine suitors, but James doesn’t need to know that. End of story.�

“Brilliant,� Remus answered. “All right, let’s finish up and get back to the common room; it’s damned cold out here.�

Lily gave him a quick smile and picked up the pace.

Chapter 10: Quite Contrary


“So, did you like the Fizzing Whizbees?� Mary asked, looking up from weighing ingredients for the day’s potion on the brass student scale at her desk. “I just took a guess.�

“Those were from you?� Severus questioned in return, probably looking every bit as puzzled as he felt. His guess had been Slughorn, since he seemed the type to treat students in the hospital wing to food, although in retrospect, he realised, Slughorn would have sent crystallised pineapple.

“Well, you know, when your lab partner is in the infirmary,� Mary replied, as if that explained everything. He would hardly have given her a second thought if she had been in the hospital wing, never mind procure and send Fizzing Whizbees, but then again, girls apparently did these things. Now that he thought of it, aside from Lily, he had never visited anyone in the hospital wing. He might have to try that at some point; it was definitely the kind of thing Lily would do. Had done. For him, among others.

It hadn’t even occurred to him that he was Mary’s lab partner, but they had worked together for a few months now, increasingly collegially, and apparently to Mary, this constituted a relationship worthy of something from Honeydukes. For his part, he was not going to complain. She was pleasant: she was no Lily but she was decent at Potions, she was easy to talk to, and most of all, she wasn’t Black, Potter, or Lupin.

“Thanks very much,� he answered. “Good guess.� He didn’t love Fizzing Whizbees, but at least they weren’t Bertie Botts’ Every-Flavoured Beans. She must not have asked Lily, or she would have heard about his weakness for Sherbet Lemons and anything involving dark chocolate.

Since Mary’s good will could undoubtedly make smooth the path to the Holy Grail, and since Mary seemed to do most of the work in the conversations they had during Potions class, Severus decided to start one up for a change as a reward for the gratuitous sweets. “I never knew you were musical,� he commented. She and Lily had walked into class together at the same time that day, which was unusual, singing something that, knowing Lily, probably came from her favorite perky Swedish band. Lily had been singing the melody, with Mary doing the more difficult and less glamorous role of pulling down a tight two-part harmony that, even Severus could recognise, not just anyone could have managed.

“Hmm?� Mary asked. “Oh, that. Not much of an opportunity to make use of it around Hogwarts, I suppose. They do have an old piano in the prefects’ room, though, and Lily lets me in to use it whenever I need to. I never knew you were musical either, now that you mention it.�

“I’m not,� he answered. “I like listening, but I’ve never learned to play anything.�

“You don’t have to have had lessons -- you must be at least a bit musical to figure out that I was actually doing that right,� she assured him.

“So,� he said, diverting the topic slightly to his own personal favourite, “she must be going into fairly impressive ABBA withdrawal by now, since presumably she hasn’t been near a phonograph in months.� There was no need to specify to whom the pronoun referred; Mary tactfully allowed him to talk about Lily without the slightest bit of teasing, and he had gradually grown comfortable with it.

“It happens every autumn,� Mary concurred.

“And spring,� he added.

“Don’t they boot you out of the Dark Wizards Club for even knowing of the existence of ABBA?� she asked jokingly.

“The Dark Wizards Club?� he asked, cocking one eyebrow. “You make it sound like the Gobstones Club, or the Recreational Quidditch League.�

“What do you call them, then?� she asked.

“My roommates,� he responded. She gave a deliberate shudder in reply.

“They do boot you out,� he continued, in a mock serious tone, “but you have to go through the Exit Ritual first.�

“What’s that?� she asked, looking at him with both amusement and skepticism.

“The Exit Ritual is where they tie you up and make you listen to ABBA until your ears bleed,� he replied, already starting to laugh even as he was saying it. “Worse than the Cruciatus Curse.� He tried to stop himself from laughing, but his efforts were failing, and looking at Mary, who was dissolving into giggles, was only making it worse. Slughorn shot them a warning glance.

“So, what do you Dark wizards listen to?� Mary asked softly, regaining her composure. “I’d guess the Rolling Stones-- that whole satanic majesty bit,� she stated.

He gave what turned out to be a contemptuous snort. “Unlikely,� he replied. “First of all, they’re mostly Muggles, and secondly, Muggle Without a Cause listens to the Rolling Stones,� he informed her, jerking a thumb back in Black’s direction. “Reason enough not to, as far as I’m concerned.�

Mary looked as though she was going to lose it again, but struggled to remain composed and instead commented, “Muggle Without a Cause? That’s priceless -- I’ll have to make use of that one. You didn’t answer my question, though; what kind of music do you like?�

“What do Dark wizards listen to?� he repeated thoughtfully, deflecting the more personal question, and ad-libbed, “Around-the-clock ‘Ride of the Valkyries.’ All day and all night.�

“Exactly what I’d expect,� Mary said, nodding sagely and then, imitating the hand movements of a conductor as she quietly sang, “Kill the Mudbloods, kill the Mudbloods� to two or three bars of Wagner, while Severus stopped what he was doing, for once completely stunned.

“I’m impressed,� he stated. “You’re actually shockingly twisted.�

“And you’re shockingly normal sometimes,� she replied.

“Don’t let on,� he warned her.

“I won’t. No one would believe me, anyway. They’d all think I’d gone daft.�

“You’re speaking to me cordially on a regular basis, so it’s fairly safe to assume that they already think that,� he informed her. “Don’t turn around right now, but look at Black and Potter the next chance you get.�

“I can’t without actually turning around and staring at them,� she said. “What are they up to now?�

There was too much movement and whispering in the Marauder area for him to ignore it further. It meant something. “They’re looking over here,� he said to Mary softly, never taking his eyes off the potion ingredients he was preparing, so that no one could tell that he was doing anything other than talking about their classwork. “So here comes the part when they walk over and ask you why you’re chatting with me. If you dare to argue with them, they’ll say I’m your boyfriend. There may or may not be a gratuitous reference to my being a greasy-haired Dark Arts bastard. Don’t say you weren’t warned.�

Mary snickered and said, “This is Black we’re talking about -- he’ll probably ask whether I’m going to marry you. His repertoire hasn’t changed much since first year.�

“Oh, I don’t think he’d go past the boyfriend suggestion,� Severus answered softly, “That’s repellant enough.�

“I share a common room with him, so I speak from experience. Would you like to bet on it?� she asked playfully, still speaking sotto voce.

“A bag of the Honeydukes product of the winner’s choice the next Hogsmeade weekend?� he asked. After the Fizzing Whizbees, it seemed like a logical forfeit.

“You’re on,� she said, suppressing her smile just in time as her fellow Gryffindor walked over.

Sirius Black approached, his expression and movements a very alchemy of menace and languid grace. "Can't do even the simplest things right, can you, Snape?" he asked, continuing savagely, "What do you do, cut your own hair with a kitchen knife?"

"Switchblade," Severus said, briefly looking up from chopping the root to assess the others' reactions and wondering why the Marauders persisted in asking him questions to which they didn’t know the answers. It just made it too easy. Mary had raised her eyebrows and then ducked her head to hide her amusement. Over in his own seat, James, who must have known enough Muggles to understand the connotations of a switchblade, looked slightly startled and perhaps even impressed. Sirius, though, betrayed his own puzzlement briefly and then, having lost the upper hand, just looked annoyed.

“So, Macdonald,� Black said, turning on Mary. “I think you might just be a little too amused at Snivellus here.�

“No, I’m amused at you. Remind me to define ‘switchblade’ for you some time.�

“Really, it doesn’t seem to take much for Snivelly to make you laugh. You’re entirely too fond of him these days. When’s the wedding?�

He had obviously expected an angry outburst. Instead, Mary started laughing and shook Severus’s hand, extended for the purpose. “I win,� she declared. Sirius, looking utterly baffled, apparently saw Slughorn’s glance lighting upon him and walked back to his own seat, shrugging his shoulders at James.

Mary looked up at the clock and commented, “Oh blast. I don’t know how you and Lily ever got anything done in this class.�

“Alternative methods and shortcuts researched in advance,� he confessed. “Give that a counterclockwise stir every seventh turn and it will go much faster. Helps with the reaction.�

She whispered “thank you� as Slughorn came over to stand purposefully near their desks, and Severus and his unlikely ally settled down to work.

……………………………………


Since he liked to think of himself as something of a lone wolf, it bothered Severus that actually having congenial company lifted his mood the way it did, but Potions class had lately tended to put him in a better frame of mind than usual. On this particular day, as he walked up from the dungeons, one of the fifth-year Ravenclaws was standing in the hallway with a parchment scroll and a quill asking people about something. Severus swerved in his path to try to avoid her, but her zeal to bother him apparently exceeded his zeal to be left alone. “Want to sign the petition to keep the Christmas dance?� the girl asked him, stepping out in front of him and disturbing his train of thought. “They’re talking about canceling it because of all the security concerns about bringing in the musicians.�

Severus smirked contemptuously and held up his hand to dismiss her. “No, thanks. But if someone comes up with a petition to permanently abolish the Christmas dance, let me know and I’ll go around bothering people for signatures.�

Her eyes narrowed; she was pretty, but she was probably mean, and some poor fellow would go for the package and live to regret it. “Just because you could never get anyone to go with you, Snivellus,� she hissed angrily.

“How to win friends and influence people,� he said lightly, walking on, hoping she didn’t hex him as he walked away. If she did, though, she had no idea what she was in for.

He proceeded, unhexed, to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, where Professor Llewellyn would be holding his customary office hours.

“Severus!� Davis Llewellyn greeted him jovially as he entered. “Always a pleasure. What can I do for you today?� He gestured toward a seat, and Severus sat down.

“I had done the additional reading you suggested on cases involving the Imperius curse,� Severus replied, “so I’m here to discuss that with you, sir.�

“Of course. Of course,� Llewellyn replied, somewhat absently. “But first, if you don’t mind, I'd like to talk to you about the bit with the Devil's Fire."

Bloody hell.

Severus froze instantly, his mind spinning through so many thoughts that he might as well have not been thinking at all. “What do you mean?� he asked coldly, doing his best to cover his rising panic. What a fool he was -- he hadn't even remotely prepared for this.

“You know what I mean, Severus,� Llewellyn said frankly. “And if you don't mind more extra tutoring, I believe I could teach you some things that would prove useful.�

“No,� Severus managed to choke out, awkwardly getting up out of his seat with his eyes on Llewellyn the whole time and backing away. Then, remembering that this was a professor, he recovered his manners and added, “No thank you, sir. I don't need any help. Good day.� He backed out of the classroom and out into the hall, leaving Llewellyn looking slightly puzzled but as even-keeled as ever, and strode briskly away from the classroom, up the stairs and off to a quieter part of the castle where he could think in peace about what had just happened.

Several hallways away and able to slow down and think more clearly, Severus flattened himself against a wall where he was unlikely to be discovered, and, still breathing hard, more from panic than from exertion, tried to dissect the meaning behind the professor’s words. But first, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to you about the bit with the Devil’s Fire. How had he found out? It could have been anyone -- anyone could have done it.

Llewellyn was bluffing. Dumbledore had put him up to it -- to smoke out the offender -- and he was bluffing to see whether Severus would react like a guilty party. And Severus had reacted like… a guilty party. Stupid. Bloody. Idiot.

He was in for it now. He could probably come up with alternatives to returning to his parents’ home if he were expelled -- but of course he wouldn’t be expelled. Students stayed at Hogwarts after worse things than that. But he would be exposed, regardless, and Lily… Lily seemed to lack any of her usual subtlety when it came to issues involving the Dark Arts. The fact that he had used the spell to try to protect people from something worse would probably carry little weight with her. For a brief moment, his anger at her closed-mindedness flared up, but he was too worried for it to last for long.

Instead, his mind roamed on to the more sinister part of the professor’s offer: If you don’t mind more extra tutoring, I believe I could teach you some things that would prove useful. What the hell could that mean, and what good could come of it? “You’re obviously interested in the Dark Arts, so allow me to teach you a bit of the real thing. Did I mention that I’m actually in league with the Dark Lord?� It was ridiculous -- it was unimaginable. Llewellyn, after all, had asked him to consider not only the legalities of the practice of the Dark Arts, but also its effects on his own soul. But Llewellyn had been the one keeping a copy of the book around, instead of locked away in the Restricted Section of the library; perhaps the initial tutoring and the concern were just a front to lure him in.

He couldn’t even remotely begin to untangle it. Technically, the exchange taught him little to nothing about Llewellyn's allegiances, but it had taught him that he himself did a poor job of covering his tracks -- and his thoughts, given that his panic must have been bleeding obvious. Llewellyn, on the other hand, whatever his intentions, was calm, cool and impenetrable. Now Severus was both kicking himself and dreading his favourite class. If Llewellyn was actually a Death Eater, then he had to protect himself from him or lose Lily forever. If he was just a mild-mannered professor… then Severus must have looked like a right bloody idiot.


……………………………………

Stewing over the details of the discussion with Llewellyn and avoiding the professor’s glance in class would not do any good. The only logical course was to find out more about the man, which, unfortunately, was not easy to do. One couldn’t exactly walk up to Avery and ask, “Your dad is in league with the Dark Lord, right? So tell me: is Professor Llewellyn a Death Eater?� Aside from the fact that Avery wasn’t actually speaking to him, there was the more significant fact that Avery would never reveal whether the supposition was right, and would laugh him out of Slytherin if he were wrong. This research would have to be performed independently, and he had a fairly good idea of where to begin.

Apparently nobody had ever checked out Who’s Who in Wizarding Britain 1975, even though the book had been in the library’s possession for, if the date inscribed on the inside cover was to be believed, almost a year. After Severus started thumbing through it, though, he couldn’t figure out why.

Yes, it probably sufficed most people to find the illustrious figure for whom they were looking while standing in the stacks at the library, and then put the book back on the shelves. But the book itself was absolutely addictive once he actually started perusing it. Dumbledore merited a thick section of the text, which Severus skipped: everyone knew about Dumbledore. McGonagall had spent several years in graduate study at Cambridge after graduating from Hogwarts, and had been widowed at an early age when her (Muggle?) husband died as an officer in the Second World War -- fascinating. The details were presented in a dry, boring manner, but in reality were full of incredible information just waiting to be plumbed: “Graduated Hogwarts 1944, Cambridge 1947. Married 1944 to Capt. Archibald Wallace, d. 1945 in Muggle offensive in Western Germany. Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts 1956 -- present. Registered Animagus, 1952.� He tried to imagine a Captain Archibald Wallace who would marry a young Minerva McGonagall, and then he tried to imagine a young Minerva McGonagall, and he failed on both counts.

The Malfoys appeared to be to the manner born but not much else -- there were very few members of the clan listed with any kind of accomplishments whatsoever, and most of them involved honorary positions gained by means of money or influence rather than hard work or talent. Severus would have to remember this the next time he felt awed and intimidated by Lucius, who still sent him an annual invitation to the clan’s holiday gala which he had yet to work up the nerve, or attire, to accept.

Davis Archer Llewellyn, 1953 --. Archer? The Archers were an old political family, with at least two Ministers of Magic that Severus could think of in the nineteenth and early twentieth century, the kind of fact discovered by an ambitious half-blood first-year eager to know more about the world in which he was trying to promote himself. These days the Archers mostly populated the wizarding intelligentsia, producing some of the more well-respected essayists and professors and such like. Apparently Mrs. Llewellyn the Slytherin had married up, which was a form of ambition in and of itself: Slytherin attracted those types, too, and not just the Death Eater crowd, so this was actually promising.

He returned to studying the brief entry on Professor Llewellyn himself: Graduated Hogwarts 1971. Author of Research Subjects Protection Act, 1974, awaiting a decision by the Wizengamot at the time of this publication.

Nothing about his history, limited though it was in this volume, seemed particularly Dark. On the contrary, someone who would go to all the trouble of authoring a bill to mandate protections for subjects of scientific research probably had an outsize conscience that would prevent him from even contemplating such things. Severus looked with relief upon this evidence, limited though it was, of Llewellyn’s lack of the Death Eater taint.

Feeling a bit better about the professor’s possible allegiances, Severus found himself intrigued by what the professor had offered. What kind of tutoring could possibly prove useful to the creator, for so Llewellyn believed him to be, of the Devil’s Fire?

……………………


With McGonagall’s research papers coming due, the library was crowded with upper-level students, but as usual, Severus never seemed to have much trouble keeping a table all to himself. For this reason he was surprised when a female voice asked him, “Mind if I sit here?�

He looked up and saw Mary, who was starting to become the only person to show any interest in conversing with him on a regular basis. Although he hated to admit it to himself, he was actually starting to like her, or at least, to recognize what Lily saw in her, which basically amounted to the same thing.

“Not at all. Go right ahead,� he answered, going back to his work and hoping that she wouldn’t distract him with her chatter or tempt him into talking about Lily as she sometimes did in Potions class. She turned out, however, to be an ideal person with whom to share a table; she was quiet, she didn’t take up much space with her things, and she wrote softly, unlike several classmates he could name whose effects on a table could probably be measured on the Richter scale, or at least by their effect on Severus’s penmanship. There was also the added benefit of Mary’s being one of the class’s top students in Transfiguration, a subject in which Severus had to struggle to excel. She might serve as a good resource if necessary.

They co-existed amicably enough for the better part of an hour, until the library door opened and Avery and Wilkes walked in. Severus was aware of them standing in the doorway in a murmured conference, probably looking for a place to sit in the crowded room, and then their looming figures standing over Mary at her end of the table. “Hey, Mudblood,� Avery said quietly and even casually. “Get out of here.�

Mary looked up, eyes narrowed, and asked just as quietly, “What did you say?�

Excuse me, what did you just say?

Oh, he’d been here before. Same room, different players, but always himself like a Greek chorus, to be counted on for commentary and analysis. Hogwarts’ standards must be dropping… a once-proud institution… time to take out the rubbish… nothing -- did I look like I was talking to you?

And he had just sat there all those months ago, an awkward half-smile plastered on his face, one that had promised allegiance to them and apology to Lily, and nothing real to either side.

A minute later, he had been running down the hall away from the library, running after her, but she was walking in long, angry strides away from him. He had probably been slightly taller than she at the time, but being a girl, she had longer legs, and he had to sprint to catch up with her. “Lily! Lily! Slow down!�

She had stopped suddenly, so suddenly that he had been forced to come to a careening halt in order not to run into her, and she had whipped around, livid. “Not now, Severus. I’m so bloody angry at you that I might say things that I’ll regret.� She had moved to start walking again, but he’d grabbed a hold of her arm and wouldn’t let go. Being Lily, she had been too dignified to wrestle loose from him.

“What? What did I do?�

“Nothing. That’s exactly the problem. You couldn’t even tell them to shut up for me, could you? You just sat there smirking at everything they said.�

“Easy for you to say -- you don’t have to live with them. Besides, it didn’t mean anything. They were only joking.�

“They called me rubbish, Sev. How is that nothing? And then you just sat there on your arse--�

“Fine. I’m sorry.�

She jerked her arm loose from his grip, but by this point, she looked more sad than angry. “The problem is, I don’t think you actually are.�

“I said I’m sorry. How many times do I have to say it?�

She shook her head. “Later, Sev. I told you I didn’t want to talk right now.� And she had walked away. But this time, she had walked away slowly, and this time, he hadn’t followed. He had been so blind, so bloody stupid--

“I asked, what did you say?� This time the lone girl facing down his housemates was Mary, not Lily. It wasn’t really a chance for atonement.

“He called you a Mudblood, Mudblood,� said Wilkes, with his usual rapier-like wit.

It wasn’t a chance for atonement, but maybe it was the next best thing.

Mary stood up, furious, but obviously with no intention of leaving, and without his quill leaving the paper or his eyes leaving the book, Severus heard himself saying in an eminently bored voice, “Leave her alone.�

He was still copying a passage from a text when Avery asked, “Excuse me, Snape, did you say something, or are the voices in your head just talking more loudly than usual today?� This was probably the first full sentence he’d received from Avery since their ersatz duel, and it didn’t bode well. The atmosphere in Slytherin -- and in his dorm room in particular -- had been tense enough since the Quidditch game without this.

Nonetheless, this time Severus raised his eyes from the parchment, annoyed by the interruption and, despite himself, by the bullying. “I said, leave her alone. She was here first, and there’s room for all of you.� Mary seemed to be utterly at a loss for words and was staring at Severus like he had gone mad. He was rather in agreement with her, if this was her opinion, but he seemed more and more likely to curry favor with Lily through this interaction, and he had already hit the point of no return, and therefore might as well keep going. There was no way that his housemates would back down this easily.

Wilkes and Avery looked at each other, and somehow all either one could come up with was the inevitable from Wilkes: “So, Snape, since when did you start defending Mudbloods?�

Severus wasn’t sure whether it was their stupidity, their bullying, their use of his least-favorite term, or just his own anxiety over finishing before the library closed, but at this he finally reacted.

“Bloody hell,� he found himself exclaiming as quietly as one could exclaim anything in a library and standing up to stare them down. “You’re interrupting my work when I’m already behind. There are four empty chairs: you sit here, you sit here, she stays where she is, and all of you shut up and study.� He was careful to make sure that no one would be able to accuse him of taking a stand that he didn’t want to defend: he studiously avoided the Mudblood issue, and even the use of Mary’s given name. Enjoying her company in Potions class and defending her to his roommates on grounds of blood-status were not even remotely in the same league, and he wasn’t certain he was ready to graduate to this level yet. Madam Pince was making her way over to the table, which Avery and Wilkes seemed to take as their cue to leave, glaring at Severus as they departed and slamming the door after them.

He could see Mary visibly relaxing and finally sitting down, and the curious heads that had turned in their direction were turning back around. After about a minute, Mary said, without preamble, “Thank you.�

“You’re welcome,� he replied, again without looking up.

After a pause, Mary continued, “That was good of you.�

“Don’t mention it,� he said, and then, finally looking up at her, added, “Actually, really don’t mention it. The sooner they forget this ever happened, the more likely I am to avoid getting hexed half to death.� She smiled at him, and he involuntarily found himself responding with a tight smile for the briefest fraction of a second before returning to his transcription.

The encounter with Wilkes and Avery had ruined Mary’s perfection as a person with whom to share a library table, because now she seemed willing and perhaps even somewhat eager to talk to Severus. After several minutes of immersion in her own studies, she asked, “Severus?�

“Yes?� he asked, trying not to sound irritated.

“She doesn’t talk about it much but -- she still misses you sometimes. Don’t tell her I told you that.�

He nodded curtly and answered, “I don’t think I’ll have a chance to rat out you out any time soon. But thanks.�

Mary resumed her studying, but Severus sat there, quill in hand, books ignored, paper untouched. Now he couldn’t concentrate on his studies worth a damn, but he wasn’t annoyed anymore. Mary could have overturned the table without incurring his wrath by this point, because for the first time in half a year, he had a concrete reason to hope.

Chapter 11: Ever So Slightly Merry


Apparently every great many years, Hogwarts and the two other premiere wizarding academies in Europe, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, met for a challenge known as the Tri-Wizard Tournament, in which each school entered one student as its champion. Inevitably someone was injured; not infrequently, someone was killed, and the powers-that-be fussed and tutted and determined that the tournament would not occur again for another great many years. And by most -- those who did not obsessively study Wizarding history in order to fit in, that is -- the Tournament would be largely forgotten.

Unfortunately, it had inadvertently left around a remnant: the Christmas Dance.

The Tri-Wizard Tournament had always brought with it an event known as the Yule Ball, a formal dance in which all students fourth year and above had been invited to attend, with the three Tri-Wizard champions leading the dancing, since apparently ability to trip the light fantastic was included in the mysterious selection process. Students at Hogwarts during the time of the previous Yule Ball had been so smitten with the idea of having a dance that they had, like Muggles, created one as an annual institution. There had been some trouble in recent years, though, with persons of questionable backgrounds posing as crew members to the musicians in an attempt to get past the hallowed gates of Hogwarts in order to wreak Dark havoc, and security had become extremely tight. The pulsating beat that Severus heard as he walked from the library back to the Slytherin common room sounded like some ungodly disco anthem, but was actually, it soothed him to know, the death-rattle of the Christmas Dance. There would hardly be one the following year unless the protest petitions succeeded.

He had, naturally, never gone. First of all, the only dance he knew how to do was the waltz. He was good at it, and he knew he was good at it -- like flying on a broomstick, it was something he had really caught onto after a clumsy start -- but the waltz was, in the mid-1970’s, hardly in vogue. Secondly, he objected on principle to the idiocy of the thing. Thirdly, he knew that somewhere back at Spinner’s End there hung an ancient, rusty set of dress-robes that had belonged to the late Claudius Prince, his departed grandfather, and that wearing that musty article of clothing was the best he could hope for on such an occasion. And finally, he had always been able to convince Lily not to go. He still held the distinction of having been invited to the Christmas Dance two years running by the most beautiful girl in the school and having turned her down and talked her into studying with him instead. If that qualified as a distinction.

On this particular occasion, though, he was spending the evening of the Christmas Dance studying by himself, and Lily had almost certainly gone with someone whom Severus was presently hating in absencia without even knowing the boy’s name. With that uplifting thought, he made his way back to the great wooden door of Slytherin house and entered the unusually quiet common room.

Since only students in the fourth year and above could attend, the common room had been taken over by first, second and third year students, sitting in seats normally occupied by their older peers. They looked like they didn’t know what to do with themselves. He could only see one other student even remotely close to his age, the inevitable Morphia Mather, whose Hufflepuff boyfriend, if she were even still dating him, would presumably not have been allowed to attend since he was now a Hogwarts graduate. Severus acknowledged Morphia with a quick jerk of his head as he walked past and settled into his customary seat, from which a snogging third-year pair had fled in terror at his approach. What on earth they were doing kissing at that age was completely beyond him, so he felt no compunctions about driving them out of their comfortable spot, and he settled in with his books.

He had probably been buried in his Arithmancy text for a good half hour when a female voice, clearly directed at him, cut through the giggles and murmurs of the younger students. “So, just curious -- where did you get your name?�

Severus stiffened. Questions about his name were never a good thing, and his expression could not have been pleasant when he raised his eyes from his books to Morphia’s benign countenance. “Why do you ask?� he growled.

Her smile faded and she visibly gulped -- she was probably already beginning to regret starting this conversation. “Just curious,� she repeated, “because Gus and I always liked it. I think, even with all the Latin names around here, that you were the only other one in Hogwarts besides him with the name of a Roman emperor. Of course, they’re both nicknames, really.� She was clearly nervous now, and she was babbling.

“Excuse me?�

“Augustus was a nickname, and so was Severus-- Octavian gave himself the name Augustus for pompous reasons. At least Severus was a decent nickname.�

“Sorry, but how could Severus possibly be a decent nickname? It’s not even a decent real name.� Now he was leaning forward to talk to her, intrigued rather than offended.

She smiled weakly. “It was given because of severity of a good kind -- apparently Septimus Severus had a certain strictness or discipline in personal habits. Which was a good thing, when you consider all those emperors who were so wasteful and decadent. Fiddling while Rome burned and what all.�

Severus nodded. He’d never actually heard a positive spin on his name before. He finally answered her question: “My grandfather’s name was Claudius. Something of a family tradition.�

“Claudius,� she answered dreamily, the name clearly setting all sorts of associations spinning. “Wonderful. Of course.� His abbreviated history had left out some crucial details: the fact that Claudius Prince had been brilliant, overbearing, and very difficult. The fact that the man had favoured his smarter and prettier elder daughter. The fact that his younger daughter had rebelled by marrying a blue-collar Muggle and had lived to regret it, and that the name she had inflicted upon her son had been something of a peace offering.

“Pardon me, Morphia?� he asked, interrupting whatever reverie the name Claudius had set off.

“Yes?� she replied.

“You would have been in school at the same time as Professor Llewellyn’s wife, wouldn’t you?�

“I was. She was a seventh-year prefect in Slytherin, actually, when I was a first year.�

“Was she…� He stopped, struggling with the wording, and then finally concluded, “Was she the Death Eater type?�

Morphia shook her head emphatically and answered, “Gemma? Oh no, not a bit.�

“Gemma?!� he snorted. He’d been worried about Llewellyn being married to a Death Eater, and all this time her name had been so preposterously Muggle that she had to have had at least one Muggle parent, probably two. If he’d only had the good sense to look up that one small piece of information about Mrs. Llewellyn, he could have answered his own question.

“What’s wrong with her name?� Morphia asked, obviously puzzled.

“Nothing. I just feel like a fool asking whether someone named Gemma was a Death Eater.�

“She definitely wasn’t, but I’m not sure I understand the connection.�

“I don’t think wizards use that name much, if at all. It’s wildly popular with Muggles, though.� His Muggle primary school, to be certain, had been full of them.

“Nothing wrong with that,� Morphia answered, placidly. “She was lovely, anyway. Very good to all the first years. She welcomed us instead of, well, pranking us. She’s very serious, very smart.�

“So, with a Muggle name like Gemma, how did she wind up in Slytherin?� he asked, genuinely interested.

“Good question… ambition, I suppose,� Morphia concluded. “I believe she and Davis spent their entire seven years fighting it out for who would be top student in the class. She did all the fighting, really, from what I can tell. I remember her saying something about how he was smarter, but she worked harder-- they only started going around in seventh year, and of course everyone thought it was very romantic. Well, I did, anyway. She was supposedly very competitive when it came to her marks.�

“And she became a Healer. Of course, she has to be Muggleborn. Who won?�

“I don’t know, but you’re going to have to explain that conclusion to me also,� she answered.

“I’d have to guess that the top career prospect for an ambitious Muggle is to be a doctor. A Healer is our equivalent.�

“Interesting. Is that what ambitious Muggles do? Muggles are fascinating,� she mused.

“How did you wind up in Slytherin, by the way?� he asked.

“I wanted to, to try to fit in with my family. They’ve all been in Slytherin since the dawn of time. It didn’t do any good: all of my friends were in Hufflepuff. They’ve all graduated, like Gus. I told Sirius not to bother.�

“Sirius?� he asked. She mentioned him so casually, as if everyone in the world automatically knew why the quiet, dowdy Slytherin outcast and the half-feared, half-admired prince of Gryffindor had always shared an inexplicable friendship.

“We grew up together,� she explained. “Our parents were friends. Anyway, I told him there was no point in going into Slytherin. He’d never fit into his family anyway -- it certainly didn’t help me fit into mine. I suppose going to Oxford to study classics next year doesn’t improve the situation, since I’ll have to let on to be a Muggle.�

“You’ll make a good Muggle,� he told her. It was actually a compliment.

Looking at him carefully, she seemed to understand that. “Thanks,� she replied with a small smile, and had the good sense not to ask him how he knew.

…………

There was definitely something to be said for sitting around staring at the walls in Hogwarts compared to Severus’s usual Christmas holiday diversion, which was sitting around staring at the walls in his parents’ home on Spinner’s End. The walls at Hogwarts were much more attractive, for one thing, and far less drafty. The food was also incomparably better, and, since Hogwarts had its own house-elves and didn’t require him to serve as one, he didn’t have to bother with preparing it.

Hogwarts, however, did not have Lily.

It did have a rather random collection of students who all, for whatever reason, had chosen not to go home for the holidays. Most of them were too young or from other houses and failed to interest him, but the few from sixth year did get his attention. There were Sam and Siobhan, the Hufflepuff Quidditch couple, who apparently were too tightly joined at the hip to separate themselves long enough to go back to wherever they had gotten their accents from. Philomena Darcy’s presence at the castle made sense -- if he remembered rightly, she had been orphaned by the war: some people had all the luck. Then there were a couple of Ravenclaws who were typically at the library even more than Severus was, if such a thing were possible. But Mary, who sometimes hinted at a rather stormy household waiting for her in Edinburgh, and Morphia, black sheep of a Dark family, had gone home. Everyone seemed to have their own reasons for staying or going.

After the train left, Severus surveyed the disaster his roommates had made of their collective room with their efforts at packing, made their beds, stuffed their belongings into what seemed like the appropriate bureaus, and enjoyed the blessed silence, peace and cleanliness of a room that was, for the next several weeks, his and his alone.

It was grand for about three hours. At that point, it became too bloody quiet, and he realised he was likely to go mad if he didn’t find a change of venue for his rendezvous with Theophilus Penderwick’s Transfiguration: An Advanced Course. Several hours in the Slytherin common room helped to break up the boredom, but after a while, even that began to wear on him, and he had to go somewhere else -- the library, of course. For the next two days, he ricocheted like a pinball around the castle, moving from his room to the common room to the library to random corners he found here and there, always with a book and always on his own.

Until, one afternoon as he studied the chemical backgrounds of the ingredients in Borage’s substandard version of a potion to induce euphoria, another student interrupted him. “Excuse me-- Severus?� It was Sam Douglas, one of the Ravenpuff crowd and the male half of the Hufflepuff Quidditch duo.

“Yes?� Severus asked.

“How would you like to join us for a pick-up game of Quidditch? We need a Seeker.�

Severus gave him a long stare before answering. “It’s freezing,� he replied.

“I’m not talking about a full-blown Quidditch match,� Sam scoffed. “It’ll be brief. We just need another Seeker, and you’re not half-bad.�

“Therein lies the other problem,� Severus continued. “I’d be out of my league.�

Sam grinned and jerked a thumb in a direction that turned out to be his girlfriend Siobhan’s. “I’m out of my league, mate,� he said lightly. “She’s being recruited by the Harpies. This is just for fun -- it won’t be like a real game. Just something better than sitting around on our arses in this castle.�

Something better than sitting around on his arse in the castle suddenly sounded surprisingly attractive. Severus was starting to feel as though, left to his own devices for a few days more, he would start to meld into the furniture and would have to be extracted by means of a spell.

“I’ll think about it,� he replied, which seemed to satisfy Sam.

“Four o’clock, then,� Sam said. “The Quidditch pitch. If you’re coming, we’ll see you there.�

The icy walk to the Quidditch pitch through a cold, grey December day with spitting rain had him re-thinking his decision, but for some reason Severus kept going, and arrived to find a small, huddled group of other upper-form students from various houses, clad in robes and cloaks and parkas and, in one case, an opera cape, a smoking jacket and a what appeared to be a helmet from the first World War. To his surprise, Severus was greeted with a cheer.

“Another Seeker!� someone cried.

“Don’t expect much,� Severus cautioned.

“We only expect you to be no worse than Fenwick,� a boy responded.

“Bugger off,� said Fenwick cheerily, doffing the tommy helmet and taking a deep bow as his opera cape billowed behind him. He then stood up and looked around and asked, “Right -- what are the rules?�

“Rules,� announced Siobhan Mulalley, who appeared to be, rightfully, in charge. “There will be one Seeker, one Chaser, one Beater, and one Keeper on each team. If Kesselring shows up.�

“I’m here!� a new voice announced, apparently heralding the arrival of Kesselring.

“Good of you to join us,� Siobhan joked. “Back to the rules. Jeremiah,� she said to the new boy, “You and Severus will be our Seekers. Philomena and myself, Chasers,� pointing to their respective sides. Apparently Severus was to be on Siobhan’s team, as Philomena stepped over to join Kesselring.

“Sam and Fulvius, Beaters.� Fulvius Sparks meandered over to join Severus and Siobhan, and Sam stood where he already was near Philomena Darcy and Kesselring.

“What will you do without Sam as your bodyguard?� Philomena asked, almost snidely.

“Either hope that Fulvius is halfway decent, or borrow Benjy’s headgear,� Siobhan cracked. She didn’t seem to be easily ruffled. “And finally,� she stated, “Benjy and Walter, Keepers.�

“I get to defend against you? What did I do to deserve that?� Benjy asked. He appeared to be only half joking.

“You have a bloody World War I helmet, Benjy, and a smoking jacket,� she answered with a grin. “You’ll be awarded points for style.� Benjy seemed satisfied with her answer. Siobhan was every bit as soft-spoken as she appeared to be around the castle, but she had a quiet air of authority about her that explained her position as captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team.

“Same basic Quidditch rules as usual,� she announced. “Except that this is a game among friends, so it should go without saying that there will be no dirty tricks.�

“How about no Dark spells against the opposing Seeker,� Kesselring said, eyeing Severus nervously.

“How about no stereotyping of our token Slytherin,� Siobhan countered calmly.

“Touché,� Kesselring concurred. “Sorry,� he added to Severus.

“Accepted,� Severus said, too bloody cold to think up anything clever or nasty, much and all as Kesselring deserved both.

As if she were reading his mind, Siobhan announced, “And the game ends when one of the Seekers catches the Snitch, or when we’re all too bloody cold to continue.�

“Or when dinner is served,� Sam added.

“Or when dinner is served,� Siobhan agreed. “Any questions? No? Right then, let the game begin.�

…………

Two hours later, Severus sat at a table with the others from the makeshift Quidditch teams, tucking into the typical delicious Hogwarts repast with more of an appetite than he’d had in months. The two previous evenings, he had just sat by himself at the Slytherin table, as he usually did, but with most of the students gone, the divisions between the houses seemed to have dissolved, and people sat wherever they wanted.

The others were doing most of the talking, and he wasn’t by any means an integral part of the conversation. It was as he preferred it, but of course, his position on the outside looking in didn’t last long.

“So, I don’t understand you,� Philomena informed him.

“I suggest that you not even try,� Severus replied dryly, and a few of the group snickered -- with him, not at him, which was a pleasant change of pace.

“Well, you’re here with us,� Philomena continued.

“Not every one of us is aspiring to join the Death Eaters,� Severus countered, anticipating the next question.

“No -- but all the Slytherin blokes in our class are. Except perhaps you.�

“Except perhaps me,� he concurred.

“So, why not?�

“To piss them off.�

“And here I was thinking it was because you’re chummy with Evans,� Benjy Fenwick interjected.

“You’re chummy with Evans?� Kesselring asked, nearly choking on whatever he was eating.

“We grew up together,� Severus replied, avoiding the fact that he was, in fact, no longer chummy with Evans. Benjy seemed to have missed the news that this particular friendship was now in the past tense.

“I don’t know how you do it,� Philomena mused, looking at Severus and, inexplicably, Benjy. “I’m not sure which would be worse, being in Slytherin or Gryffindor.�

“Slytherin!� most of the others countered in unison, which was followed, inevitably, by a wave of apologies to Severus. Since his mouth was full, he simply waved away their objections -- although he did think Gryffindor would be worse, and planned to say so as soon as he could.

“Speaking from experience,� he finally said after taking a sip of pumpkin juice, “I think there’s little in it if they don’t like you.�

“Too true,� Sam agreed, speaking up for the first time. “Seems like the blokes from both houses hunt in packs.�

“Sam,� Jeremiah said in mock seriousness, “does not approve of hunting in packs.�

“No, Sam does not,� Sam affirmed in the third person as Siobhan gave him a meaningful look, which Severus wondered at but couldn’t figure out. Sam was easy-going and appeared to have no enemies, and he was burly enough that Severus imagined even Muggle bullies would leave him alone.

“Nor does Sam approve of groups that give themselves nicknames like the Marauders,� Jeremiah continued. He was also a Hufflepuff, if Severus remembered rightly -- the two were probably roommates.

“Sam only approves of pansy nicknames like the Ravenpuffs that serve to make one a source of mockery and lead to one get one’s arse kicked,� Sam explained with humorous pomposity but only somewhat coherently, as he was chomping into a drumstick at the same time.

“Maybe where you come from, Douglas,� Jeremiah challenged him with a grin.

“Watch it,� Siobhan warned, but she was laughing.

“I don’t know why Lupin hangs around with them,� Sam continued. “He’s the only one of the lot who isn’t a pompous git.�

“Sirius is not bad when you get him on his own,� Jeremiah argued.

“None of them are bad when you get them on their own,� Benjy added. “It’s a bit pathetic, really, what happens when you get them together.�

“How do you live with it?� Philomena asked, turning her curiosity on Benjy.

“I don’t,� Benjy shrugged. “I just live in the same room. My friends are the girls, or Gryffindors in other years, or you lot. They basically leave me alone. Speaking of which…� -- and at this point he turned to Severus and asked, “Why do they give you such a rough time?�

“I’ll tell you why,� Sam cut in before Severus could even attempt to come up with an answer. “Because you’re friends with Lily Evans, right? And Potter is more than a bit proprietary about her. Lily and I sit near each other half the time because of alphabetical order, and for a while there, whenever I talked to Lily, Potter would show up about a second later to stake out his territory.�

“But not anymore,� Benjy noted.

“Not anymore,� Sam affirmed.

“Now that you’re a eunuch,� Jeremiah Kesselring added with a smirk.

“Or as good as,� Sam answered with good humour as Siobhan swatted him from across the table.

“So are Potter and Evans going out?� Philomena asked. Severus’s stomach gave a sickening lurch, and he made a mental note to avoid her -- she was too bloody nosy.

“I hope not,� Benjy answered. “She should go out with Lupin, if you ask me.�

“But no one is asking you,� Jeremiah said. He, Severus concluded, was a contrary pain in the arse to get attention.

“Unfortunately,� Benjy concurred. “Besides, I’ll have to abandon Gryffindor altogether if Lily becomes the fifth Marauder. Horace and Jeremy and Hitesh are all going to graduate this year, and with them gone, Lily and Mary will be the only ones left who keep me sane.�

“They’re not doing a very good job,� someone joked, and the conversation took a different, less interesting, direction. Severus’s mind meandered off into plans and daydreams, as it usually did at meals these days, a substitute for conversation.

“Severus. Thanks for playing with us,� Sam’s voice said, interrupting his reverie. “You’re a better Seeker than you think you are -- you have a lot of nerve.�

“You’re welcome. I should say thank you to you, belatedly.�

“For what?�

“For not letting me get knocked out of the sky God knows how many times during the game last month.�

“You should thank Siobhan; it was her idea. Besides, you don’t let another player get deliberately injured. Wouldn’t be sporting. Actually, now that I think of it, I have a favour to ask in return.� Sam looked amused.

“I doubt you need my help in Quidditch,� Severus replied.

“Not that-- but if you could teach me the spell on Sirius Black’s t-shift from a few months ago,� he asked with a grin. “Now that would be brilliant.�

Severus felt a smile twitching around the corners of his mouth at the memory. “Not to say that I did it,� he replied. “But if I had, this is what I would have done…�

…………

When the other students returned to Hogwarts after the holidays, the castle at first seemed strangely busy, loud and crowded after the peace and emptiness of the previous few weeks. The impromptu collection of students with whom Severus had taken to eating meals and studying over the break mostly went back to their old friends and haunts and habits -- house tables were an inviolable absolute, after all, at least during the regular term.

Severus was back to studying and taking meals in the company of whatever book he happened to be reading, although he had been joined in the library a few times by Siobhan and Sam and even the dreaded Jeremiah and the quirky Benjy. Sam apparently wanted to be an Auror, and when he wasn’t playing Quidditch, he studied incessantly, and Siobhan, who was thinking ahead to a post-Quidditch career of some sort, shared her boyfriend’s study habits. They weren’t what Severus could have considered friends, but they were pleasant and intelligent company. They were, he supposed, collegial.

The rest of the holiday Quidditch crowd now said hello to him in the hallways or in class, and overall, he was succeeding in becoming more and more of an innocuous figure at Hogwarts which, bizarrely even to him, was his goal. He might, he thought, even succeed in regaining Lily’s friendship someday -- if his own roommates didn’t kill him first. For now, at least, they seemed content to ignore him.

When classes resumed, Severus knew that he had unfinished business to take care of -- the problem was finding the right moment and the sufficient amount of nerve. And so at the end of Defence class at the end of the first week, he hung back and waited. There were other students who wanted to talk to Professor Llewellyn about various things -- their grades on the recent essay, their performance on the latest practicum -- but Llewellyn seemed to understand that Severus would prefer his question not to have an audience, and held off on answering him until last. The students who had preceded him filtered out, and Severus finally had the professor to himself.

At this point, Professor McGonagall strode up briskly, apologized to Severus, and took Professor Llewellyn out into the hallway for a discussion of some urgency, leaving Severus to once again rethink what he was actually going to say. Instead of coming up with something cohesive, however, he found himself looking at the photographs on the professor’s desk.

The first photo was readily comprehensible -- the professor and his wife in their wedding robes. Upon examining it, Severus realised that he had indeed seen this photograph on the desk upon previous occasions. In it, Professor Llewellyn was grinning madly, and Mrs. Llewellyn was looking at him in some combination of amusement and adoration that raised in Severus’s mind an image of the kind of life the professor must go home to -- something welcoming, something companionable, something like the life he had once pictured himself having with Lily. It left Severus suddenly feeling very young and unsettled, and very alone. He quickly moved to the other photograph.

This photograph, he was certain, he had not seen before. Like the other one, it was a wizarding photo, but it was one of two teenage boys. Davis Llewellyn, younger, somewhat spotty, and in Hogwarts robes, stood with a very serious expression on his face next to another young man a few inches shorter, equally serious, and also clad in Hogwarts attire. The other boy was as dark as Llewellyn was pale and looked as though he or his family had come from Africa, but beyond this superficial difference, the two friends had the same serious expression and intelligent eyes. The image quickly shifted as Llewellyn and his friend both broke into broad smiles, and it ended with the two of them each throwing the near arm around the other one’s shoulder and laughing in a display of comradeship and affection. Apparently they couldn’t remain serious for long. The sound of the door caught Severus’s attention, and he looked up in time to see Professor Llewellyn re-entering the room and walking briskly up to the front with apologies for his sudden departure.

“That’s Jonathan Abeto,� Professor Llewellyn said softly, answering Severus’s unspoken question. “He was my best friend at Hogwarts, by way of Nigeria. There are several good wizarding academies in Africa, but I’m afraid even after the colonial era there’s still quite a bit of cachet in sending your child off to Britain or France for secondary education, for those with the means to do so. Well, not anymore� he added. “Not with the war. But I graduated just as it was starting -- things were different then.�

“Is he the reason you became interested in African magic, sir?� Severus asked, looking at the picture as the two young men posed seriously and then laughed, over and over again.

“Yes -- yes, he was,� Llewellyn replied. “Well, that and the fact that I fancied his older sister when I was about thirteen. She was four years too old for me and already betrothed at home, but that didn’t stop me from attempting to chat her up.� He grinned at Severus, but then his face grew more serious and thoughtful. Severus didn’t dare ask the obvious question based on the professor’s choice of verb tense, but Llewellyn answered it for him anyway: “He died a few months ago. I doubt I’ll see his like again.�

“The war?� Severus asked.

“No, the war hasn’t reached Africa yet. More like some sort of curse. No one really knows what happened,� Llewellyn said. His eyes were a million miles away. He snapped back to attention and added, “And my wife just found that photograph and framed it for me; she was very fond of him also -- long before she could even put up with me. He was a brilliant wizard and scientist; I’m hoping to carry on his work some day. Anyway, that’s not why you’re here -- how are things in Slytherin?� Llewellyn asked, as if nothing had ever happened the last time they had conversed, as if Severus hadn’t turned down his assistance and backed out of his classroom as though Llewellyn were about to attack him.

Severus didn’t know what possessed him, but he suddenly found himself firing back, “How did your wife like it?� At the very least, it might remind Llewellyn of where Severus was coming from before he played judge and jury and turned him over to Dumbledore for the Devil’s Fire experiment.

“Slytherin?� Llewellyn asked. “As well as one might expect for a Muggleborn prefect. Does that answer your question?�

“It does. May I ask a few more?� He was nervous, he was twitchy, and he was starting to realise that he might sound a bit combative, but he had to do this.

“Fire away.� The professor stood, leaning against his desk, arms folded, an interested expression on his face.

“All right,� Severus replied with considerable hesitation. He took a deep breath, and plunged in. “Clearly you think I had something to do with the use of Devil's Fire. Shouldn’t this mean that I'm in trouble?�

“I know some things have changed since I graduated,� Llewellyn stated calmly, “but to my understanding, incidents that don't occur in or pertain to a particular class are still managed by your Head of House and the headmaster. So no, you're not in trouble. Any other questions?�

“Yes. Why do you think I have something to do with that incident in the first place?�

“Because there are wards on my books, of course, and I know you borrowed the Compendium. One doesn't just leave such texts lying around in this day and age. Next question?�

Of course there were wards on the books-- and the next question would have to be phrased very carefully.

“That particular incident was… characterized by Dark magic. And that was your book. If you think I did it, why am I not in trouble?�

“Because I believe your motive was to warn, not to harm. Obviously I may or may not be correct. If I'm wrong, it wouldn't be the first time.�

“Why, sir? Why do you believe that?� There were people who believed good of him, and when they did, knowing himself all too well, he struggled to understand it.

“Because of the circumstances. Because of your proximity to the suspects. Because I'm enough of a sentimentalist to believe that Miss Evans may not be the only one with regrets over a former friendship. Is that sufficient?�

“Lily?� Severus choked. He could feel an ugly mottled flush creeping up from his neck to his ears and face, and although he looked down, he could still feel Llewellyn’s eyes upon him. When he turned his glance back up, though, the professor's brisk, cheery manner had evaporated.

“I'm sure you recall the incident with Mr. Black a month or two ago,� Llewellyn said softly. “Miss Evans seemed quite upset, and naturally I assumed that this was because her idiot of a professor had taken points from Gryffindor when she had been targeted also.� He stopped and took a breath. “As it turned out, she didn't like being used as a weapon against an old friend.�

Of course. Of course Lily wouldn’t just go around confessing Severus’s sins to their various professors. Still, he had to ask.

“Did she...tell you what happened?�

“I don't need to know what happened. You're reputed to be one of a crowd that you never actually appear to spend time with. And you're no longer friends with Miss Evans although you apparently were before. And she’s Muggleborn, and they’re--� He waved his hand in the air dismissively and shook his head slightly. “I don't need to know the particulars. You did something -- you said something -- has it ever occurred to you to just tell her that you're sorry?�

“It has. It has also occurred to me that she's unlikely to believe me. She didn’t before.�

“Allow me to rephrase that,� Llewellyn went on. “Has it ever occurred to you to just tell her that you're sorry in a descriptive enough manner for a girl? You do realise that you have to embellish. And repeat.� His eyes were still serious, but they had developed something of a twinkle. Apparently Davis Llewellyn had learned a few things as a married man.

“I realise that now. A bit late, though. I'm working on the principle that actions speak louder than words.�

“In that case, if you're planning on continuing with these heroics until such a time, I'm sure it must have occurred to you that you risk getting caught.�

“I believe I already have been. Sir.�

“By your peers, I mean. I don't count,� he replied casually. “I rather approve of renegade Slytherins making life easier on Muggleborns. Remind me to tell you about my wife's friend Andromeda some day.�

“Narcissa's sister?�

"Narcissa actually owns her?" Llewellyn asked incredulously.

“Not really,� Severus admitted. Severus just happened to know probably more than was salutary about the Wizarding aristocracy.

“I thought not,� Llewellyn replied. He pushed away from the desk, took a few steps, and turned around to look at Severus. “Of course you know about the practice of Legilimency.�

“Not much.�

“Then that’s your next assignment. Specifically, you may want to consider finding out more about its counter-practice, Occlumency. If you plan on continuing to subvert your classmates’ efforts at attacking Muggleborn students in order to demonstrate your sincerity to Miss Evans, it would probably be useful to have your thoughts be somewhat more… impenetrable.� He didn’t say that Severus’s panic the last time they had met had been utterly bleeding obvious, but the subtext was there.

“Where would I learn that?� Severus queried. “Because I would be interested.�

“Professor Dumbledore is a highly accomplished Legilimens and Occlumens,� Llewellyn replied. “He would clearly be the most practiced source of this kind of training around Hogwarts. He does choose to teach a select few. I was one of them, and it’s been a very useful skill to have in my line of work. I could speak to him for you.�

“Couldn’t I just learn from you, then?� Severus asked. Dumbledore was considerably more intimidating than the Defence professor -- and Dumbledore was overly fond of James Potter, Sirius Black, and the like. Severus could not help but feel that whatever it would take to learn this skill at the hands of Albus Dumbledore could only put him at a disadvantage somehow.

Llewellyn looked thoughtful. “I could ask for permission,� he said. “But you do realise that Dumbledore would be a better instructor.�

Severus nodded. “I think I’d rather have you reading my mind.�

“It’s not as simple as that,� Llewellyn corrected him lightly. “But I can understand your hesitation. I still can’t get myself to call Professor Dumbledore by his first name.�

“What do you call him?�

“I don’t,� Llewellyn said with a smile and a shake of his head. “I just walk right up in front of him and address him. Anyway, assuming that I do get permission, when are you available?�

“When am I not available?� Severus asked wryly.

“Monday night, then,� Llewellyn said. “Seven o’clock, this classroom.�

“Seven o’clock Monday,� Severus repeated. “Thank you.�

“You’re welcome,� Professor Llewellyn concluded. “Oh, one last thing, for what it’s worth. Whoever used the Devil’s Fire to prevent what could have been quite a disaster was very clever, but as I’ve said before, I would have to advise him or her to be careful about using any further Dark magic for any purposes, however noble. The ends don’t always justify the means.�

“Duly noted,� Severus said. Despite the lightness of his tone, it actually was duly noted. So far Professor Llewellyn had yet to steer him wrong.

…………

In past years, Severus had gone to most of the Quidditch games just to put in an appearance with his crowd, and to cheer on Avery. This year, obviously, had been different. He thought briefly of going to the Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw game taking place on this particular winter Saturday, but then changed his mind and decided to study instead in the quiet -- and, more importantly, the warmth -- of the library. And so it was that, as he made his way through the crowd of students, bundled up for the freezing weather and pushing en masse into the Great Hall for dinner, he had no idea why he sensed an unusual degree of worry and fear along with the customary excitement.

“What happened?� he asked Geoff Oglethorpe, who chanced to be walking by.

“You didn’t see it?� Oglethorpe questioned.

“Studying,� Severus responded.

“Someone poisoned a couple of the Quidditch players -- put something in their flasks. I guess they each just took a drink after the game and then collapsed. They’re in the hospital wing.�

“Who’d they poison?� Severus asked, trying to sound casual but sufficiently concerned, which was harder than it sounded. He had a sick feeling that he already knew who at least one of them was.

“They’re both Muggleborns, of course,� Geoff replied grimly. “Carmichael from Ravenclaw. And Mulalley from Hufflepuff.�

Mulalley from Hufflepuff. Of course. They’d been after her for years -- the Muggleborn who had the nerve to be a better Quidditch player than any pureblood in the school -- and her intervention on his behalf could hardly have helped. “Was Slughorn there? Presumably they’ve tried bezoars?� Severus demanded.

“That’s the thing,� Geoff answered. “They have, but the bezoars don’t seem to be working. Whoever did this came up with one hell of a poison. Apparently Pomfrey said that if she couldn’t get their heart and breathing rates up, she’d have to send them to St. Mungo’s -- they may already be there, for all I know. Whatever it is, it’s really bad. Damn near killed them.�

Severus shook his head and walked off by himself into the dinner hall. What kind of a poison didn’t respond to a bezoar? And how could he find out what Avery and Mulciber had done? It had to be the usual suspects, after all -- no junior student could have come up with such a thing, and the seventh-year Slytherins in NEWT-level Potions were pre-Healer or otherwise scientific types with little interest in the war one way or another. The fact that the victims had both been Muggleborns essentially ruled out practically every other house in the search for the culprits, unfortunately.

The food made its way down the table to Severus, and he scooped out a large spoonful of shepherd’s pie and tried to make himself eat it, but he was too distracted to have much of an appetite. There was no question in his mind of who had poisoned Mulalley and Carmichael, or why. The question was how.

Several minutes later, he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see, to his surprise, Mary Macdonald, her face worried and serious. “May I talk to you?� she asked. He nodded while trying to swallow the rest of his bite of shepherd’s pie so that he could actually respond to her using the English language instead of nods and grunts. “Not here?� she continued.

“Fine,� he said, leaving his dinner but taking his textbook. He followed her to the hallway outside the Great Hall and into a secluded corner, aware of some curious stares following them.

“You didn’t do it, did you?� Mary demanded. She looked almost anguished at the idea.

“Poison them? Of course not. Why would I?�

“I don’t know. I just know that there are very few people at Hogwarts who are that good with Potions, and you’re one of them.�

Any number of sarcastic and dismissive answers came to mind, but before he could even speak, he realised that if Mary thought he was capable of doing such a thing, then Lily thought so also. He had to defuse this, and he had to do it quickly.

“I didn’t do it,� he affirmed tensely. “I don’t even know Carmichael, and after that game last year I owe Siobhan… whatever one owes someone who has spared one a great deal of pain and humiliation. Not this.�

“That’s why I was wondering. I didn’t want to say it, but--�

“What do you mean?�

“I mean, if you had to show your crowd--�

“They’re not ‘my crowd,’ � he snapped, cutting her off. “And I don’t have to show them anything.� He couldn’t seem to win here -- the fact that he was beholden to Siobhan seemed to make him that much more of a suspect.

“Understood,� Mary responded with surprising meekness. “You didn’t do it. I’m sorry I asked. It’s just that, well, you actually know which part of the poppy does what instead of just following Borage like a recipe book, Severus. How many people can do that? And I came up with the stupid idea that you might have something to prove to make your own life a bit less difficult. And I’m sorry.�

“I’m flattered, but you’ll have to look elsewhere for your assassin,� he replied bitterly. “I try to stay beneath their notice, not curry favour with them by committing attempted murder. A more sensible strategy would be to stop talking to you.�

“All right then: why do you talk to me?� she queried, chin up, arms crossed. The meekness and apology were gone suddenly, and both her voice and her posture held a challenge.

Blast. It was exactly the kind of thing a girl would ask, and he had set himself up for it. And there was no acceptable answer to that one, except for turning the question on its head -- which, now that he thought about it, might be another way of asking Mary something that he had been poised to spring on her for months. “Why do you talk to me?� he asked, continuing, “I’m surprised that Lily allows it.� The world seemed to slow to a halt while he waited for what she would tell him about where he stood with Lily all these months later.

“Nobody allows me to do anything,� Mary answered, bristling. “Lily's not my keeper.�

"I'm not interested in having an argument with you about free will," he replied, irritated. "I just wanted to ask why someone who won't speak to me doesn't mind if her best friend does."

Before Mary could answer, James Potter's familiar voice interrupted them. “Well, if it isn't everyone’s favourite Potions swotters,� he commented snidely, “bickering like an old married couple.�

“Bugger off,� Severus barked at him, at the same time that Mary snarled, “Go pee up a rope.�

“Just telling it like I see it,� James answered smoothly, passing through the doorway into the Great Hall.

Severus turned back to Mary. “Go pee up a rope?� he asked, all disagreement temporarily forgotten.

Mary looked thoughtful. “Probably from my mother,� she mused, “because my father would use a stronger verb. But yes, nice insult. Paints a wonderful mental picture.�

“It's certainly colourful. You didn't answer my question, though: I'd like to know what I'm doing wrong. Or what I'm doing right. We were friends for many years,� he concluded, by way of trying to subtly suggest that he had no other type of interest in Lily.

“You were an eejit and you lost your best friend, Severus,� Mary said wearily. “You don’t have to excuse yourself for missing her. I’m not going to tell on you, but even if I did, it’s not like she doesn’t already know.� For once, he had no good answer.

She looked as though she were thinking hard, and finally said, “She doesn't expect me to just sit there next to you and not say a word, and besides, she thinks you're only being decent to me to get her to talk to you. And she's probably right, but still, not that I particularly care -- better than talking to myself in Potions, right?�

She did particularly care, and like most Gryffindors, she was a very poor liar. In return, he gave a non-commital twitch and stated, “She would have been right at first.�

There was a long silence.

“So,� she said, a bit awkwardly. “Friends?� She extended her hand for a shake.

“Friends,� he concurred, and although he was -- unlike Mary -- a good liar, as he shook her hand the strange thought dawned on him that he actually sort of meant it.

They stood there for an uncomfortable few seconds until he said goodbye and started walking back into the Hall ahead of her, but suddenly he remembered. It was another, equally uncomfortable conversation between himself and Mary, months before, in Potions class, back when they had barely been talking to each other. The stem, not the stamen … much more potent part of the plant … draught of Death, not draught of Living Death…

Carmichael and Mulalley hadn’t been poisoned at all.

Chapter Twelve- Yet Another Thing to Hide



Severus lasted all of about five minutes back in the Great Hall, drumming his fingers on the table, trying to curtail his own nervous habits, and attempting to finish the suddenly tasteless shepherd’s pie. Bloody Avery and Mulciber -- they must have suspected him, because this time he had heard nothing of their plans. Unlike the quasi-bombing attempt in first-year Transfiguration, this situation did not allow time for rumination and planning. And, again unlike his previous effort, the fact that he needed to intervene in this situation was bleeding obvious. As before, he picked up his book and left the hall with his meal unfinished.

As he was stalking back out, he bumped into about the last person he wanted to meet given the circumstances: Sam Douglas. Unfortunately, they had already made eye contact before Severus could look away, and Severus realised that there was no escaping it: he’d have to say something, although what to say to someone whose long-time girlfriend was at death’s door as a result of foul play was completely beyond his ability to fathom. “I’m sorry� would be a logical place to start, but after his recent conversation with Mary, he knew it might be taken as an admission of guilt, and although he and Sam were about the same height, Sam was a much more imposing figure.

“How is Siobhan doing?� Severus finally asked, unable to think of anything else.

Sam shook his head. He looked stunned, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. “I don’t know,� he answered, punching one thick fist repeatedly into the palm of the other hand in a gesture of anxiety and anger that, mercifully, didn’t seem to be directed at his conversation partner. “I’m not allowed in there.�

“Is it that bad?� Severus asked. If it were, he would have to act quickly -- there would be no time for finesse.

“Bad enough that they’re going to St. Mungo’s. But actually, it’s not that -- they brought her family over by Floo from Belfast, and her parents won’t let me see her.�

Severus gave him a puzzled look. “Some sort of … question of blood status?� he finally asked as diplomatically as possible.

Sam responded with a grim smile. “Nothing as interesting as that -- my da’s a half-blood himself, so my family doesn’t mind. Just your typical Northern Ireland nonsense. She and I were never involved in all of this business with the War,� he said, shaking his head slowly. “I just thought we'd eventually just go back to Belfast and join the peace movement and get killed the old-fashioned way. And here she is poisoned for being a Muggleborn, and I’m not allowed in to see her. Of course, my lot is as bad. They think she’s a wee Papist bitch, and hers think I’m a Protestant Orange bastard. In any case, Pomfrey ordered me to stop moping around outside the door like a lost soul and get something to eat. So here I am.�

So that was where their accents came from -- and it probably explained their residence at Hogwarts over the holiday. Severus tried to think of some soothing platitude about the pointlessness of such divisions, something that would allow him to escape the conversation before he put his foot in his mouth, but he realised that any such comment would sound hollow coming from someone who had taken the “questions of blood status,� as he had put it, altogether too seriously until about six months before. “I’m sorry� finally seemed to have found an appropriate place in the conversation, so he said it.

“Ach--� Sam shrugged off the weak condolence. “I was as bad as the rest of them the first few years, and so was she. She was the only person in Hufflepuff I wouldn’t speak to, and she was no better. Buck eejits, the pair of us. But then she stood up for me once in Quidditch practice at the beginning of third year when our captain was being unfair-- always a great one for combating injustice, she is. I had to talk to her after that, didn’t I? And of course it turned out she was the most bloody amazing person I’d ever met. Well,� he finished, cutting himself off. “I suppose I’d better go have dinner before they Vanish it, if that’s what I’m supposed to be here for. Goodnight.�

“Goodnight,� Severus repeated, and hurried away, back to his own room, because he couldn’t think of where else to go.

…………

It was only a guess, but it was a good one, and someone obviously had to tell the professors. But only two people at Hogwarts had participated in the conversation that probably had given Avery and Mulciber their idea, and Mary clearly hadn’t the foggiest notion of what their little academic discussion over chopping poppies had wrought. This left Severus.

He could, he supposed, just go talk to someone on the faculty. But the only one whom he trusted to pass on the information without mentioning his name was Llewellyn, and this being the weekend, Llewellyn was almost certainly at home. There was Dumbledore -- but Severus wasn’t sure what to think of Dumbledore. The Headmaster was fairly obviously amused by the Marauders and their antics, based on his mild response to Sirius Black’s potentially lethal practical joke the year before and the fact that Remus Lupin was actually allowed to remain a student at the school. No, he couldn’t trust Dumbledore.

Slughorn? Definitely not. If Severus somehow actually managed to produce information that contributed to saving anyone’s life, Slughorn would undoubtedly have his photo up as part of his collection of luminaries by daybreak, and the entire school would know. And no one could know that he was, again, attempting to thwart the Voldemort Youth. Therefore, not Slughorn.

McGonagall, then. She respected Severus’s efforts in her class, seemingly, and despite being Head of House for Gryffindor, she took a very fair and even approach to all of her students. Even Slytherins.

Nonetheless, it seemed foolish to walk up to a faculty member and tell her his theory. He had no idea how good McGonagall would be at keeping a secret, but while realising the necessity of speaking to someone, he had started to draw the conclusion that it would be much better if the secret were not in fact his. At Hogwarts, no good deed went unpunished.

Mary had been in on the conversation also, of course. Severus thought briefly about drafting a note, ostensibly from Mary, explaining that she believed that the two Quidditch players had not, in fact, been poisoned, but rather had been given the Draught of Living Death with a tremendous excess of one particular ingredient. There were Charms that could change one’s handwriting.

There were also Charms that could reveal which person had handled a piece of parchment. And if McGonagall asked Mary about the note, Mary would certainly remember where she had learned about the respiratory effects of the poppy.

The idea that was coming to him was probably madness, and certainly risky, but time was of the essence if the two had already become ill enough to be moved to St. Mungo’s, and he couldn’t think of what else to do. Besides, it would be something of an adventure, and if it worked, his own anonymity would be preserved -- as would his ability to learn of these plots and protect Lily from them, or at least, impress her with his efforts. He had the necessary potion. He just had to figure out which unfortunate and obliging student to impersonate to rat out Mulciber and Avery.

Not Mary, obviously. To begin with, she was a girl, which posed all kinds of problems that he had never before encountered when experimenting with Polyjuice Potion: the feminine gait, the insecure verbal tics of the typical adolescent female, and of course, the all-important question of whether he was actually secure enough in his masculinity to wear a skirt for a good cause. Of course, he’d worn a skirt years before while experimenting with Polyjuice Potion with Lily, and he probably still had it around somewhere -- but he hadn’t seriously tried to make anyone believe he was Lily. Instead, he had tried to make Lily laugh with his overdone impression of her -- and had succeeded. It was as well that no one had seen them.

On the other hand, Mary had the advantage of being a Muggleborn, which meant that if she asked McGonagall never to mention her involvement to anyone, even herself, for purposes of her own safety, McGonagall would almost certainly take it seriously. A Muggleborn was already a de facto target; one who told tales on the proto Death Eaters would definitely be singled out. But aside from being a girl, Mary was too close to the truth: she had actually had that conversation with Severus. If McGonagall did indeed come back with questions, Mary would be able to answer them, and the answers would point right to him.

As he dug through the hidden compartment in his trunk for one of his final two flasks of Polyjuice Potion, he racked his brain for other Muggleborns who were in Advanced Potions. Well, Lily, of course: tempting, for so many reasons, but no. It had been fun when they were twelve or thirteen, but this was different. Siobhan was out, obviously. Who the hell else was a Muggleborn? He went through the list of classmates he could remember insulting in the past with his cadre of friends, but none of them seemed to be taking Advanced Potions this year and thus would not have been in the class. All he needed was a Muggleborn, ideally male, taking Advanced Potions, but he couldn’t think of a single one. Perhaps those who were clever enough to be in Advanced Potions were also clever enough to hide their blood status. The Gryffindor chutzpah seemed to produce Muggleborns who were loud and proud about it, but the Ravenclaws and even the Hufflepuffs were much more subdued. The Slytherins, of course, were silent on the grave on the topic: if there were any, he didn’t know about it. And there had to have been.

When he was about to give up and settle for imitating Mary, he suddenly remembered: there was a good reason Geoff Oglethorpe had been so terrified of pairing up with Severus for the Defence practicum. He was a Muggleborn, and he was in the Advanced Potions class also.

The clothes would be easy -- they had to be about the same size. Still, he’d have to imitate Geoff’s rather robotic walk, of course, and Geoff’s nervous habit of endlessly biting his nails. The more he thought about it, the more passing as Geoff to snitch on Avery and Mulciber was becoming something of a Mount Everest of espionage, something he was beginning to actually want to do just to prove to himself that he could. It wasn’t exactly fair to Oglethorpe -- if McGonagall let slip that he had given her this crucial information and the Voldemort Youth somehow found out, they’d probably subject him to a few nasty spells to make him mind his own business. But once again, the end justified the means, and in this case, the end was Severus’s anonymity being preserved, allowing him to intervene in future. It seemed worthwhile.

Fortunately, Oglethorpe was easy to find, as he practically lived in the library. And indeed, there he was, so absorbed in some thick tome that he utterly failed to notice as Severus entered the library, casually leafed through something in the reference section and, with his wand up his sleeve, surreptitiously Summoned one hair from Geoff’s head. Geoff put one hand up to the back of his head as he studied, but didn’t seem to think enough of it to turn around. Severus feigned interest in the reference text for another minute, and then quietly exited.

The boys’ lavatory would be too public a place to do this, and there was a good chance that his roommates were already returning to Slytherin, so their room was no longer safe. And so, for the first time since Lily had stopped talking to him -- for the first time in years, really -- he found himself making his way to the third floor, to an abandoned classroom that he and Lily had sometimes used for studying or even just chatting without the disapprobation of their friends weighing upon them. No Man’s Land, they had called it. It had been about seven months since Lily had cut him off, but they had stopped going there years before: they had each grown enough backbone to study openly together in the library or Great Hall, to hell with the teasing, and they had seemingly had fewer and fewer things to say to each other that required comfort and privacy and peace. He wondered whether he would even be able to find his way there, it had been so long.

At first it seemed as though either he couldn’t remember the way, or that the door had been moved or walled up, but after a few turns down some vaguely familiar hallways, he found it, looking the same as always: clean and spotless despite the distinct appearance of having not been used in years. House-elves, he supposed. After making sure he was alone, from under his robe and out of his pocket, he pulled his supplies: a stoppered flask of Polyjuice Potion, and the one hair from Geoff’s head, wrapped in a page from the Oxford Wizarding Dictionary so that he wouldn’t lose it. He’d have to figure out how to return that, since desecrating books was not something he did casually. But that could wait -- now for the Potion.

He’d done this only once before, with Lily, of course, back in second year, which had been both hilarious and educational: they had both decided that the Transformation experience was miserable enough that they wouldn’t undertake it lightly again, and that her impression of him was much better than his impression of her, largely because he could not, for the life of him, figure out how to walk and move and sit down like a girl. Severus-as-Lily had been, apparently, overly twitchy, and hilariously un-ladylike.

And yet, over and over again in the months since Lily had stopped speaking to him, the two flasks had beckoned to him. There were any number of reasons to use the Polyjuice Potion, and what would probably fit Slughorn’s description of “obsessive love� was chief among them. The only thing that had stopped him was the realisation that Lily, who was so bloody acute that she wouldn’t need Legilimency to read his mind, would probably eventually figure it out and end their friendship even if he did manage to regain it. That Severus’s passion for her was to remain unspoken was, and had always been, an unwritten rule. Using Polyjuice Potion to possess her form without her permission was a definite violation.

In this case, however, he was actually using it to save someone’s life without getting himself killed. Siobhan Mulalley had been uncommonly decent to him and didn’t deserve to die at sixteen for the mistake of having Muggles for parents, any more than Lily did. With that more altruistic thought in mind, he grimaced and threw back the Potion.

There it was again: the nausea, the sickening warmth, the bizarre and uncomfortable feeling of his body Transforming into someone else’s. When he had recovered, he reached up and felt his face -- smaller nose, short hair: Geoff Oglethorpe. He practiced Geoff’s walk for a minute or two, reminded himself to chew on his nails occasionally, opened the door, and stopped.

Geoff might still be loose around the castle.

Of course he wasn’t. Geoff was in the library. Geoff was always in the library. And so Severus snuck out of No Man’s Land and down the stairs to McGonagall’s office, taking care to go nowhere near the library, and suddenly so nervous that he felt almost ill.

……………

“Professor McGonagall?�

“Mr. Oglethorpe. What brings you here at this hour?� As her sharp eyes considered him, Severus began to wish that he had thought up a different plan. Now that it was actually time to talk to McGonagall, the idea of making it through this without getting caught was coming to seem more and more preposterous. McGonagall was about as acute as they came.

“Well, ah, Professor -- I need to talk to you about something, but I have to ask that you tell no one that you heard this from me. I mean, I’d have to have your word that you’d tell no one that you heard it from me, that is.� That sounded like Geoff -- a bit nervous and uncertain. It reminded him to chew on his thumbnail briefly while McGonagall considered him.

Her brow furrowed, and she looked at him in a puzzled manner. “I can guarantee that to some degree, but with limitations,� she responded. “If you are revealing a threat to someone’s life or limb, I do have to report it to the authorities. And of course the Headmaster must be informed of any serious matter.�

McGonagall was not going to comply with his plan readily. No surprise there.

“Would you have to reveal my name to the authorities if I have an idea about a threat to someone’s life that has already taken place?�

“Do you mean Mr. Carmichael and Miss Mulalley?�

He nodded. “I don’t have any real evidence, so to speak. I just have a guess.�

“Do you have an idea who did it, then?� She looked surprised.

“No,� he said slowly, his voice coming out a bit higher and with a London accent and sounding strange to his ears. “I just have an idea about what they might have done. Can you assure me that my name won’t be revealed to anyone?�

She looked concerned, but eventually stated, “I suppose that if it’s all a guess, there’s no reason that I should have to report the person with the hypothesis to the authorities. Go on.�

“Then -- I can’t go into too much detail, but I have reason to believe… I have reason to believe that there was a discussion about something that could go wrong with a potion that -- that might have been overheard by the wrong people,� he stammered in a manner that seemed sufficiently Geoff-like to pass muster.

“Under what circumstances?� the professor asked crisply, tenting her fingers in front of her on the desk.

“I remember overhearing a conversation between two classmates about a potion. I don’t remember who was talking, but I do remember thinking they were close enough to people who could potentially use it the wrong way and that they ought to be more careful.�

“And who in Advanced Potions would be likely to use such information the wrong way?� She leaned forward, looking both very serious and very interested.

“I’d prefer not to say,� he replied nervously. “I’m sure the professors can examine the rosters and draw their own conclusions.� He bit off a hangnail on his right index finger for effect and was shocked at how painful it was. Geoff, he mused, must be some sort of masochist to actually do such a thing on a regular basis.

Professor McGonagall, however, seemed satisfied with the answer. “And the potion involved?� she queried.

“The Draught of Living Death.�

At this McGonagall leaned back, looking supremely underwhelmed. “My dear Mr. Oglethorpe, they’ve already essentially ruled out the Draught of Living Death. The potion is designed such that to overdose on it, someone would have to drink enormous quantities, which would be very hard to do on accident. And since there were witnesses to both students’ poisoning, I can assure you that they each drank one or two swigs from their flasks after the game and then simply dropped to the ground. They certainly weren’t consuming the quantities it would take to have this kind of an effect. Since it’s no secret, I suppose it’s safe to tell you that the authorities and the Healers at St. Mungo’s believe that the two have been poisoned. The Potions specialists at the hospital are distilling what is left of in the flasks to determine what exactly has been used.�

“That could take days,� Severus snapped, and then remembered that he was, for now, Geoff Oglethorpe. McGonagall looked surprised, so before this particular moment out of character could grab her attention, he took a deep breath and quietly continued.

“They weren’t actually talking about overdosing on the Draught of Living Death, though,� he said in a respectful but worried manner. “They were talking about what would happen if the stamen of the poppy were steeped first instead of the stem. Apparently it’s a very potent respiratory depressant. And if I overheard this -- anyone else could have.�

McGonagall looked sharply at him, finally catching on. “Of course, of course,� she replied, half to herself and half to him. “That would make a great deal of sense. It would also explain why the antidotes are failing.�

“It’s just a guess,� he said.

“It’s worth a try. I’ll report it immediately, Geoffrey,� she answered, slipping into the informality of using his given name, even if it was his full given name that no one actually used except professors. “And thank you for coming forward with this.�

Which reminded him -- “Professor?� he asked. “You won’t mention to anyone that I told you this, will you? Even if it’s correct?�

“I don’t believe I need to, Mr. Oglethorpe. But I’m not sure I understand your concern.�

“It would be best of you didn’t even mention it to me again, actually. Things make their way around Hogwarts so quickly, and I’m enough of a target as it is, being Muggleborn. I try to stay as unremarkable as possible. The trouble I could get for doing this would hardly be worth the house points.� He was relieved that he had thought to slip that one in: the thought had occurred to him that Professor McGonagall might want to discuss this issue with Geoff in future, and that Geoff would, obviously, have no clue what she was talking about. It would probably seem odd to both parties, to say the least. And it might lead back to him somehow.

Her expression softened somewhat, and she nodded with a worried look. “Of course, Mr. Oglethorpe. I understand. I will not even mention it to you if that might compromise your safety. Well,� she went on, more briskly. “It seems as though you’ve given me something to do before bedtime. Please return straight to your dormitory -- it’s after curfew, and these are troubled times.�

“Yes, Professor,� he answered compliantly, and slipped quietly out of the office.

The Polyjuice Potion had been, overall, not that bad. The transformation itself had been horrible, of course, but his hour as Geoff Oglethorpe had been surprisingly effective. After transforming back to himself back in No Man’s Land, he returned to his dormitory and made use of a more prosaic potion -- Fink’s Extra Strength Spot-Vanishing Potion, purchased during his last visit to Hogsmeade and worth every knut. Pale and oily was one thing: pale and oily with a face covered in inflammatory pustules was quite another. There were more ways than one of getting the girl -- not that any of them had ever worked.

…………

“You’ve read up on this?�

“Yes.�

“You know what you’re getting yourself into?�

“Yes, I do.�

“And you still want to go through with it?�

“I don’t see any other way to learn Occlumency, Professor,� Severus replied. He was sitting in Davis Llewellyn’s classroom, which had a distinctly different aura in the evening than it did in the daytime -- almost mysterious. For a moment, he felt bad about taking Professor Llewellyn away from the wife who was undoubtedly waiting for him at home, but then he remembered -- she probably had to take call at St. Mungo’s now and again. The professor probably had the good sense to schedule after-hours tutoring around his wife’s call schedule.

“Very well, then,� Llewellyn replied. “Presumably in your studies you have encountered the various means of opposing Legilimency.�

Ever the good student, Severus began rattling them off: “Protection Charm, Shield Charm, Petrifying Hex, any physically painful hex that will cause the Legilimens to break concentration--�

“--Cruciatus Curse, Killing Curse, not that I’m suggesting you use those,� Professor Llewellyn cut in, jokingly. “Yes, the list goes on and on. The idea, of course, is that those brute force tactics are for amateurs. They are ways of opposing Legilimency, but they are not, technically, Occlumency in its purest sense. True Occlumency involves redirecting the intruder down pathways of your mind that you do not object to sharing, so subtly that he or she does not even realise it. To do so, it helps to have in mind a set of innocuous memories of various sorts, ones that you can pull out of your hat easily when needed, so to speak. But the only way to practice it… is practice, unfortunately. That being said, feel free to make use of some of the more benign variants on brute force if necessary, to begin. This training has a way of making one relive all of one’s most horrid memories.� He looked pensive for a moment, and then stood up suddenly.

“It’s also more than a bit one-sided,� he stated. “Have you ever practiced Legilimency on anyone before?�

“No sir. I haven’t,� Severus replied, still trying to digest the professor’s earlier comments.

“Well, you should. I’ll do my best not to Occlude you, although I must say, it becomes habit. You should know what the paths of the mind look like before trying to control them in yourself. I would even recommend practicing Legilimency on a friend to get a better feel for it, with the caveat that your friend will probably want to practice on you in return. You know the incantation?�

“Legilimens,� Severus said softly, without using the accompanying wand movement.

“Legilimens,� Llewellyn concurred. “Try it,� he ordered, his wand in his hand but lying loosely on the desk rather than at the ready.

“On you, sir?� Severus asked.

“Go ahead,� Llewellyn encouraged him.

Severus picked up his wand, pointed it at the professor, and chanted weakly, “Legilimens!�

Llewellyn was in his office, answering a question from some younger student Severus vaguely recognized… he was having some sort of polite disagreement with Slughorn in Slughorn’s office … he sat at a kitchen table reading the Prophet while Mrs. Llewellyn in her formal Healer robes came up to kiss him goodbye…

Suddenly the contact was broken and Llewellyn cheerily announced, “Probably more than you wanted to see there. But you get the idea -- disjointed fragments, and you should know that the person practicing Legilimency sees and feels somewhat less than the subject, of course, and naturally has little to no context.� He paused and waited for Severus, who was nodding in reply and attempting to collect his thoughts and then redirect them. There were some thoughts, recent ones, that he did not want the professor to see. McGonagall had been enough. He attempted to think about the day’s events -- his lessons, talking to Mary in Potions class, eating in the Great Hall, one of his roommates hexing the shower to turn the water cold while he was washing his hair-- no, that one wouldn’t do, for obvious reasons…

“Shall we begin?� Llewellyn asked, picking up his wand.

“No time like the present,� Severus answered grimly.

“Legilimens!� Llewellyn chanted, and Severus could feel the boring procession of thoughts he had recently drummed up -- Potions class, talking to Slughorn afterward, breakfast, the sudden shock of icy water pouring over his head--

The memories ceased, and he was back in the room with Llewellyn, who had lowered his wand and stopped the spell. “My roommates used to do that one,� he said jovially. “Something of a running joke. Ready to try again?�

“Ready,� Severus said, even though he really wasn’t. He decided to use thoughts about Lily, which were probably strong enough, even in the increasingly distant past, to block thoughts of this morning’s exercise in humiliation, the latest in a series that had marked this year as one in which both Gryffindors and Slytherins had it in for him.

“Legilimens!�

He was watching Lily from afar as she walked away with her friends, and then watching her from the bushes in the park as she swung on the swings with Petunia, and then chasing her as she ran away from the library in anger, and then leafing through the Oxford Wizarding Dictionary, and then before he could stop it, standing as Geoff Oglethorpe in McGonagall’s office making the suggestion about the Draught of Living Death--

“Protego!� He had somehow managed to stop the spell with brute force, as Llewellyn had suggested. He hadn’t known that it would send him crashing into Llewellyn’s own thoughts -- a long room with tall windows on both sides and many beds that looked like a Muggle hospital ward, Mrs. Llewellyn again in her Healer robes, busy and worried, and then a younger Gemma Llewellyn, this time in Hogwarts attire, serious and determined but with the adolescent softness still in her face, and apparently arguing with Davis about some point in a book that she kept emphasizing with her index finger until he suddenly leaned in and kissed her, and she pulled away, looking both shocked and pleased--

“Nice work, Mr. Oglethorpe. How did you do it?� Llewellyn asked, ignoring the accidental intrusion into his own memories of his incipient teenage romance.

“The Polyjuice Potion? Or figuring out about the attack?�

“The latter. Half the students in Advanced Potions have probably been messing with Polyjuice for years, if they're anything like we were.�

“Not anymore,� Severus replied. “Professor Slughorn has taken to locking up his stores. Security concerns.�

“More's the pity,� Llewellyn commented.

“Please don't tell anyone,� Severus almost pleaded. “I'll be drawn and quartered if I’m found out.�

“Tell anyone what?� Llewellyn asked.

“Thank you,� Severus said with considerable relief.

“You're welcome,� Llewellyn responded. “Important question, though -- does Professor McGonagall know to keep this to herself?�

“She could get Geoff into considerable trouble if she didn’t,� Severus answered. “He’s a Muggleborn.�

“Of course he is -- well chosen. But you never did tell me how you figured out about the attack.�

Severus thought for a moment. “I made the mistake months ago of answering a classmate’s question about what would happen if ingredients for the potion were used incorrectly, and anyone could have overheard and used that information for their own purposes,� he finally stated. “It was a guess -- it just happened to be correct.�

“So it did. I believe both students will be back at Hogwarts by the end of the week,� the professor informed him, and then went on, “But do let me say before I Obliviate myself, that you never fail to amaze me. Now we just have to get you to amaze the girl without getting yourself killed.�

“Oh, I amaze her,� Severus replied. “Just not the right way.�

Llewellyn grinned at him. “No point in continuing the Legilimency lessons at this moment,� he said. “I believe it will probably be too difficult for you to redirect yourself from that particular point now that we’ve started discussing it. How would Thursday at seven o’clock work?�

“I can be here,� Severus informed him. “I think that’s always a fairly safe bet.�

“Work on redirecting your thoughts in the meantime,� Llewellyn ordered. “Clear your mind each night before you go to bed -- I know it sounds foolish, but it actually helps. No bombshells next time.�

“I don’t think I have any more,� Severus admitted.

“Everyone has more than they think,� Llewellyn answered thoughtfully. “Your job is to keep me away from them. Good night.�

“Good night, Professor,� Severus said, exiting the room. On second thought, Llewellyn was right, as usual. He’d have to begin practicing immediately -- Thursday was only three days away, and he had plenty of thoughts that he didn’t want the professor to see.

Chapter Thirteen-- Half Empty

Valentine's Day, Lily concluded as she got out of her black clothes and into her nightdress, had been a dead loss. Or rather, Anti-Valentine's Day, since that was what she typically celebrated, refusing to be sucked into the sappy elevation of romantic love all around her.

To begin with, there was Potter. Already convinced on regular days that she was destined to be his, he was even worse on Valentine's Day. He was kind of attractive, and amusing, but annoying nonetheless. The roses, the Honeydukes chocolates, the expectation that any girl in her right mind would want to go out with him. So bloody entitled.

Then there was the fact that celebrating Anti-Valentine's Day was no fun solo, ironically enough. Even last year, when her friendship with Severus had grown rather tense, they had laid down their arms long enough to enjoy their usual festivities, which boiled down to playing pranks on each other and whomever else seemed sappy enough to deserve it. There were always a few new tricks up their respective sleeves each year, and certain old chestnuts that had taken on the burnish of tradition. The black roses -- more of a statement than a joke, really -- had always been his perennial standby.

She was definitely losing her resolve, because she had found herself slipping outside when her friends were otherwise occupied and discovering that this year, as every year, the blooms on one of the magically unseasonal rosebushes had been charmed black. She was half-pleased and half-annoyed that, presumably, he had possessed the nerve to do it and that, as always, he had beaten her to it. That was the first problem.

The second was the fact that Severus seemed to fancy Mary all of a sudden. Not that Lily wanted to go out with him -- she didn't even want to talk to him, for the most part. But on Valentine's Day, he had always been hers: the boy with whom she played jokes and made fun of the holiday, as it so richly deserved. Having a back-up was practically as good as having a boyfriend. Better, in many respects.

Instead, he had hung around the entire evening at the traditional Saint Valentine’s Day party with Sam and Siobhan and their random assortment of friends, with the exception of a moment when he came out of nowhere and slammed into Mary, his shoulder catching her right arm as he walked past her, sending her Butterbeer cascading down the front of her blouse. He had been very apologetic and had promptly Vanished it, behaving as appropriately sorry as Mary was appropriately forgiving. Mary rarely suffered fools lightly, but oddly, even with this obvious attempt to get her attention, she hadn't seemed to mind.

She really hadn't seemed to mind. In fact, she'd seemed rather dreamy and distracted for the rest of the evening. When, back in their dorm room, Lily had teased Mary about Severus fancying her, Mary had rather dreamily answered that no, he didn't, and no, she didn't fancy him back, and then had peacefully gone to sleep. She seemed altogether too sanguine for someone who had just been accused of fancying one of the most unpopular boys in the school.

But Lily knew she wasn't just imagining things. For the rest of the evening after the Butterbeer debacle, after all, Severus had always seemed to be looking over in their direction. All year he had avoided looking at Lily or making eye-contact with her, but that night, whenever she was with Mary, she noticed that he was watching them, his dark eyes flicking instantly in another direction when Lily noticed. She was almost sure of it.

She just wasn't sure why she was so jealous.

Part of it, she knew, was probably the showdown with Mulciber that had ended the evening. She had no idea how it had started, but somehow there they were, Severus and his roommate, wands drawn and trained on each other as other students backed away to get out of the line of fire. As Professors Slughorn and McGonagall quickly made their way through the crowd to break it up before it became anything serious, Severus had looked at Mulciber with icy hauteur and had said something that caused the other boy to lower his wand, abashed. And then Severus had turned and walked away, out of the crowd and off on his own, as if he dared Mulciber to hex him when his back was turned.

Lily wished she could believe that it was just Sev’s taking a stand against Mulciber that she was finding somewhat attractive, but unfortunately, Severus’s calm and imperious display of power was no small part of it. For once he seemed nothing like the hapless boy she had always been rescuing. She felt like she didn’t know him.

She also didn’t know his other new alter ego, the bumbling suitor, the fellow who was so desperate to get Mary’s attention that he had resorted to spilling Butterbeer on her to do it. She had no idea what on earth she would do if those two started going out. It seemed impossible, and yet, it had also seemed impossible that Severus would get along with Professor Llewellyn. If Sev could manage that, it was entirely possible that he could manage to charm Mary. Lily held Professor Llewellyn’s opinion in high regard -- he was both brilliant and goofily adorable, the kind of professor Lily would have fancied if she had been the type of silly witch who developed crushes on teachers. It bothered her that Llewellyn seemed to approve of her former friend while she did not, because it left her wondering who was correct, herself or their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. They couldn’t both be.

In short, Severus seemed to have figured out how, in one day, to push all her buttons. She just couldn’t help but wish that those particular buttons were a bit less predictable -- all he had to do, apparently, was turn into an alpha male and demonstrate an interest in her friend.

“You could ask him about the Butterbeer yourself,� Mary had replied with a yawn when Lily had teased her about him. “He doesn’t bite.�

“Really?� Lily had responded, more snappishly than entirely necessary. “I thought the whole school saw the two of you bickering in the hallway outside the Great Hall a few weeks ago.�

“James Potter qualifies as the whole school?� Mary asked wryly. With that she had gathered the covers up under her chin, rolled over to face the wall, and fallen asleep, leaving her roommate blushing and peevish in the darkness.

She wasn’t concerned about Sev and Mary potentially going out, Lily told herself -- she was just missing the better parts of the old friendship, flawed though it was. Mary had, to some degree anyway, replaced her already, and it was Anti-Valentine's Day, for heaven's sake-- that was their holiday, their running joke, something that they had been celebrating together since they were first-years. The black roses, the anti-love poems, the practical jokes on all the swoony couples -- he wasn't supposed to go off and actually fancy someone. Least of all her best friend.

Maybe it was revenge. Maybe he was just getting revenge, or trying to get Lily's attention. But that seemed like a dirty trick, not one the Severus she knew would play on either girl. He had never seemed interested in Mary before. Pleasant to her, even joking and friendly with her, but not like this. Surely it wouldn't turn around overnight, especially not for a holiday that he openly despised. He was hardly some romantic fool.

Then she realised: someone had given him a love potion. It was the only explanation. One of those bloody Slytherins he used to hang out with had given him something with Amortentia in it. It explained the interest in Mary, and it explained the altercation with Mulciber. Severus being Severus, the only thing it had done was make him gaze at Mary a bit much -- and that ridiculous stunt with the drink. A lesser mortal in possession of Severus's fund of knowledge would probably have been on one knee reciting from Shakespeare's sonnets.

It didn't explain Mary, but maybe she was just tired. Lily certainly was, having awakened at an obscenely early hour to study for Charms, since Professor Flitwick had been oblivious enough to set an exam for Valentine’s Day. Content with her hypothesis, she curled up under the covers and fell asleep.

……………………

Over a month into Occlumency training with Professor Llewellyn, Severus finally felt as though he were actually coming along at it. He could feel greater control over his thoughts, a sense that he had not previously possessed of steering himself onto safe pathways and avoiding the treacherous ones, or even just the random and capricious. The discipline had started to spill over into other occasions, other conversations -- he found himself controlling his mind during talks with professors or classmates who couldn’t possibly be practicing Legilimency upon him. It worked better when he was both well-rested and relaxed -- or as relaxed as was humanly possible for him.

Unfortunately, on this particular Thursday evening, he was both tired and tense. He hadn’t slept well since his run-in with Mulciber on Valentine’s Day; he had long since learned how to put up wards about himself when he slept, but while he had so far managed to protect his own personal safety, he had not succeeded in getting an uninterrupted night of rest. And there was little he could do about it. He was now a Mudblood-lover, a traitor, one who, not being with them, must therefore be against them. Limiting his conversations with Mary hadn’t helped, and instead had only apparently hurt and confused the one person who seemed to enjoy his company and who understood his moods and quirks. He had not realised what an excellent substitute for Lily she had become, and now he had essentially cut her off, apparently for nothing. It had been quite some time since he had felt this irritable and alone.

Tired though he was, he had managed to beat Llewellyn to the classroom and was therefore sitting there by himself, too weary and annoyed to pull out a book and make good use of his time. He didn’t want to go through the usual exhausting lesson this evening, but Llewellyn had already arranged to be there at a time when, presumably, he might have stayed home. Severus had long since mentally created an image of Professor Llewellyn’s house -- somewhat affluent, coming down with books, with plentiful leather furniture and elegant dark wood, and warm light from the oil lamps, so different from the dingy furnishings and stark illumination in his own home. Or what had been his home, anyway -- he had recently turned seventeen, and had neither reason nor compulsion to return. In any case, he imagined Llewellyn’s home as something of a man’s retreat, more like a den or office than a home, devoid of the female influence that Mrs. Llewellyn must surely provide. The reality was probably somewhat different.

“Sorry I’m late,� Llewellyn announced as he walked briskly into the room, scattering various apologies about a faculty meeting running over. Even to Severus’s cursory glance, the professor did not appear to be at his best. He seemed to be going through one of his paler and thinner phases, which always left Severus checking the cycles of the moon and finding nothing useful. Perhaps he was indeed a werewolf or were-hyena or whatever on earth he was researching -- perhaps he was testing his own prototype of a Wolfsbane Potion on himself. Perhaps. Whatever it was, it clearly wasn’t good for him.

“Ready?� Llewellyn asked, tossing his satchel aside and planting his lanky form in his customary chair, wand in hand.

“Ready,� Severus replied. None of the usual small-talk tonight, although Llewellyn didn’t seem angry or frustrated -- just tired. On the one hand, Severus was glad that the lesson would be over that much sooner -- Occlumency was always exhausting -- but on the other hand, he recognised in himself a certain disappointment. It seemed that he had come to expect and enjoy an introductory session of chatting about potions research, or Severus’s career plans, or the intricacies of Occlumency, or what Slytherin house was like these days.

“Legilimens!�

Severus had said that he was ready, but apparently he was not, and the memories that came rushing forth were undisciplined and random -- the Slytherin common room, waking up from a bad dream panting, with his heart racing, and then his bedroom at home, with his hands pressed against the cold wall and the frozen windowpane-- he couldn’t seem to get himself away from visions that were vaguely negative and disturbing--

--until suddenly he was back in the Defence classroom. “You’re not at your best,� Llewellyn stated quietly. It was not a criticism; his eyes were kind.

Severus shook his head. “No, I’m not.�

“Nor am I. I suppose it’s just as well, then, isn’t it? Right, then.� Always the optimist, Professor Llewellyn. The glass was half full. Clearly he hadn’t come from a world in which the good things were always on the other side of the window, out of his reach. Unfortunately, Severus was still turned inward, contemplating the half-empty glass, when Llewellyn chanted that bloody spell again-- “Legilimens!�

--back to his old room, again, and once again alone-- trudging back from the park on a day when Lily had thought she would be there but clearly had other things to do -- Christ, couldn’t he do better than this? Or at least, not stuck in the maudlin past of his depressing childhood. He slammed the professor’s inquiry out of Spinner’s End and back to Hogwarts, crudely, inelegantly -- to the beginning of the school year and the humiliation of that bloody coughing spell, and he knew what had to come next, even though everything in him was fighting madly against it--

Suddenly he felt as though he were being rushed down a long hallway and outdoors into the darkness, so dark that his eyes could not adjust to the light and he had to strain to see in a world lit only by the stars and the light of a full moon. This was no longer his memory -- the world in which he stood was one that he had never seen before, even in dreams. It was Davis Llewellyn’s memory, in which he and his friend from the photo were struggling with some sort of humanoid creature. The thing was scrawny and mangy looking, but its eyes were wild and it was fighting with the terror of a caged animal -- all three combatants seemed to be wounded, and there was blood everywhere. Without warning, the animal reared up with an unexpected burst of strength that made Severus step backward, and it ripped what looked like a weapon from Llewellyn’s hand, plunging it into the professor’s arm. Llewellyn cried out in pain and pulled the weapon out, and Severus recognised the glass and metal of a syringe shining in his professor’s hand. “I thought you said this was one of the sickly ones!� Llewellyn yelled to his friend. “But he is,� Jonathan Abeto panted, still trying to restrain the creature. The scene whirled violently away and off to the stone walls of Hogwarts, where Llewellyn was pacing in the faculty lounge and whirling around to turn on Slughorn -- and suddenly Severus was back in the classroom facing a thinner and slightly older version of the young man in the scene he had just witnessed.

“Research,� Llewellyn’s voice said softly and bitterly, but he was struggling to control his breath and looked even paler than before, and his eyes appeared… haunted. There was no other word for it.

“Of course,� Severus replied dully.

“Which is why it’s so important to learn what there is to learn about defence against the Dark Arts, even if only to become a potion-maker,� Llewellyn announced, more loudly this time, with a forced jolliness. “Not that any spells work on the bouda, or any other were-creature for that matter.� Severus nodded solemnly -- he knew that all too well. On that moonlit night the previous year, against Remus Lupin, his wand would have been useless.

“So, did you mean to produce a Petrification curse?� Llewellyn asked.

“No -- no, I didn’t. I’m sorry,� Severus answered. He hadn’t even realised that this was what he’d done.

“Don’t be,� the professor said. “I forgot to ask you whether you were ready and just took it for granted that you were. Besides, if you have to do something other than actual Occlumency, I’d have to say that’s a rather clever one -- it took me a few seconds to get control over my wand to fight back. Nicely done.�

“Thanks,� Severus said hollowly. There was an awkward pause, and then he asked, “So, sir -- should we go on?�

Llewellyn took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,� he said, all joviality gone and the haunted look back. “You shouldn’t have had to see that.� He paused while Severus struggled for an answer, an answer that Llewellyn obviously didn’t expect, as he went on, with the forced cheerfulness again. “Have you ever heard of a Pensieve? Fabulous invention, one that lets you store your thoughts for others to see -- or to keep them to yourself, as the case may be. Perhaps I should ask Professor Dumbledore if I can make use of it -- some of the work that goes along with studying Dark potions can be a bit harrowing. Now -- let’s work on some actual Occlumency, if we can after that. I’m afraid the old Petrificus Totalis charm won’t fool He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named for a second if you happen to run into him. Or any of his followers, for that matter. This might be a good time to come up with a fund of convincing but rather neutral thoughts to use on occasions like these.�

Severus allowed himself to be pulled along into Davis Llewellyn’s attempt at salvaging the lesson. And yet somehow he knew, beyond the fact that the scene he had witnessed had been, indeed, harrowing, there was something about it that he could not quite put his finger on -- something about it that was deeply wrong.

……………………

By the next Hogsmeade weekend, Severus had given up on ignoring Mary. It had been a short-lived experiment, and a failed one, although it left him wondering what he would have done if it had succeeded, for he had, as much as he hated to admit it, actually missed her. Not the deep longing that he felt for Lily -- nothing like that -- but the sense that there had been someone he could talk to who actually knew him, at least to some degree, and who liked him anyway. He had given up quickly, and although Mary had been a bit frosty at first, and had made a few pointed remarks about being on his good side again, she had quickly returned to her old self.

Her old self had been owed the forfeit of her choice from Honeydukes, and so Severus found himself on this Hogsmeade weekend making his way to the sweets shop to meet a girl who wasn’t Lily. It wasn’t anything like a date, but the mere fact of meeting any girl other than Lily was certainly a first. Usually girls avoided him like the plague, with the notable exception of Narcissa Black, who was both beautiful and popular enough to charitably bestow the occasional aliquot of attention upon him without tarnishing her image.

The door closed after him with a jingle, and he walked up to the counter, making sure to take a detour past the table where he could see Mary sitting with Lily and a couple of other girls from their coterie. She was facing away from the door through which he had entered, so he strolled to the other end of the counter, pretending to examine the displayed treats when he actually knew exactly what he was getting, and strolled back just as casually, this time catching her eye and giving her a significant look. It was one thing to fraternize with her at Hogwarts, and another thing altogether to publicly buy chocolates for her at Honeydukes.

Not entirely to his surprise, though, Mary hopped up from her seat, clad in the unabashedly Muggle gear of jeans and an argyle pullover that could have belonged to a boyfriend or older brother, and announced, “Right then, Severus, you owe me. Ready to pay up?�

“To the victor go the spoils,� he answered coolly, and accompanied her up to the counter followed by what he was sure must have been the shocked gazes of her companions. Bloody Gryffindor nerve -- of course she didn’t care whether she was seen with him. He probably cared more about not being seen with her.

As quickly as possible, he purchased the truffles she chose and gave the paper bag to her with a manly handshake to declare to the world in general and Lily in particular that this exchange of chocolate had nothing to do with the fact that he was a boy and she was a girl. Having done so, he turned to walk out the door.

“Severus?� Mary called after him.

“Yes?� he replied, turning back around to her.

She hesitated for a moment and then said, “Never mind. See you in class.�

“Likewise,� he responded formally, and then walked out of the shop by himself. She had been about to invite him to join them at their table, and had then thought the better of it. Her second impulse had indeed been the wiser one. But Lily had sat there, her cheeks flushed from the late-winter cold, her hair tussled by the wind, self-consciously chatting with her friends and painting a picture of herself as one too occupied and too popular to even notice that he was there. After all these months, and with him standing there making small talk with her closest friend. Much and all as he loved her, sometimes he hated Lily for being so unyielding, and this was one of those moments.

……………………

“There’s your boyfriend, Mary,� a female voice murmured as Severus walked past a group of Gryffindor girls. He ignored them, strode up to his usual seat in the Defence classroom, and sat down. He’d been called Lily’s Death Eater boyfriend for years and had long since learned to ignore the taunts.

Professor Llewellyn, who was usually standing or pacing or chatting with someone with the nervous energy that was so characteristic of him, was instead sitting on his desk, coughing into a handkerchief. A linen handkerchief, with his initials monogrammed onto the corner -- like the worn leather satchel or the tweedy suits, a rather classy throwback to an earlier generation.

“Today,� Professor Llewellyn began. His voice was very soft, almost hoarse. The class kept talking.

“Today,� he said, more loudly this time. The first few rows quieted down, but the rows farther away form his desk didn’t even seem to notice that he was trying to get their attention. Severus was sorely tempted to turn around and tell them to shut up, but resisted the urge. He was enough of a teacher’s pet as it was.

“Silencio,� Llewellyn chanted, and a curtain of silence fell over the astonished classroom. Everyone turned around and looked forward. “Thanks,� the professor went on, seeming genuinely grateful, as if he hadn’t cast a spell over them -- as if they had behaved politely of their own free will. “I’ll be needing your cooperation today, as I’m a bit under the weather. We’ll be discussing the next chapter -- a particular favorite topic of mine, werewolves.� The cough started up again, and Llewellyn muffled it with his sleeve. “If I can stop coughing long enough, that is,� he said lightly, and then waved his wand over the class to lift the silencing spell. A soft murmur went around the room, but the professor remained audible over it.

The lesson was, as expected, fascinating, within certain limitations. Llewellyn discussed the difference between a werewolf and an Animagus, skimmed over the recognition of a werewolf, clearly in deference to Remus Lupin, and spent much of his time talking about the similarities and differences between the were-creature populations in England and Africa, which inevitably led to a discussion of how this particular underground group was being made use of by the Dark Lord.

“Let’s talk about the next lesson, as it will be a bit different from the usual,� Llewellyn announced. “We’ll be working on dueling -- blocking unfriendly spells. I’ve given it considerable thought, and since the Killing Curse is irreversible, the best one can do about it is to avoid being the target in the first place. Obviously that will involve some discretion in choosing the company you keep--� He was interrupted by his own coughing spell, but mastered it and moved on, shaking his head in irritation. “The company you keep,� he repeated. “But since we don’t always have the luxury of choosing with whom we associate, we will be practicing the blocking of unfriendly spells, with the assistance of Professor Flitwick, who was a dueling champion in his time and remains the best on this talented faculty. I have here--� he said as he handed out rolls of parchment to the people at the edge of each row-- “some relevant points from Everhardt’s Practical Skills for the Duelist, with the permission of the author of course, but the original is on reserve in the library, and you’re all invited to read it in its entirety.�

“Sir?� It was Potter.

“Yes, James?�

“I think I can safely speak for all of us when I say thanks, for teaching us practical defence. Much more useful than just reading from the textbook these days.�

Kissing the professor’s arse, as usual. Typical. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough for the professor to like Severus; for Severus to be truly content and feel as though he had won, Llewellyn had to dislike the Marauders as well. He dearly wished that this were the case, but their teacher’s response to the three Gryffindors in his class ranged from liking to tolerance, the latter bestowed upon Black, who was one of the class clowns and an all-purpose smart alec. Still, so many of the professors at Hogwarts lit candles at the altar of James Potter that it was good to outshine him at something for once, instead of coming in a close second-- or an equal in skill, but one lacking the good looks and charm and, therefore, the professorial seal of approval.

“Well, when you have seven different teachers for a course, you have a lot of different examples of what and what not to do,� Llewellyn demurred. He could barely finish the sentence for coughing, while the students sat, some amused, some uncomfortable, waiting for him to finish.

When he finally mastered the hacking that shook his thin frame, Llewellyn seemed winded. “Sorry, sorry,� he murmured apologetically. “Maybe I need to go ask Madame Pomfrey for some Pepper-Up Potion after class.� His tone was humorous, but he sounded a bit worried.

“Moving on,� he said, getting up and walking over to the blackboard and starting to cough again on the way. “Or not moving on,� he continued, stopping where he stood. “Since I can’t seem to walk anywhere today.� He was coughing hard now, and seemed unable to stop -- a harsh, dry cough that resounded through the room.

Severus found himself turning around, trying to figure out where the curse was coming from. Mulciber and Avery were both laughing softly, but neither appeared to be particularly focused, and neither held a wand. The other students looked appropriately worried. Still, there was a good chance that it was a curse, one like that which the Marauders had used on him at the beginning of the school year. Perhaps his roommates had come up with something that didn’t require concentration and eye contact to maintain. It didn’t seem like something that even Black or Potter would do -- not to a teacher.

Pulling out his own wand, Severus surreptitiously pointed it at the professor from under his desk. “Finite incantem, � he thought, directing the nonverbal spell toward Llewellyn. The professor kept coughing, doubled over now and clutching his chest, so Severus murmured the spell aloud under his breath this time: “Finite incantem. �

Again it did no good. The professor staggered over to his desk to brace himself on it with an outstretched arm, but kept coughing. Throwing caution to the wind, Severus stood up and pointed his wand and chanted, “Finite incantem! � In response, Llewellyn choked out “Sorry� in a hoarse whisper and crumpled to the ground, and the classroom burst into an uproar.

Severus was one of the few that ran up to the front to aid their teacher. “Remus, get McGonagall,� Lily’s familiar voice ordered, sounding worried but authoritative. “She’ll be teaching just down the hallway.� She was right next to him, so Severus forced himself to keep breathing and not to look at her as Remus Lupin quickly stood up and ran out of the room. Lily seemed to be in charge of the situation, as she next passed her hand in front of the professor’s face and turned his arm over as if she were reading his palm, pressing two fingers to the inside of his wrist to check his pulse. Finally, she took Professor Llewellyn by the shoulders and shook him gently, asking him if he could hear her, asking him to wake up. In response, Llewellyn moved slightly and gave a shuddering breath.

Lily was actually brushing against Severus now -- she was shoulder to shoulder with him and didn’t even seem to notice or mind, but the next person she gave orders to was James Potter, the nosy git, who had also run up to the front, pretending to be important. “James, get him some water,� she demanded, and James leaped up and took off with some murmured assent, leaving Lily looking surprised -- clearly she had intended for him to Charm up a glass and use the Aguamenti spell, but James appeared to lack a cool head in a crisis. This left Severus, Lily and the female prefect from Ravenclaw attending to Llewellyn as he started to wake up, with Lily doing all the work and Severus and the unfortunately-named Pandora looking awkward and useless by comparison, but the moment ended quickly. McGonagall hurried into the room accompanied by Lupin and followed in short order by Madame Pomfrey, and the students scattered as the adults took over. Standing briefly next to Lily, Severus was surprised at how much taller than her he had become -- a good half a head -- and then mentally chastised himself for noticing such foolish details when one of the few people who had actually been a friend to him was obviously seriously ill.

McGonagall dismissed the class to the library to study, and the students vacated the classroom as quickly as her tone required. Most of the students, in any case -- Lily stood talking to Lupin, Black and Potter, as well as a few other assorted classmates outside the door of the room, a sight Severus tried to ignore as he exited.

“What’d you do to him, Snape?� Black’s voice called. He sounded angry.

“What did I do to him?� Severus asked, astonished.

“Whatever it was, you weren’t trying very hard to reverse it,� Potter snarled. “I would have thought the golden boy of Defence Against the Dark Arts could have done better than that.�

Before Severus could come back with any one of the retorts that had sprung to mind, Lily did the job for him. “He's not cursed, he's ill,� she snapped. “If either of you had bothered to check, you would have found that he was absolutely burning up, and his pulse was racing. Unless someone has invented a curse that gives you a fever and a hideous cough, I'm going to guess this is something like pneumonia. Good day.� She turned around briskly and walked off before having to address Severus, and he realised that this had nothing to do with him and everything to do with truth and justice, two of the major pillars of Lily’s modus operandi.

Potter looked around defensively at the silent group, and then turned on Severus, demanding, “Well, you'd be the one to come up with Pneumonius, wouldn't you?�

“If I did, I'd test it out on you,� Severus retorted with all the calm superiority he could muster. “I actually like Llewellyn.� Calm superiority had become a favorite tactic in recent months. He slung his pack over his shoulder and walked out without any further formalities.

……………………

After the following class, which had contained a bit too much gossip and chatty concern for any real lesson to be taught, Severus spent a few minutes after class asking questions of the professor to make up for his distraction during the actual lecture, and then made his way to the Great Hall for lunch. To his surprise, Mary was sitting on a bench in the hallway near the doors, and she rose when he walked up, as if she had been expecting him.

“Would you like to eat lunch with me?� she asked.

“And would you like to explain the sudden interest in my company at a meal?� he asked in return. “I’m hardly welcome at the Gryffindor table.�

She sighed deeply and then responded with disgust, “Everyone thinks you cursed Professor Llewellyn.� He suddenly saw things that had escaped his notice before -- her tense posture, the wand poorly hidden up her sleeve. She had been ready to protect him. He was too annoyed to consider whether he found it touching or comical, but it was certainly one or the other. For now, he was just irritated.

“Why would they think that? Whose stupid bloody idea--?� he asked angrily, and then answered his own question with, “Never mind -- of course. Why would I expect anything else?�

“I can go get you something to eat,� Mary offered, seeming both upset and uncomfortable. “Until Dumbledore makes some sort of announcement about what really happened and gets you off the hook. I’m sure it will be fine by tonight.�

“Bugger them,� Severus snarled. “Let’s go visit him in the infirmary.�

“Professor Llewellyn? In the hospital wing?�

“Yes. Why not?�

“Well, is he even there? What if he’s at St. Mungo’s? What if Madam Pomfrey doesn’t allow students to visit sick professors?�

“Bugger her, then,� he answered. “It certainly doesn’t hurt to try. What happened to the famous Gryffindor courage?�

“I just don’t know whether it’s appropriate.�

“You’re afraid,� he teased her.

“I am not,� she snapped. “I’m just…trying to figure out the appropriate thing to do.�

“Since when did you give a damn about what’s appropriate?�

“Too true,� she confessed. “But what if he doesn’t want us to see him when he’s sick?�

Severus couldn’t give the honest answer -- that he had seen him at seventeen, surprising the girl who would become his wife with a first kiss in the middle of some kind of argument. That he had seen him at home in his pajamas, frantically hunting for his academic robes. That he had seen him trying, with limited success, to pin down some sort of beast that was putting up a ferocious and very bloody struggle for freedom, that he’d seen him stabbed by a syringe full of some were-creature’s blood. Research, he had called it. But the tone of voice had been one that Severus had never heard Davis Llewellyn use before.

“I don’t think he’d mind,� was all Severus managed to say. Anything else was not his to share.

“If you insist,� she replied wearily, and then waved her wand in the general direction of Gryffindor Tower and chanted, “Accio truffles!� She then turned to Severus and, with her arm outstretched awaiting, presumably, the truffles he had given her, announced to him, “Rather than dragging my lazy arse up all those stairs, you understand.�

“Donating chocolates to a higher cause?� he asked.

“And trying to maintain my girlish figure without exercise,� she answered lightly.

They waited long enough for a somewhat rumpled paper bag from Honeydukes to come flying down the hallway and land with a thud in Mary’s outstretched hand, and then left the Great Hall and midday nutrition behind them. “Give me one of those truffles,� Severus commanded. “I mean, please. I was ready for that -- whatever it was they were serving for lunch.�

“Toad in the hole,� Mary reported, handing him a truffle and popping one into her own mouth for good measure before folding the bag shut again.

“Toad in the hole,� he repeated after her. “Maybe I wasn’t ready for that.�

She snickered, and they walked on, passing the faculty lounge. As they walked quietly past it, Mary reached out and put her hand in front of Severus, bringing him to a silent halt. He quickly realised why -- there were professors within, and with the door cracked slightly open, she must have overheard a conversation about the very subject that interested them.

McGonagall spoke first, her usual clipped tones reduced to a worried-sounding murmur. She was soon followed by Slughorn. “Well, he has the very person to figure it out right there at home with him!� the Potions professor boomed confidently. “One of the top students in her year, Gemma, one of the top students. She'll be running St. Mungo's before you know it. And one of mine, too! A credit to Slytherin House.�

“Was Gemma in the Slug Club, Horace?� McGonagall asked archly.

“No, no....� Slughorn replied thoughtfully. “She was one that got away.�

Mary cast Severus a knowing look -- neither one of them had been invited to join the Slug Club, and it had once been among their many topics of conversation during Potions class -- and then she yanked his arm, and the two of them continued walking quickly and quietly before McGonagall’s sharp ears could catch the sound of their footsteps.

Chapter 14-- Damsel in Distress


Someone was rapping at the portrait hole. At first Lily had thought it was the old building settling, and then that it was someone tapping their toes nervously while studying, but it picked up in volume and intensity, and she had realized it was the sound of a person knocking. She sighed, pushed back her chair and strolled over to answer since no one else made a move to do so, and wondered why this particular bunch of first-years was so gormless. They were always forgetting the password. Everyone else was ignoring it, but she was a prefect, and therefore keeping some clueless eleven-year-old from standing miserably in the hallway was her job.

She swung open the door and saw, to her surprise, the handsome, dissatisfied face of one Regulus Black. He ducked in and pushed past her without so much as a thank-you. “You’re welcome,� she said coldly, but even that didn’t goad him into politeness. Annoyed, she closed the door and returned to her chair.

Reg Black was not unknown as a visitor to the Gryffindor common room, but his visits were certainly infrequent and usually served a purpose. This one seemed to be no different, as he headed directly for his brother, who was sitting at a table with the rest of the Marauders, ostensibly doing homework. “My beloved younger brother!� Sirius announced loudly, seemingly in a good mood. Regulus didn’t return the greeting, but gave Sirius a sardonic look as he pulled up another chair and sat down. Lily had never understood the relationship between these two -- sometimes they seemed to hate each other; sometimes they seemed to get along. At least Petunia was predictably awful. And now Lily couldn’t study. Rudeness always did that to her -- in this case, she was torn between going off on a tear at Regulus for his obnoxious manner, or just doing the polite thing and ignoring it, and either way, she was utterly distracted and annoyed.

Regulus, however, seemed totally nonplussed, and was leaning in to talk to Sirius about something. “So,� he asked quietly, but not quietly enough, “it’s you lot who are behind stopping these attacks on the Mudbloods, right?�

“Muggleborns,� James corrected, quickly and angrily, and for once Lily felt a wave of liking for him, borne of the speed and vehemence of his answer. He was a pure-blood himself -- his response had nothing to do with self-interest.

“Who cares,� Regulus answered, brushing James aside and returning to addressing his brother, who was now glowering at him. Sirius gave no reply, so Regulus repeated himself: “I asked, is it you lot who are stopping these attacks on--� This time he just waved his hand expansively in the direction of Lily and Mary and finished, “you know.� It was a concession, but Lily was still getting angrier and angrier as she eavesdropped on him.

“Do you think I’d tell you if it were?� Sirius replied. His expression was now grim, his arms crossed.

“Well, play innocent if you want, but I don’t see who else it could be,� Regulus answered casually. “You lot have a vested interest, and James’s cloak. It’s all too bleeding obvious.�

James’s cloak?

“Why do you want to know?� James asked, still angry. Remus and Peter just looked curious.

“I don’t,� Reg answered. “Well, I do, but I’m actually here with a warning.�

“Tell your Death Eater friends that we don’t need their warnings,� Sirius answered.

“The warning is from me,� Regulus continued, obviously getting bored with the verbal parrying. “The bunch who have been orchestrating these things are setting a trap for you. Tomorrow. Don’t let on I told you.�

“Why do they think it’s us?� Remus asked, interested.

Regulus sighed. “They don’t think it’s you; they think it’s Snape. I think it’s you: they don’t know about James’s cloak, so they would never have any idea how you’d get away with this kind of thing without being seen.�

“And you’re not telling them about James’s cloak, right?� Sirius asked. Lily, meanwhile, had snapped to attention, and was trying to look casual again so that Regulus wouldn’t notice that she was now not just listening, but interested. Mary, sitting next to her on the sofa and no longer absorbed in her book, gave Lily a meaningful look as the two of them strained to hear.

Regulus didn’t even dignify Sirius with a response, but was then distracted by James, who exploded, “Snape? I don’t think he’s has done a single good deed in his life. How does Snivelly wind up getting credit for being the mysterious hero?�

“Perhaps because he works with the Mudblood there in Potions. Maybe he fancies her,� Regulus answered, as Sirius and James responded in unison, “Muggle-born!� Regulus smirked in reply.

Regulus ignored the correction. “Snape is clever enough to do any number of things, including brewing up some Polyjuice Potion. He’s been known to have it around in the past. So he has the means, but I for one don’t believe he has the motive. Deny it all you want, but I know it’s you lot.�

James wasn't ready to let go of the topic. “Isn’t Snape supposed to be one of their masterminds?� he asked, continuing, “They must be even thicker than I thought.�

Regulus brushed him aside, clearly bored, shaking his head and responding, “Not recently -- keeps to himself this year. What’s Potter’s obsession with Snape?� he asked, turning to Sirius and talking about James as if he weren’t even there. “Is there a girl? Or does he fancy the big-nosed git himself?� James swatted Regulus on the back of the head, and Regulus turned back to him with a knowing look. “There’s a girl, isn’t there?� he asked, smiling sinisterly. “Well, all I can say is, if you can’t win her from Snape, you’ve got problems, mate. Seems like even just taking a shower more than twice a week would give you a head-start on him.� By now James was glowering and looking to Sirius for assistance, but Sirius was too busy laughing -- this had turned into one of those times when the Brothers Black actually got along.

“I’d better be going,� Regulus drawled, standing up and pushing in his chair. “Time to go ask my housemate who his lady-friend is. Or not.�

After Regulus left, Peter and Remus, who had been mostly silent but intently listening during the conversation, turned on James and Sirius. “You’re not keeping anything from us, are you?�

“You think we’d have done all that and not told you?� Sirius asked.

“You have the cloak,� Peter said, directing the comment at James.

“I do, but I haven’t used it for that. I’ve had no more idea than the next person when these things were going to happen. I’ve always thought it was Sam.�

“Douglas?� Peter asked, sounding skeptical.

“He’s smart enough, he’s dating a Muggleborn, and he has some relative or other in Slytherin.�

“It could be him, then,� Peter agreed.

“I can’t see who else it would be,� James replied. “I can’t imagine anyone in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff who could pull it off.�

“It’s definitely not Snivellus,� Sirius added, and the group seemed to concur on that point, and left the topic alone.

“It’s not them,� Lily said quietly, barely above a whisper. “They would have started bragging by now if it were.�

“No, it couldn’t be them,� Mary replied, her voice soft but certain.

Lily stood up suddenly with what she thought was a fairly convincing yawn and stretch. “I’m exhausted,� she announced. “See you all in the morning.�

“Hitting the hay early, Sleeping Beauty?� James asked.

“As always when we have exams,� Lily replied casually. “Good night.� And scooping her books and parchments up into her arms, she disappeared up the stairs, reflecting that it wasn’t his actual flirting that bothered her, but the fact that he became royally pissed off whenever anyone else had the nerve to try it. He was as possessive as Sev in his own way. There really had to be some better option out there.

Fifteen minutes later, she was in her pyjamas, reading in bed by the light of the oil lamp, and starting to wonder whether Mary would catch on and follow her after all, when the door to their room opened and Mary’s voice asked, “Are you decent?�

“Long since,� Lily replied. “I thought you weren’t coming.�

“Well, I couldn’t exactly follow you up here. They’d think we were up to something,� Mary answered, closing the door and pulling her pyjamas out from under her pillow. “Which we are. Do you think it’s Severus?�

“It could be,� Lily said thoughtfully. “It’s obviously not the Marauders. And not Sam. He likes to lie low -- I just don’t see him doing anything to try to stop them in general. I mean, he just keeps an eye on Siobhan, and that’s about it. And James is right -- I can’t think of anyone in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw who could pull it off even if they wanted to. But Severus… I mean, I suppose, but then, it would be madness. He lives with them. They could make his life hell, and avoiding trouble with that lot was always one of his primary goals in life… It couldn’t be him,� she said decisively. Then, turning to Mary, she asked, “Could it?�

“Of course not,� Mary said sarcastically. “He lives with them, he probably hears about everything they’re doing, he doesn’t seem to like them very much anymore, and he wants you back. Couldn’t possibly be him.� She shook Lily by the shoulders. “Are you daft? Of course it is. Sam Douglas my arse.� And with that, she stuck her feet into her slippers.

“Where are you going?� Lily asked, alarmed. She hadn’t counted on Mary wanting to intervene.

“To warn him, of course. I’ll pretend I need Potions notes or something like that, but I have to warn him.�

“Don’t,� Lily heard herself saying.

“Why not? Do you want them to just catch him?�

“No, but I want to catch him… I want to be sure it’s him.�

Mary shook her head and replied, “You really are daft.� She pulled her dressing gown on over her pyjamas and started walking toward the door.

“No,� Lily said thoughtfully, and Mary stopped and turned around to listen. “No, I do have a reason. We were best friends for seven years, and I put up with all his bigoted nonsense the entire time, and then I snapped. I need to know. If he’s changed enough that he’s going around doing things to stop attacks on Muggleborns, then he’s changed enough that I can eat crow and say I’m sorry. But if he’s the same old Severus…�

“He’s decent to me,� Mary countered.

“You know my theory on that,� Lily replied.

“And I don’t believe it,� Mary snapped. “I think I’d know if he were just putting up with me to try to impress you. James Potter, for example, just puts up with me to try to impress you. Severus does not.�

Her theory, Lily suddenly realised, was both self-centred and arrogant. And yet, even if Severus really were friends with Mary, it wasn’t good enough, and Mary needed to know why.

“So then, what if he does think of you as a friend even though you’re a Muggleborn? What if you’re the exception, just like I was? That’s not good enough. If he only sets aside his prejudices for the occasional person who’s pretty enough and clever enough for his liking, then he’s no different than he ever was. I was the exception, Mary, and for all I know, now you are. Don’t warn him. I’m going to try to keep an eye on him tomorrow. Please.�

“What if it’s already over by then?� Mary asked, arms crossed, expression serious.

“Well, if he mysteriously disappears to the hospital wing, we’ll have a fairly good idea that it’s him, won’t we?� Lily answered archly.

“And you’re willing to risk that?� Mary looked more worried than Lily had expected.

“Yes,� Lily said decisively. “Yes, I am. I’m not going to start talking to him again only to find out that he’s the same old bigoted toerag he’s always been. I need to know. Are you with me?�

“I’m always with you,� Mary said wearily, sitting down on her own bed. “Except when I’m with Severus. And you’re both a pair of eejits who keep trying to get me into trouble. No wonder you used to be friends.�

---

Really, it should have been easier than this. Whoever had prevented the first attack that she knew of, the one in Transfiguration class, had done their work before the school day even started, so she had awakened at an ungodly hour and waited around the corner from the entrance to Slytherin, until Sev, true to form, had emerged, early and alone. And then she had followed him. It wasn’t hard -- it shouldn’t have been hard, anyway. Breakfast had yet to start, most people were still waking and dressing, and it was not like she had to follow him in a crowd. There were enough pillars and statues to hide behind. But then he had gone into a room in an upper corridor and had closed the door after him, and he had not emerged. Ten minutes later, when she had finally gone in, he was nowhere to be found. And now breakfast was being served, the castle was crowded, and she was dashing to the Great Hall to find Mary.

“I’ve lost him,� she hissed, sitting down in an unoccupied spot on the bench next to Mary.

“You lost him? How did you lose him? Does he have an invisibility cloak?�

“No -- at least, I don’t think so -- but he went into a room on the seventh floor, and I couldn’t exactly follow him without him seeing me.�

“Just a moment,� Mary demanded. “I’m lost. What room? Not ten minutes ago you were heading out the front door with a determined look on your face -- so you’re saying he didn’t go outside after all? I thought you were tailing him.�

“He never went outside,� Lily replied. “I never went outside. What are you talking about?� The two of them looked at each other with a sudden dawning recognition.

“Oh, he has some nerve,� Lily said softly. “He wouldn’t.�

“Wouldn’t he?� Mary asked. She looked both astonished and delighted.

“No. I can’t believe it.�

“I can,� Mary answered. “He fancies you, and he knows how to make Polyjuice Potion. He probably does it all the time, now that I think about it.�

Lily seethed inwardly. “That, that-- oh, he really has some nerve. He had better not have--� She could feel herself blushing to the roots of her hair, and then she somehow realised what she needed to do. “Well, turnabout is fair play, and there’s only one way to find out. Come on,� she ordered, grabbing Mary’s arm.

“You’re going to follow him outside?� Mary asked, getting up and following her as Lily trotted briskly out of the hall.

“Yes. But not as myself. If he’s been going around using Polyjuice to turn into me, I’ll have his guts for garters -- but I still don’t want that Avery to catch him. Plus, it will give Sev a bit of a shock when I come in to warn him dressed up as himself, and I think he richly deserves that.�

“How--?�

“I have my ways,� she answered grimly. “Probably the same ways he has, now that I think about it. Come on.�

---

There were very few locations out of doors that could actually become the site of an attack on Muggleborns. At the Care of Magical Creatures pens down by the shores of the lake, Lily finally hit pay dirt: in the distance, partly hidden by the trees, she could see Avery. She couldn’t see Severus, though, which was a bit worrisome. As she came closer, she realised why: an unconscious form was slumped on the ground, partly leaning against the trunk of one of the great trees. The most logical conclusion, although it might not have been the most correct one, would be that he’d been slammed backward into the tree and knocked unconscious. Or she, as it were -- with a start, Lily recognised her own figure lying on the ground. She had known it would be like this, in a theoretical sense, but the reality was still a bit of a shock. Avery turned toward her as she ran, close enough to hear her but too far, unfortunately, to Curse.

“Leave her alone,� she called, startling herself with her low voice as she sprinted across the grass while pulling out her wand. Avery aimed his wand at her, as expected, but Mulciber -- Mulciber was indeed there also, but he was acting very oddly, rolling on the ground, apparently in agony. Severus seemed to have hit him with a particularly horrid spell before getting knocked unconscious.

“Leave her alone,� she repeated, panting, now finally up close and able to see what was going on. She kept her wand trained on Avery, who had returned the favour as soon as he had laid eyes on her, but she was grateful to Severus for taking Mulciber out of the equation, since the two of them together would have been hard to take on by herself. On closer inspection, Mulciber was writhing on the ground and scratching the living daylights out of his groin. Especially given the tension of the situation, it was hard for Lily not to laugh.

But facing Avery was not a laughing matter, and so instead, she focused on her one remaining opponent. “What did you do to her?� she asked him, catching herself before she called their victim “him.�

“Who the hell are you?� Avery asked.

“You know perfectly well who I am,� Lily replied. “And I asked what you did to her.�

“Since you’re so interested, she was subject to a rather enthusiastic expulsion spell. She deserved worse, but she got Mulciber before he could get her. Back to my question: that’s supposed to be you over there, you traitorous git,� Avery responded. “If it isn’t you, who is it?�

“That’s Lily Evans,� she stated, scrambling to respond as Severus would under the circumstances. “Are you blind, or are you effing mental? Who did you think it was?�

“I thought it was you, using Polyjuice Potion. So that little Mudblood bitch has been the one all this time,� Avery stated with what was almost a snarl.

“The one doing what?� Lily asked with feigned innocence and genuine annoyance. She hadn’t gotten used to the voice yet.

“Ruining perfectly good plans. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about, you coward. Pretending you weren’t interested. We could have used your help this year.�

“And I told you I wasn’t interested,� Lily said, taking a guess that such a conversation had indeed occurred. “Besides, how do you know she had anything to do with anything other than today?� Trying to deflect the blame off herself as well as Severus seemed the thing to do -- in getting caught in this disguise, he had inadvertently shifted blame to her, and the last thing she needed was the Death Eater gang having a vendetta against her. They were bad enough already.

“I don’t,� Avery said. “But every time we’ve come up with a way to put the Mudbloods in their place, someone has ruined it, and naturally, we all thought it was you. No one else has the access. And you’ve turned into such a bloody Mudblood sympathiser. What, were you passing along the information to your Mudblood friends and then having them do the dirty work?�

“Paranoid, aren’t we?� Lily replied in the most mocking tone she could conjure up. “You don’t think she was just doing her prefect duties and happened to run into you?�

“I doubt it,� Avery said, sneeringly, jerking his head in Lily’s direction. “Even if she is a prefect, your Mudblood girlfriend would have no good reason to be out here unless she somehow knew what we were planning. And here you are, the inevitable Prince Charming, coming to rescue her. Diffindo!�

There was a loud crack, and a good-sized branch from the tree above Lily snapped off and tumbled through the air. She leapt back to avoid being hit, only to discover that in the few seconds it took her to dodge it, Avery had levitated the unconscious body of the false Lily and Hovered it over the waters of the lake. He now stood, triumphantly, with his wand pointed in that direction.

“Don’t do it,� Lily ordered, training her wand on him again.

“My quarrel is with this little bitch today, Snape,� Avery replied. “I’ll deal with you later for being a Mudblood-lover. Still fancy her, don’t you? Don’t think we don’t hear you when you’re sleeping -- ‘Lily… Lily…’ � he mocked in a whiny falsetto.

That particular piece of news left Lily suddenly queasy for the first time in this early morning adventure, so she ignored it, brandished her wand threateningly and commanded again, “Don’t do it. Bring her back.� Since his childhood hadn’t exactly included enthusiastic family trips to the swimming baths, Severus, as she recalled well, didn’t know how to swim. If Avery actually dumped him in the lake, she would have to rescue him without letting on that she could do a decent breaststroke and freestyle if needed.

“Because you can’t swim, can you?� Avery asked, his tone full of mockery. Bugger, they knew as well. “You can’t win, Snape,� he sneered. “What are your options? You do nothing -- I drop your girlfriend in the lake. You attack me -- I lose control of the Hover spell, and your girlfriend drops in the lake. What will you give me for saving you an early morning swim, Snivelly? How about some assistance in future? You could certainly help me better than this idiot,� he concluded, toeing Mulciber, who had rolled over in his general direction, still frantically clutching at himself. There had to have been something that Avery could have done for his friend, but he seemed disinclined.

Lily felt a sudden, boiling rage unlike anything she’d ever felt before. She didn’t know what drove it: Avery’s cocky bigotry, or her concern for Severus, or caffeine, or the unfamiliar force of testosterone -- clearly she’d have to make a point of looking up the physiology of Polyjuice Potion some time. For now though, her temper raging, she decided that attacking would be better than nothing: doing nothing did not seem physically possible at this particular moment. “Petrificus Totalis!� she shouted, and as Avery fell to the ground with a thud, there was an echoing splash from the lake as the Hover charm lifted.

Blast.

She hadn’t really had much hope of attacking Avery and then rescuing Sev before he was dropped into the depths of the water. But she tended to be an optimistic person, and she had hoped.

“Levicorpus!� she cried, running to the edge of the lake. Damn, Severus’s ever-popular hex didn’t seem to work if you couldn’t actually visualize the corpus in need of Levitation. She would have to ask him to work out that particular kink if he ever spoke to her again, but for now -- “Mobilicorpus!� she shouted, with a similar lack of success. Throwing off her robe and pullover, she cursed a blue streak for effect and verisimilitude. They really were a right pair of effing bastards -- they undoubtedly knew that Severus couldn't swim to save his life, never mind someone else's. Bugger. He would be feet deep in the water by now, Lily realized -- unconscious, inhaling water, drowning. She pushed back her hair -- his hair -- reminded herself to dog-paddle in case anyone was looking, and dived in.

The water was so cold that for a second, it felt as though her heart had stopped. Recovering herself, she took a deep breath and plunged under the water. Fortunately, the Hogwarts standard-issue uniform skirt and robes seemed to slow down a sinking person, and even in the murky water, Lily was able to find him fairly quickly. The robes didn’t help when pulling him out of the water, though -- in general, they seemed to just be an impediment to any kind of movement. She couldn’t dog paddle, hold onto him, and unfasten the clasp holding the robes on all at the same time, so she just kicked hard and pulled for the surface, dragging him with her until they broke through to the air. The strangeness of carrying her own self this way wasn’t lost on her.

He was still unconscious, but breathing was a function that didn’t require consciousness, and he coughed convulsively and then retched water and strands of stringy mucus down the front of her shirt. She was surprised by how little this bothered her -- something about her overall sense of relief that he was still alive and the fact that she couldn’t have been any wetter anyway, she supposed. And at least whatever he had been up to that morning -- Transfiguring into a girl, foiling evil plots, unsuccessfully dueling two housemates at once -- it apparently hadn’t included breakfast. Hoisting her own unconscious form, she staggered up out of the water to the edge of the lake, no longer buoyed by the water and utterly surprised that, technically, Severus was strong enough to carry her. Staggering as far as she could away from Avery’s rigid form and Mulciber’s writhing one, she deposited her friend and then crawled away from him and flopped back on the shore, breathing hard.

The spring air was still very crisp and chilly, Lily discovered, especially when one had just taken a dip in the lake fully dressed. Her soaked trousers were sticking to her legs and her shirt to her chest, and Severus-as-Lily was a similar sartorial disaster, with the addition of blue lips, tangles of long, wet red hair and the fact that the skirt -- how on earth had he obtained a skirt? -- had hiked up to what was no longer exactly at a modest level. She reached over and yanked it down to cover the legs that temporarily weren’t her own -- her thighs weren’t for public display, especially with a creep like Mulciber nearby, however incapacitated. Having recovered somewhat, she stood up, pushed Severus’s dripping black hair out of her face, shivered as the rivulets of water ran down onto her ears and neck, and retrieving the cast-off robe, flung it over her own inert form. The pullover she kept for herself, but it didn’t help: it was almost immediately as wet and cold as everything else she was wearing.

Now she just had to get him, unconscious, back to the castle before the clock struck midnight, the Polyjuice Potion wore off and they both turned back into pumpkins -- or before the potion's hour of effect came to an end, which amounted to the same thing. Shoving herself up to standing, she cast a Hover spell and watched as her own unconscious form jerked awkwardly into the air. “Mobilicorpus,� she chanted, and the body moved along with her, floating eerily through the ether as she took her first steps back up the hill with her wand pointed behind her.

As soon as she had started, she stopped with a sudden realisation. Even the most benign things Severus did were inevitably interpreted as sinister, so the sight of what appeared to be him, looking like a drowned rat, leading the inert, hovering form of the similarly soaked Lily Evans would probably be a very bad thing. At best it would make him even more reviled, which for some reason she cared about right now, and at worst it would lead to any number of fights with fellow students which, in her present condition, she doubted she could win and didn’t have time for anyway. Besides, a Hover spell wouldn’t be the method of choice for the boy who had been half in love with her for longer than she cared to think. Severus, for all his many flaws, would have been man enough to make an attempt at carrying her up to the castle: Half-Blood Prince indeed. At least there was something classically heroic and definitely much more human about it, and he was less likely to be accused of having evil intent against Lily’s person if the presumed Severus actually gave a damn enough to carry her, like something a Muggle would do. The Slytherin crowd would never let him live it down, but the other three houses would be less likely to give her trouble this way, and that constituted a rather significant majority.

She had been glad of Severus’s long legs as she had run down to the lake, and now she wondered whether even his skinny form would provide her with enough of the characteristic male upper-body strength to bear the deadweight of an unconscious girl all the way back to the castle. In his own skin, he probably weighed less than she did, she reflected, even though he was now a few inches taller than she. But that was all academic. She lowered the body to the ground, caught the lifeless form under the shoulders and knees, hoisted the false Lily into Severus’s thin arms, and began the slow, staggering walk up the hill.

When she arrived at the castle after the longest walk from the lake she’d ever had, she found that her timing could not have been worse. Breakfast was letting out, and a flood of students crowded the halls. A gaggle of puzzled-looking first years were heading out the door, presumably to Herbology, as she walked in, so her initial entrance to the school was relatively unimpeded, but as she tried to make her way through the older students crowding out of the Great Hall, she began to encounter the expected challenges. Murmurs were making their way through the crowd -- she and Severus must have made an interesting sight first thing in the morning -- but she continued to push forward, muttering “’Excuse me -- pardon me� as she pushed past her classmates. Perhaps the oddest part about all this was hearing her own words coming out in his voice. But if she could just get through without encountering--

James Potter. And Sirius Black. At first they looked puzzled, but then their features darkened with outrage and they shoved their way through the crowd calling, “Hey Snivellus! Snivellus! SNAPE! We’re talking to you!� She turned away from them in so far as that was possible, since she was heading in their general direction, and continued to make her way through the rush of students. Her burden was getting very heavy, and time was running short.

“Snape!� Potter barked, blocking her way, his usually handsome face ugly with anger and hatred. “What did you do to her?�

“Nothing -- I’m trying to help her. Get out of my way and let me take her to Madam Pomfrey,� Lily answered, probably far more civilly than Severus would have. She attempted to move around them, but Potter and Black stepped in front of her again, stopping her in her tracks. “He asked what you did to her, Snape,� Black repeated, wand pointed up under her chin. Not fair, Lily thought angrily: her arms were full of her unconscious classmate, and she certainly couldn’t manage a wand.

“I said nothing,� Lily snarled. “Get out of my way!� She shoved up against the two of them to try to push past them, but they wouldn’t move, and they wouldn’t let her keep going. What did they really think Severus was going to do to her, she wondered, especially given that he had carried her in through an enormous crowd of witnesses. Sneak her up to his dormitory in Slytherin and have his way with her? They seemed to be utterly blinded to good sense. In any case, time was short, and she had truly had it with their misguided heroics.

“She’s been injured, and I’m taking her to the infirmary -- get the hell out of my way!� she finally barked, impressed with the effect that this order had when said in Severus’s voice. She could hear a few voices around her saying things like, “Yeah, James, let him go,� and James and Sirius reluctantly bowed to peer pressure and stepped aside.

She hoisted the unconscious figure again and kept going. With the majority opinion obviously against him, Potter finally stopped, wand lowered, staring angrily after them, with Black standing behind him in a similar pose.

The fight with Potter and Black had given her a second wind, she found, or maybe just enough time to catch her breath, and she carried her burden more quickly with renewed vigour and heightened awareness of the time. There was also the added bonus that Potter had made her angry enough to do a convincing imitation of Severus rather than the stammeringly polite one that had first entered the building -- although Severus had seemed a lot less angry lately, from a distance anyway.

When she arrived, Madam Pomfrey had somehow already caught wind that something was going on and had flung open the doors, rushing over and commanding, “Here, set her here!� Lily gently placed the figure on an empty bed -- they were all empty, actually -- and sat on the next one, dripping, to catch her breath. Madam Pomfrey was already beginning her ministrations, but she looked up at Lily to ask, “Severus, what happened to her? Did you witness it, whatever it was?�

Lily took a quick glance at the clock on the wall of the ward and realized that there was very little time left for Severus’s Polyjuice Potion, and that this would need to be explained. “Er, Madam Pomfrey… I’m not Severus.� Madam Pomfrey looked up sharply as Lily continued, “Polyjuice Potion -- I’m Lily Evans, and that’s Severus on the bed.�

“What were you two doing experimenting with Polyjuice potion?� Madam Pomfrey asked, “Is that why sh- he’s unconscious? Did something go wrong with it?�

“No, it worked fine,� Lily answered, “He was attacked. I believe he was knocked unconscious and then I know he was tossed into the lake, because I did see that part. I think he has been… thwarting some attacks on Muggleborns this year. This time, the people doing it set one up as a trap to catch him. I heard about it, so I went down there to make sure he was all right, but I took Polyjuice Potion and went as Sev because if they saw me walking in like him--�

“…they wouldn’t suspect that Severus was the traitor they were looking for,� Madam Pomfrey finished for her.

Lily nodded and concluded, “He’s in Slytherin, after all, so he’s a much better mole than I am. Is he going to be all right?�

“He appears to have a concussion, but I think he’ll be fine,� Madam Pomfrey replied, still bustling around the bed and handing Lily a blanket to wrap around her dripping form. “But I’d prefer to get him into a hospital gown and out of these wet clothes before he turns back into a boy. Especially the skirt,� she finished dryly. “I’m going to have to ask you to step out, for obvious reasons.�

When Lily returned in a few minutes, her alter-ego was breathing harder as though in pain, and after an initial jolt of fear, she realised that it was only the Polyjuice Potion beginning to wear off. Before her eyes, the red hair grew backward into his scalp and turned black, his face thinned, the colour left his cheeks and his nose grew longer, and her old friend Severus lay there, still unconscious. Madam Pomfrey had been working on a potion in another part of the room, and when she turned around, she jumped slightly as though startled. “I wasn’t expecting that,� she said to Lily with a smile. “I think one Severus Snape is quite enough.� She spoke of him fondly, and Lily somehow found it heartening that she wasn’t the only one who had ever thought well of him. He had always gotten on well with adults, she reflected, and the faculty all seemed to like him well enough; the problem was that he was terrible with his peers.

“Mind if I stay for a bit?� she asked.

Madam Pomfrey responded, “Actually, I wanted to get you out of those wet clothes and into a hospital gown yourself, Lily. I should probably keep an eye on you for the next day or so after the soaking you got. Besides, it wouldn’t take much for your fellow students to figure out what happened if you came in here unconscious--� she waved her hand at Severus-- “and walked out of here just fine an hour later, with your rescuer still in the hospital wing. Especially since apparently they already suspected him, from what you’re telling me. If you wanted to keep his interventions a secret…�

She didn’t finish her sentence, but Lily knew what she meant. “Thanks,� she said, smiling gratefully at the Healer. She hadn’t known that the woman could be so understanding.

“That said,� Madame Pomfrey continued briskly before Lily could become too grateful, “I do need to report this situation to your Head of House, as I do with any incident in which a student is injured, and Professor McGonagall may not look lightly upon unauthorised brewing and use of Polyjuice Potion -- or to students taking matters such as this one into their own hands. Even prefects.�

“I think she may be used to the latter by now,� Lily laughed. She was not thrilled, but neither was she overly worried. Professor McGonagall seemed to do a remarkable job of balancing the letter and the spirit of the law.

Madam Pomfrey insisted on tucking her patient into a bed to warm up, and as she was indeed shivering, Lily climbed into the one next door to Severus to keep an eye on how he was doing. He still hadn’t awakened, which worried her, although she knew that he was probably going to be fine. For a while, she lay under the covers, reading a copy of Advanced Potion-Making from Pomfrey’s personal library, occasionally looking over to check up on him, and wondered what she was going to say to him after nearly a year's silence.

She had no doubt that he would talk to her -- eventually, and probably much sooner than eventually. If she was right about what had led him on his mad quest, his weakness for her hadn't changed much. A few superficial things had, she reflected, given the leisure to observe him up close for the first time in many months. He had grown quite a bit taller, but apparently hadn't eaten enough to keep up with it, with the result being that he looked even thinner than he always had. His shoulders, which he still seemed to hold in a permanent defeated slouch, had broadened somewhat from the narrow boyish frame she remembered. The ugly duckling was not growing up into a swan this time, though: there were no signs of her friend developing some heretofore hidden masculine beauty. His nose was still too large for his face, and his hair… was classic Severus. That was all.

There was nothing objectively more attractive about him, she concluded, turning away. It must have just been absence making the heart grow fonder, or gratitude, or the full moon -- or her usual tendency to find all the people she loved to be attractive in their own way. And she still loved him, odd creature though he was. The problem was how to love a friend like him in a world that wasn't just the two of them in a hospital ward, or the two of them studying together in No Man’s Land, or the two of them against Petunia Evans and Tobias and Eileen Snape back home. As long as they never had to interact with anyone else, they were fine: they were the best of friends. But in the everyday world of Hogwarts, it had never been that simple for them, not from the moment they had sat down together on the Hogwarts Express. Hogwarts had posed threats to their friendship that Petunia could only have dreamed about.

Even now she could hear her own voice in that midnight corridor, telling him that her friends all wondered why she had anything to do with him. She cringed at the thought of it: the brave and independent Lily Evans, a pawn of something as mundane as peer pressure. Some Gryffindor, she thought, rolling back over to look again at Severus's profile as he lay in uneasy sleep in the next bed. She suspected his sincerity, and she suspected his motives, but if he had done even half of what she and Mary believed, he was almost recklessly brave. And that held far more weight with her than she could ever safely let him know.

---

Chapter 15: Tell Me Your Secrets, Ask Me Your Questions

A year’s worth of catching up to do.
…………

He had promised himself not to do this. There had been so many opportunities, and he had resisted, over and over again, even though he had the two essential ingredients: Polyjuice Potion, and a lock of hair snipped years ago by one Lily Evans. Something was wrong, however, with even the mere idea of turning himself into Lily just for the pleasure of looking at her unimpeded and being close to her again. Not to mention the fact that if he did it and she ever found out, she’d probably have his guts for garters.

On the other hand, doing it for a good cause was different, and in this case, he couldn’t think of what else he could possibly do. His roommates had returned from their secret errand as dawn was beginning to break and he had only just found out about it then, so the cover of darkness was no longer available. Running down to the Care of Magical Creatures pens as himself -- out in the open, in daylight -- would risk blowing his cover altogether. If he went as Lily, he could at least pretend he was doing prefect rounds if caught: he couldn’t think of anyone else besides a prefect with a decent reason for being on the grounds and out of the castle at such an early hour, and even if he could, finding a tissue sample from another prefect -- or even another human being besides those sharing a room with him -- bordered on impossible on such short notice. And so he had summoned the lock of Lily’s hair from between the pages of the book that she had given him, and left his roommates asleep.

The next step was to obtain girls’ clothing, but this seemed to be a harder task. Really, he just needed the skirt-- any other item of clothing in the uniform was unisex enough for his own clothing to pass. Unfortunately, he couldn’t just Summon a skirt off someone in the middle of breakfast, although that would have been amusing. Instead, he meandered as casually as possible down the hall to the Slytherin girls’ lavatory.

The girls’ lav, as it turned out, had not only a blouse and a skirt, but also, based on the sound of running water and the steam that emanated when Severus cracked open the door to scope for abandoned clothing, their owner. A thin pair of ankles visible under the shower door and a familiar fluffy yellow dressing gown identified the owner as Arabella Bowen, sixth-year Slytherin, prefect, and probably Severus’s least favorite female at Hogwarts. He had first become aware of her when she had laughed at his neophyte attempts at riding a broom in first year, and the acquaintance had not improved over time. There were girls like Narcissa Black who were beautiful enough and popular enough to actually behave decently to him without worrying about ruining their exalted reputations, and girls like Morphia Mather who were so low on the ladder that they couldn’t care less about impressing anyone, but Arabella was situated somewhere uncomfortably between the two, and she was acutely aware of it. Neither pretty nor rich nor pureblooded enough to be assured of automatic social success, she had spent the last five and a half years tearing others down to build herself up, and when Severus was around, she was like a shark smelling blood in the water. She was smaller than Lily, and thinner, but simple clothing enlargement was nothing Severus couldn't manage, and so, with a quick, silent Summoning charm and absolutely no remorse, Severus took possession of the basics of Arabella’s school uniform and stuffed them under his robes. As an afterthought, he Summoned her dressing gown from the bench next to the shower, noted with satisfaction her wand in the pocket, and deposited the lot in a fluffy yellow heap a few yards down the hallway, so that she would have to scurry down the hall in a towel to retrieve it. There was something to be said for revenge being best served cold.

Leaving Slytherin, Severus had a feeling that he was being followed -- Filch? Filch’s bloody cat? -- but no one actually seemed to be behind him. Nonetheless, he abandoned his idea of going to No Man’s Land to change clothes-- the unused classroom that he and Lily had used to study in peace had no second exit other than a trap-door that they had never managed to open -- and made his way to the storage room on the seventh floor that he had discovered when hiding from the Marauders years before. This time it came equipped with a chair and a large, ornate mirror, conveniently enough, in addition to the usual shelving where the debris of ages was stored. He gingerly and with considerable revulsion searched the skirt and blouse for a hair -- Arabella would make an even better alter-ego for this escapade -- but, fortunately or unfortunately, was unsuccessful. Finally, after some quick sartorial spells, Severus pulled on the skirt over his trousers and, removing his shirt, buttoned up the blouse, noticing with some interest that the buttons were on the wrong side, apparently the gender equivalent of driving an automobile in America.

He looked ridiculous in a skirt. His legs were pale and a bit hairy, his knees were knobby, and the contrast with Lily’s curvy deliciousness in such a garment was rather striking. He had not bothered to acquire Arabella’s brassiere -- the mind revolted at the very thought -- and was beginning to decide that he would on principle avoid using one in these efforts, since turning himself into a female and wearing girls’ clothes was peculiar enough without feminine undergarments being thrown into the mix.

Then he pulled out the flask of Polyjuice and stared with distaste at the potion, remembering the effects from his brief stint as Geoff a few months before. But it had to be done, and besides, even without the altruistic excuses, his withdrawal from Lily was undoubtedly worse by now than her semiannual withdrawal from Muggle pop songs. There were probably other ways of taking care of this problem; the fact that this seemed like the most logical one was the addiction talking, and he knew it, but he took a deep breath, tipped the flask back, grimaced, and waited. When the Potion had done its work and he had uncoiled himself, he walked over to the mirror and stared.

It was worth the discomfort, the pain, the nausea: he was beautiful -- he was bloody-well effing gorgeous.

He was Lily.

Lily's red hair cascaded over his shoulders and down his back. The green eyes that had avoided his for so long stared eagerly back at him; the lips that wouldn't say a word to him twisted into a grim but satisfied smile the likes of which he had never seen on Lily's face before. Lily Snape was an odd creature-- a chimera formed of her loveliness and his lonely intensity. It had never occurred to him before how much of what he loved about her was present behind those eyes, looking out at him: the vision in the mirror was nothing more than a beautiful mannequin poorly masking his own unquiet soul. Still...

This Polyjuice bit could be dangerous, he reflected, gazing hungrily at Lily's reflection in the mirror as she gazed back. Just as well he didn't have too much of it around. It had been ages since he had been this close to her-- since he had even been able to look at her for more than a stolen second without appearing to be an obsessive creep. He had an hour to head outside and reverse the damage-- did he really need the whole hour? Class wouldn’t start until after breakfast, after all: there was time. He tucked in the blouse, and his hands lingered longingly on the soft, slender curves, on the angles of her hip-bones. Oddly, though, there was something off-putting about groping Lily and feeling himself up at the same time -- apparently this particular scenario would give him opportunities to become as big a pervert as Mulciber -- so instead he decided to get used to moving around housed in Lily’s flesh and bones.

He turned around and her hair twirled after him, along with the unfamiliar sensation of the fabric of a skirt, which didn't move with his body the way trousers did but rather, trailed his movements like a shadow. Even though, walking across the room, he made no effort to walk like a girl, his walk still had a certain swing to it that had not been even remotely present in his normal state. Something to do with having to walk around with female hips, he supposed, and one less bit of acting to do. He touched her hand, trying to remember what the touch of her hand felt like, but it wasn't like before because he was both outside and inside the sensation at the same time. All the same, he could have stayed there all day.

Hardly thinking, he reached out and touched Lily's reflection in the mirror, and the cold, smooth glass woke him up to the fact that he hadn't a clue how long he'd been there. Fortunately, among all the other discards in the room, there was an ugly but functional mantel clock. Forty minutes, he had forty minutes left. He'd been standing there for twenty minutes admiring himself like some sort of cross-dressing Narcissus. Blast.

Then a surreptitious exit through the room’s other door, a quick, chilly dash down to the waterfront-- and Avery. And Mulciber. Bloody hell, he was a lone girl and here was Mulciber. The last thing he remembered, he had made Mulciber the test subject for a spell he’d invented after reading the Muggle medical texts the past summer -- and then darkness.

And now it was nighttime, but Severus was not in his own bed. He scanned the room and realized that the large, moonlit chamber was the hospital wing. Examining the silhouette of his hand against the moonlight, he saw long, thin fingers that were nothing like those on Lily’s hands, and he knew that he had transformed back to himself, undoubtedly long since.

There was a sound of creaking springs next to him, and he rolled over to discover that Lily lay in the bed next to his, fast asleep. At first he thought his eyes, unaccustomed to the relative darkness, were deceiving him, but after gazing at her for what seemed like an eternity, he was satisfied that it was indeed Lily, and not just wishful thinking. What was she doing here? What had happened to her? And whoever had placed her right next to him had no idea how Lily felt about him -- he was a bit surprised at this, because something in his memory told him that Madam Pomfrey had known about their “little falling-out,� as Slughorn insisted on calling the event Severus thought of as more like a personal Apocalypse. But right now she was there next to him -- she was curled up like a child, and her soft breathing was slow and deep. He could have watched her all night, but given that they were no longer even friends, it felt voyeuristic, so he rolled back over and stared up at the ceiling. It reminded him of simpler times back at home, lying on a bed of leaves under the trees, hidden behind the bushes, ostensibly listening to her chatter, but actually pondering that this must be what it was like to sleep alongside her. Almost.

A few minutes later, he heard more deliberate creaking of the springs on Lily’s bed -- she seemed to have drawn the short straw on beds in more ways than one -- and her voice whispering, “Sev? Are you awake?�

Rolling over to look at her, he realized that he truly felt, as his father’s Muggle expression went, as though he had been hit by a lorry. “What are you doing here? Are you all right?� he asked, with obvious worry that he did nothing to conceal, talking to her as though they had last spoken yesterday. So much for the speech he had prepared for if and when she finally deigned to speak to him again.

“I’m fine,� she answered, “I just brought you here and then never really left. When did you wake up?�

“Maybe half an hour ago?� he said, uncertain, and then went on to ask, “You brought me here?� Inwardly, he found himself tremendously relieved that she seemed to have no qualms about breaking nearly a year’s worth of ice.

“Your old crowd set a trap for you,� she explained. “Well, they thought it was you, anyway. Regulus Black seemed to think Sirius and James were behind it, so he warned them, and I overheard it. But James and Sirius sounded like they didn’t have a clue, even after he left. So I followed you.�

“You followed me? When?�

“This morning-- yesterday morning now, I suppose. Nice work with the Polyjuice,� she added, with what sounded like both admiration and sarcasm.

“I was hoping you had missed that part,� he responded nervously.

“Unlikely,� Lily shot back. “Mary saw me leaving the castle when I hadn’t actually left the castle. Do you do that a lot?�

“Polyjuice? Or leaving the castle?� His brain felt fuzzy, and he was beginning to realise the aftereffects of whatever had happened to him. Apparently he had hit his head and wasn’t quite all there yet.

“Your Lily impression,� she answered dryly.

“Never,� he stammered. “Except the one time when you and I both did. And today. Yesterday. Whenever it was. That’s all. I’m sorry.�

“It’s all right,� she said, seemingly satisfied with his answer. There was an awkward silence, which Lily broke by commenting, “Nicely done, by the way. Except the shoes-- I don’t wear boys’ trainers with my uniform. But they seemed to believe that you were me.�

“How did you--� He paused. He wasn’t even sure which question he should ask.

“I thought I should get you off the hook, so I went after them as yourself,� she said simply.

It took him a few seconds to digest that particular fact. “Interesting,� he finally said.

“It was,� Lily agreed. “But they seemed to believe me. They were calling me ‘Snape,’ anyway, which was a good sign. I think they left the scene believing that I had been the one ruining their plans and that you were just rescuing me. Which reminds me -- thanks a million. Now they’ll have it in for me instead.�

“Sorry,� he answered, genuinely apologetic. “I didn’t think they would catch me. I thought the professors might, though, and you’re a prefect. It seemed safer.�

“So, honestly: am I your regular alter-ego for good deeds?� she questioned, a bit more seriously this time.

“No!� he protested, suddenly worried that she might get angry at him, after everything he’d done to win back her friendship. “No, not at all. I only used Polyjuice twice, and the other time I was Geoff.�

“Oglethorpe?� she asked.

“Oglethorpe,� he concurred. He was still trying to get his mind around the idea of Lily coming to his rescue dressed as himself, but this part was easy. “It wasn’t very hard. I just bit my nails a lot, and walked like someone had shoved a broomstick up my arse. Simple.�

Lily snorted with laughter, but gained control of herself and continued her questioning. “What exactly did you do as Geoff, anyway?� she asked.

“I let the professors know my theory of exactly how Siobhan and Carmichael were poisoned,� he replied. “Which happened to be correct.�

“Really,� she answered, sounding intrigued and swinging her legs over the side of the bed to lean toward him. “I never knew a student had anything to do with solving that one. What else have you been up to?�

He thought back -- it had been a long time, and he had been deliberately clearing his mind of such thoughts with Professor Llewellyn’s help. “Just giving it away when they rigged the teacups in Professor McGonagall’s class,� he stated. “Oh, and I suppose stopping Mulciber from giving Mary an Oblivion Potion on Valentine’s Day. She only had a few sips, I think, before I knocked it out of her hands. I think he believed he was going to have a very interesting non-consensual date. So to speak.�

“Which would explain the spilled drink,� she mused, almost to herself. “Of course.�

“That was all,� he said softly.

“That was a lot,� she replied. There was a moment of silence. “Why did you do it, Sev?�

All the times that he had pictured this conversation, he had hoped she wouldn’t ask that inevitable question, because the honest answer would scare her: Because I fell off my horse on the road to Damascus and realised that you were my Messiah. “Well, you, obviously,� he began, brushing past the primary issue as quickly as possible. There was the bit about his parents, but that was difficult also, so he skipped it. “And Mary. And there was no point in letting harmless people get… harmed,� he concluded lamely. It was the least of his reasons, but it was there -- more in some cases than in others. He hadn’t given it a second thought when it came to rescuing Mary, and even with his latest effort, the reaction had become almost automatic -- although part of that had been an excuse to use the Polyjuice Potion the way he’d been dreaming of for months. She didn’t have to know that, though.

“So, back to today,� he continued, changing the subject. “What did they do, anyway?�

“I’m not entirely sure,� she answered, thoughtfully, “because I arrived when they had already knocked you out, but it appeared to be what you’d expect -- maybe Expelliarmus or the Cruciatus Curse. Whatever it was, you’d hit your head and were down for the count. I think they were going to keep you around until the potion wore off so they could make sure it was you and punish you for it, but when I got there and ruined their theory, they made life difficult for me by Levitating you out over the lake and dropping you in. Since I didn’t do a very good job talking them out of it, I went in after you.�

Typical Lily -- they had not even been on speaking terms, and here she was rescuing him again, this time by taking a springtime dip in the lake. “That had to be--�

“Bloody cold?� she asked. “Yes, it was. Anyway, then I carried you up to the castle. After Petrifying Avery. I wonder what happened to him,� she pondered aloud. “I suppose the Magical Creatures class probably found him. Mulciber certainly wouldn’t have been much help, the state he was in.�

“Carried?� he asked, cutting through her chatter. “Bloody hell. It gets more and more embarrassing. You couldn’t have just Levitated me?�

“I tried. But think about how that would look, Sev. I wouldn’t have gotten in the door. I was you, remember? And you were me. Anyway, you looked like my knight in shining armour -- I’m sure everyone thinks you’re quite heroic.�

“I’m sure everyone thinks I tried to drown you,� he countered. “They all thought I tried to kill Professor Llewellyn with a pneumonia spell.�

“Which you didn’t actually do,� she stated, although it really sounded more like a question.

“You need to ask?� he almost snarled.

“Sorry,� she replied. There was a long pause. “You’re glaring at me, aren’t you?�

“Yes. I am.�

“I’ve even missed that,� she mused, which was so charming that his annoyance lifted and he forgave her.

“So,� he went on, “technically, I was an unconscious girl.�

“Technically.�

“The skirt was bad enough, but now I think my masculinity may be scarred for life.�

“I won't tell if you don't.�

“Oh, believe me -- I won't. But let me guess: Mary knows, doesn't she?�

Lily gave him what, even in the moonlight, he could tell was a pained smile, and he flopped back on the bed in feigned dejection.

“Why am I even asking?� he asked rhetorically. “Of course she does. Why don't we just have Pomfrey perform a castration curse and finish the job?�

“Lovely mental image there, Sev,� Lily replied dryly.

He grinned at her in the darkness and announced, “Welcome back.�

“Anyway, here you are,� she finished, reaching over to give his hand a squeeze.

“Lily?� he asked.

“Yes?�

“I’m sorry. I’m so bloody sorry.�

“I know.� She paused. “We’re right now though, aren’t we?�

He nodded, and then realised that she probably couldn’t see him that well in the dark. “We’re fine.�

“Are you actually fine?� she asked. “You had a head injury -- you should probably get some sleep.�

“I don’t think I could sleep if I tried,� he answered. “We have almost a year’s worth of catching up to do.�

“Right then, let’s start with this one: what on earth was that spell you used on Mulciber?�

“When? That’s like asking me which spell I used on James Potter.�

“Today. He looked like he was ready to claw off a very sensitive part of the body.� Thank God -- she didn’t jump to Potter’s defence or scold him for past episodes of hexing Potter. Presumably this meant that the Quidditch captain had not yet won her over.

“Then it worked,� he replied. “Good. I’ll have to add that to the repertoire.�

“You still haven’t answered my question,� she stated.

He sighed. “It’s a pretty bad one,� he said. “Probably ought to be the fourth Unforgiveable. You know--� he began ticking them off on his fingers, “--death, torture, violation of another’s free will… and a diabolically itchy crotch.�

There was a sound of squeaking springs and then the muffled giggles of Lily, her face obviously stuffed into her pillow. When she finally recovered, she asked him the obvious next question: “What’s the spell?�

“You promise you won’t use it on me?� he countered.

“I promise.�

“It’s Pruritus Genitalis.�

“Pruritus Genitalis,� she repeated, with obvious interest.

“Correct. And I’m sure you can’t see it right now, but it is accompanied with what I can only describe as a scratching motion of the wand.�

“I did see it, actually. Ingenious.�

“Thank you. Try it on me and I’ll have to kill you -- if I can stop scratching myself long enough.�

She fell back onto the bed, convulsed with giggles, as the sight of her put him into a fit of laughter the likes of which he hadn’t had in at least a year, so long that he had forgotten entirely what it felt like. Unfortunately, it was as painful as it was enjoyable, as his head throbbed and his ribs hurt. In the dark he could see the outline of Lily, wiping her eyes. “Oh, I’ve missed you,� she sighed, reaching out again in the moonlight, this time to ruffle his hair. It was almost flirtatious, but he refused to allow himself to think that for more than a second.

“Likewise,� he replied, in what had to be the understatement of the century. “But we’re going to wake up Pomfrey.�

“You were always the sensible one,� she mused. “Why is it that I’m the Prefect?�

“Because I piss everyone off,� he answered cheerily.

“You are inordinately good at that.�

“I am. It’s a gift.� He could barely get the words out without yawning, but he hoped she wouldn’t notice.

“Get some rest, Sev,� she ordered, predictably enough, and the springs creaked as she tucked her legs back under the covers. “We’ll be sent back to the real world tomorrow.�

All the more reason to stay up talking tonight, he thought. He was too giddy for sleep, but as usual, he bowed to her judgment and at least pretended to be tired. To his surprise, when he opened his eyes again, it was morning.

---

Chapter 16 Hail and Farewell

---

The day after Severus and Lily’s collective release from the hospital wing, Severus had found himself suddenly hurled unceremoniously into of one of the castle’s many suits of armour, courtesy of some unknown assailant. By the time he had picked himself up, the person responsible, and their wand, had disappeared. Given the crowds in the hallway, it could have been anyone; the wit behind the “knight in shining armour� joke, however, argued in favor of Potter.

The jealousy behind it did, also. Apparently their rivalry, which had lain dormant for a few months, was back on -- and as Lily seemed inexplicably angry with Potter, Severus appeared to have the upper hand, for now.

Other than that, things were surprisingly similar to the status quo ante. Weeks had passed, and the school year was drawing to a close, but he still sat with Mary in Potions… and Lily remained stationed, frostily, next to Potter. Severus still sat by himself at the Slytherin table. His housemates appeared to have bought the premise that his actions this year had actually been the work of some sort of Gryffindor plot, and seemed to consider his supposed rescue of Lily to be pathetic, but not unexpected. There was much that could be excused in pursuit of a pretty girl, even a pretty Mudblood girl, and all but Avery seemed fairly underwhelmed by the recent events. Avery’s attempts at drumming up some sort of thirst for revenge had seemingly been met with apathy. Most of the particulars of Severus’s life had stayed the same.

But Lily was talking to him, and that made all the difference. There had been multiple occasions: Lily walking along with him in the hallways if they happened to be going from one class to the next together. Lily giving his arm a squeeze as she strolled by him with her girlfriends in the dining hall. Even Lily tentatively running a prefect question past him for a second opinion. Unlike last year, Severus would give a carefully considered answer instead of his customary suggestion that a good Imperius curse would do the trick.

A good Imperius curse would do the trick. But now his new and improved self was to be under scrutiny at close range, so such renegade thoughts were banished.

“You ought to get him back,� Mary announced decisively out of nowhere, cutting into Severus’s musings as he read over Borage’s inadequate instructions.

“Get whom?� Severus asked.

“Potter. You know it was Potter, and you can’t just let him get away with that.� Mary seemed to have taken the insult more to heart than he had.

“I have to let him get away with that,� Severus answered softly, so that Potter couldn’t hear. “The last time I got in trouble with Lily, it was because I was fighting with Potter when she was around. I’m not going to let it happen again -- I’m afraid I’m something of a gelding where he’s concerned. For now.�

“You’re just going to sit there and take it? � Mary asked angrily, eyes flashing, hands on her hips. Mary was exceptionally and sometimes incomprehensibly Scottish, but she seemed to have what would stereotypically have been considered an Irish temper, and right now it was up.

“No, but to justify fighting back, I think I have to have incontrovertible evidence,� he replied calmly. “Until I can produce some, I have to mind my P’s and Q’s.�

She gave him a quizzical look. “Interesting expression there, Sev.�

“What of it?� he asked, realising his mistake immediately and trying to look unconcerned.

“Wizards don’t generally use expressions that refer to Muggle devices -- in this case, the typewriter,� she stated.

“You assume I spent my summers in a cave somewhere, and not at Lily’s house,� he answered, bristling slightly.

“Ah, of course,� Mary replied calmly. “You’re an interesting case, Mr. Snape.�

“Not interesting at all,� he countered. “Just observant.�

“Mm-hmm,� she murmured. At some point he was going to have to come clean with her about his dad. But not now. Not even close to now.

………………………………

In pursuit of what he considered his second most important aim regarding the upcoming summer holidays, next to getting Lily to go out with him, Severus made his way over to the Defence classroom while the rest of the school meandered toward the Great Hall for lunch. He knocked and entered. In what appeared to be preparation for the summer, Professor Llewellyn was packing up his books into a large trunk that appeared both old and elegant. Severus made a mental note to himself that well-made plus ancient equaled classy, and tried, unsuccessfully, to apply this equation to the rusty set of tailored dress robes once belonging to his late grandfather, Claudius Prince, that had been passed on to him, in case he ever needed them for a dance, a formal dinner, or any other occasion in which he wanted to appear impoverished and ridiculous at the same time. How did some people manage to use the antique with such aplomb? His own efforts somehow carried with them an aura of dust and mothballs.

“Professor, sir,� he began, as Llewellyn looked up from a stack of exams and greeted him. He was reluctant to ask about the lessons over the summer, even though they had been Llewellyn’s idea. It seemed like imposing.

“You can call me Davis, Severus,� the professor said, his voice quiet and somewhat tired. “The school year is, for all intents and purposes, over.�

“But you’ll be teaching us next year,� Severus answered.

No reply. Llewellyn gave him a worried look and opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it again.

“Won’t you?� Severus went on, feeling suddenly a bit off. Lily and Mary had been talking about this very possibility not long before-- when and why the inevitable would occur. And apparently Severus had been optimistic enough or, more likely, blind enough, not to believe it.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,� Llewellyn said quietly, standing up and starting to pace, as was his usual habit when working on anything tricky or difficult. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone, so I haven’t. It will be announced. News will get out soon enough.�

“But why?� Severus asked. “You can’t leave.�

“I can hardly stay,� Llewellyn said dully. “Surely it hasn’t escaped your attention that I’m sick all the bloody time. I’m not Dumbledore’s age, Severus. I’m twenty-four -- it’s not normal. But whatever is wrong with me appears to be transmissible, and I don’t want to pass it on to any of the students. It’s my stupid fault, not yours.�

“It’s hardly your fault that you’re sick,� Severus protested.

“Really?� Llewellyn asked. “I’ve kept my sins to myself rather well around here, but you of all people should know.�

“About what?!� Severus demanded. “What could you possibly have done?�

“What didn’t I do?!� the professor snapped. He sat down, looking suddenly very weary and much older, and waved Severus into a seat in the front row. Severus sat slowly down, trying to digest the idea that Llewellyn really was leaving.

“What do you remember of what you saw?� the professor asked quietly. “I have some idea -- you don’t have to let on. I just want to know where to begin.�

Severus knew that to which he referred, but hesitated. “You. Your friend. I’m not sure -- it was dark. You were fighting with … something. You had a syringe, and the creature fought back and used it against you. And that’s all I saw. I supposed it was your research.�

Llewellyn nodded, and for a period of time that might have lasted for about a minute, but felt like an eternity, he looked thoughtful. “You’ll keep this to yourself?� he asked.

Severus nodded.

“But you need to know,� Llewellyn stated, as if trying to convince himself.

He took a deep breath. “It was our research,� he agreed. “We worked with the witch-doctors, of course. And some of them were good people, wonderful people, but some of them -- it’s the same as wizards here. But we ignored that if they could help us do our work. We used dodgy materials, Severus -- remains from the were-people we were trying to study -- I don’t want to think about how they were obtained. I don’t think our local contacts killed anyone,� he said quickly. “But I have no doubt that they violated fresh graves, which were plentiful -- the local bouda population was being mysteriously decimated at the time. And I took the samples they gave us -- Jonathan and I both did. For science. A potion can’t always be made with things in bottles from the shelf.� He gestured toward the photo on his desk, the one with the two smiling young men. Severus found himself noticing how much younger and healthier his professor had looked just a few years before, as though much more time had passed.

Llewellyn paused and stood up. “But it turned out that we needed specimens from the living. And of course, studying a reclusive population like that, one doesn’t exactly get eager cooperation. We tracked the sickly ones, pinned them down, took what we needed….�

Llewellyn drew a deep breath and continued, with rising intensity, “And as it turned out, the sickly ones had a wasting curse of some sort. Like nothing anyone has ever seen before. And here I am, three years after getting scratched and bitten and attacked with a goddamned syringe full of blood--� He took a deep breath. “Davis Llewellyn, scholar and humanitarian, author of the Research Subjects Protection Act. Have you heard of it?�

Severus nodded.

“That’s my claim to fame,� Llewellyn muttered bitterly. “Humanitarian indeed. I went home and thought over what I’d done. We got caught up in it -- we were so close to succeeding. We were going to help them, even if they didn’t want us to. I think we came to the conclusion independently that our methods were inexcusable -- after the fact, of course. After we had what we needed. I came up with the Research Subjects Protection Act that same year. I thought it was penance.� He pushed up the sleeve of his impeccably-tailored jacket, exposing on his forearm a strange, purplish lesion the likes of which Severus had never seen before.

“This is penance,� the professor concluded wearily, thrusting his arm out and then shoving the sleeve back down in obvious disgust. “Catching one bloody illness after another, things that no otherwise healthy person should get. Passing it on to my wife, which, I’m sorry to say, is how I know that this particular wasting curse appears to be transmissible. This is penance. Of course, relatively speaking, I’ve had good fortune -- Jonathan went quickly, probably because the Healers there don’t have the resources they have here. I really have nothing to complain about. But I don’t plan on making the situation any worse.�

Severus was dumbstruck for once. “I’m-- I’m sorry,� he finally stammered.

“Don’t be,� Llewellyn said softly. “Just don’t be an idiot like I was. The ends don’t justify the means, Severus. Remember that when you’re off saving the world from your housemates. Or saving Miss Evans from your housemates, in any case. Nicely done, by the way -- I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. How did you know she was going to be out there?�

“I didn’t,� Seveus said softly. The professor looked puzzled, so Severus went on. “I knew that they were up to something. I was the one taking Polyjuice Potion and playing Prefect, dressed up as Lily. Lily came after them dressed as me. I’m sorry to say that I was not only unconscious during the whole thing -- I was also in a skirt.�

Llewellyn laughed for the first time during their conversation. “Better than being caught yourself,� he stated. “Very clever. I’m sure Lily wanted your guts for garters, though.�

“We had a long talk,� Severus agreed. “She did most of the talking.�

“I’m sure she had to see that you make a more useful spy than she does,� the professor answered. “It’s as well that they think it’s her. Better they think you just did it to impress a girl and not to protect a bunch of Muggleborns you don’t know.�

“I think I convinced her of that,� Severus answered. “Eventually.� Of course, to some degree he had just done it to impress a girl -- but it had all gotten more complex than that in the last year.

“I won’t be seeing you for lessons, obviously,� Llewellyn stated, suddenly changing the topic. “But feel free to write--�

“Why not?� Severus asked, frowning.

“You did catch the bit about this curse, whatever it is, being transmissible,� Llewellyn half-stated and half-asked. Severus nodded. “As you might imagine, until I can figure out what kind of a risk I pose to others, I should keep to myself.�

“Are any of the faculty getting sick?� Severus asked. “Or any of your students?�

“Not that I know of,� Llewellyn replied. “Give it time, though.�

“Then I’d rather take my chances and keep up the lessons,� Severus stated firmly, and felt himself digging in for a debate. Somehow he had no doubt of this. Occlumency had too much potential to just let it go.

“But to possibly put a student in harm’s way--�

“You’re no longer a professor. You said so yourself, Davis,� Severus concluded, slyly.

Llewellyn smiled a weary smile. “Very clever,� he answered. “But even if you’re not a student, you’re a child.�

“I’m seventeen -- I’m of age,� Severus announced, relishing the thought and listing off his privileges. “I can drink FireWhiskey. I can get married, if I could find any girl mad enough to marry me. I can join the war and go off and get myself killed.�

“Or you can use your newfound rights and privileges under the law to take Occlumency lessons from someone bearing a curse that could potentially kill you.�

“I believe the risk is low. Statistically. You don’t seem to have passed along the curse to anyone by shaking hands quite yet.�

Llewellyn looked at him and slowly shook his head. “Given what I’ve just told you, I’m sure you understand how I would have to disagree with your choice. Really, if you feel like doing something stupid because you’re seventeen and you can, I’d suggest the bit about finding a girl. Honestly, Severus, I would consider this to be making a poor decision in the interest of the pursuit of knowledge.�

“And I would consider it knowledge that has significant potential to protect me against a much more likely threat,� Severus answered. “And therefore a worthwhile trade.�

It was a standoff. Severus sat there, unyielding, while Llewellyn looked thoughtful and worried.

“I’d have to have Dumbledore’s permission,� the professor said suddenly.

“Why?� Severus asked, finding himself bold now that the man would no longer be officially teaching him.

“A matter of protocol. I may want to teach here again some day, you know, provided that I live long enough to do so. It would help if I didn’t inadvertently curse any students in the meantime.�

“Begging your pardon, sir, but I don’t understand why anyone would ever teach here,� Severus offered. “I might be doing you a favor.�

Llewellyn smiled. “You don’t think you’d like teaching? You have a fine mind, Severus -- I’d think you might be rather good.�

“I don’t particularly like people,� Severus said plainly. “And I like them even less when they’re ignorant.�

“Touché, � Llewellyn said with a grin. “Right then-- I’ll ask Dumbledore,� he said with finality.

“If you must,� Severus answered.

In response, the professor pulled out a card from his breast pocket, walked over to the desk that would soon no longer be his, and, picking up a quill, leaned over and scratched something onto the card. He touched the card with his wand, and Severus could see the spider tracks of handwriting reform into a fluent, old-fashioned, and eminently legible form of penmanship. “You could send a note by owl-post,� Llewellyn said, handing his calling card to Severus. “Or, if you’re proficient in the use of the telephone, you could telephone this number�-- and he pointed to the digits in fresh ink on the bottom of the card. Telephone? The Muggle in-laws, of course. Severus was glad that he had thought before he asked.

“Thank you,� Severus said. “For everything.�

“You’re very welcome,� Llewellyn responded, with a twitch that Severus realised was the reflexive offering of his hand followed by a retraction before his student could take the hand and shake it. “You’re one of the brightest students I’ve met, Severus, and definitely the most interesting. It’s been a pleasure.� There was an air of finality to it that Severus didn’t like.

“No need to use the past tense. It will continue to be a pleasure,� Severus replied decisively.

“It will,� Llewellyn said with a nod, his voice quiet, and Severus understood that, in some sense, anyway, he had won.

………………

The news from Professor Llewellyn -- Davis -- took Severus a few days to digest. He gradually became resigned to it, and tried to see the bright side in being probably the only student to continue to receive tutelage from the man. There had been no announcement yet -- that would probably have to wait until the End of Term Feast -- so Severus had kept the bad news to himself, even avoiding telling Lily. She and Mary, being girls, had picked up on the fact that their friend was in an ill mood and had responded with a combination of teasing and concern, so he had tried to cheer up, but it was difficult. He never enjoyed the end of the school year, and this particular year was no exception.

And then there was the new state of his resurrected friendship with Lily. He wasn’t sure what he had expected -- that Lily would throw herself into his arms and declare her love for him? Of course not. But not this. He was happy, certainly, but still, not at peace -- in fact, he felt somewhat let down. Perhaps it was because his goal, so long denied him, had now been achieved. It was like the day after Christmas. He had Lily back -- now what the hell did he have to look forward to?

Obviously he could return to his efforts to getting Lily to go out with him; however, those efforts consisted more of a negation than in any practical action, since one thing that didn’t seem to have budged a bit in their year apart was Lily’s insistence upon the Unwritten Rules.

Severus hated the Unwritten Rules. They were one-sided, they were completely controlled by Lily, and they were unfair -- but they were, nonetheless, his code of conduct. He was not to express any interest in her as a girl. He was not to touch her, look at her, speak to her, speak about her, or extend invitations to her in any way that would imply a romantic interest. Valentine’s Day was for pranks, not for romance. He was not to ask her to dances -- as if he would -- although asking her to study or to accompany him to Hogsmeade was acceptable. He was not to flirt with her -- not that he was any bloody good at flirtation. He strongly suspected that this problem was why FireWhiskey had been invented, and that, were he foolish enough to consume it, he would probably require murderous doses thereof even to relax enough to get flirtatious with Lily. That said, Lily was allowed to flirt with him. She could link her arm in his, ruffle his hair, squeeze his shoulder, employ flattery or teasing or whatever the hell she wanted to entice him -- and then stop and hold him at an arm’s length. She could dance slow and close with him in her parents’ front room until the air was positively crackling between them, and then pull away and act as though nothing had happened, a memory that still made him catch his breath. It had been this way since approximately their fourteenth year.

And so, his efforts to get Lily to go out with him consisted primarily of following the Unwritten Rules and trying not to piss her off. In order to win her, he had to imply on rare and private occasions, in only the most witty and clever of ways, that he was in love with her, while outwardly appearing ninety-nine percent of the time to have no interest at all. Of course, there was no guarantee that this would be effective. Meanwhile, James Potter had free reign to openly woo her. Severus tried not to think about the situation too much, since it threw him into an even more misanthropic mood than usual.

Nonetheless, with this in mind, he walked up behind Lily in the hallway and, since she and Mary appeared to be unaware of his presence, gave her a brotherly thump on the shoulder.

“Knut for your thoughts,� he began lamely. She appeared distracted.

“Just the trunk in Professor Llewellyn’s classroom,� Lily said, “And the fact that he’s our Defence professor.�

She didn’t have to speak in full and complete sentences for Severus to understand her.

“He’s still here, though, isn’t he?� Severus asked. “Usually by this point, something has happened.� It was a way to avoid giving away what he knew.

“I’d feel better if it had,� Lily answered grimly. “I don’t like not knowing.�

“Not knowing what?�

“What’s going to prevent him from returning next year. Because something has to happen to him, doesn’t it?� she asked. “I don’t want him getting killed on the train back home. Or getting another rare type of pneumonia and getting carried off. You’re not the only one who’s rather fond of him, you know.�

“Maybe he’ll just get a better job offer,� Severus replied with a shrug. “But I hope not. Obviously. Besides, usually they don’t last this long, and despite getting sick all the time--�

“--and very thin,� Mary cut in.

“And getting very thin,� Severus agreed, continuing, “He’s still here. No lengthy stay in the mental ward at St. Mungo’s.�

“No secret past as a Dark wizard,� Lily continued.

“No bedrest,� Severus added.

“I wonder how Professor DeSilva is doing, anyway,� Lily mused. “She was brilliant. I wonder whether she’s still an Auror, with the baby and all.�

“No cursing himself in front of the entire fourth year class,� Severus continued, returning to the original subject. Babies interested him very little.

“That was fun,� Lily remarked dryly.

“Indeed,� Severus responded with a smirk, savoring the memory, which had been simultaneously horrifying and hilarious, and had rendered a largely incompetent professor wholly incompetent for the teaching of students.

“So he’s packing, but nothing has been said about him leaving,� Lily stated, reiterating the current situation. Severus chose not to reply in any way.

“I’d think they’d tell you, because you’re a prefect,� Severus prevaricated.

“And I’d think he’d tell you, because you’re so bloody special,� Lily continued tartly. Severus seemed to have inadvertently struck a nerve.

So, in her own way, had Lily. Can’t anyone besides you and James Potter be special for once? he found himself thinking, and immediately suppressed the thought. The Occlumency lessons had been useful not only in protecting his thoughts from others, but in protecting himself from his own thoughts.

“Why don’t you ask him for lessons yourself, then?� Severus asked, as blandly as possible under the circumstances. It was a good way to distract from the topic of whether or not Llewellyn would be returning in the fall.

Lily crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head, and then gave him a rather wan smile. “I am so bloody jealous, Sev. Happy for you, yes. But jealous. The best professor in the entire school, and you’ll have his home address. And carte blanche to come over for tea and have him dig around in that lovely, twisted mind of yours.� With her typical open temperament, Lily had expressed her envy, and doing so had clearly cheered her up. Her dark thoughts were out, and she obviously felt better.

“The best professor would have to be McGonagall,� Severus said honestly, even as he relished the back-handed compliment. “Llewellyn still barely manages to keep his class from devolving into chaos.�

“Yes, but from the female point of view, Llewellyn is also attractive, in a skinny, intellectual sort of way,� Lily answered, tilting her head to the side dreamily, and then shook it off and gave him a beaming grin. “Which some girls have been known to find appealing. Tootle pip,� she concluded, with what appeared to be a bizarre Muggle valediction and with, of course, a brotherly thump on the shoulder in return for his, and turned and walked briskly and cheerily away from him.

Which some girls have been known to find appealing… was she flirting with him? Very obliquely? He just stood there -- skinny, intellectual, and puzzled -- and finally came to the conclusion that it didn’t matter. If she were flirting, there was nothing he could do about it, for to respond in kind would be to break the Unwritten Rules. He had forgotten how calculating he had to be around Lily, even when she wasn’t giving him the silent treatment.

Except in summer, and summer was only two days away. Perhaps he could make progress with Lily after all… if he could survive one more summer with his bloody awful parents.

---

---

Chapter 17 - Dirty Old Town

Summer meant living with his parents, and working at a mindless job, but it also meant that Severus had Lily all to himself.

His mother was still sour and unpleasant; his father remained angry and defeated. For his part, Severus still spent an inordinate amount of time in his room, although this year he could typically be found reading ahead in his seventh year textbooks rather than wallowing in his sorrows.

Although he was living at home for what was to be the last time, at least he was there much less often, because his mother had insisted that he help earn his keep and had found for him a part-time job as a box boy at the local market before the first week of summer was out. The job was as inane as might have been expected, but it required him to do very little talking to anyone, and it gave him time to think. He thought, for example, that he might have actually been developing tangible biceps from all the lifting. Perhaps. And he thought that it helped considerably that his father had actually found employment at one of the few mills that still operated in the local area. He didn’t appear to be very happy about it, but nothing made the man particularly happy anyway, and it paid the bills, which was an improvement, and left him either too occupied or too exhausted to bother Severus, which was a miracle.

Lily, with her charm, intelligence, beauty, and -- most importantly -- her connections through Professor Slughorn, had actually found herself what initially sounded like a halfway decent job working for a successful local apothecary. Ostensibly she was to be helping with measuring and other such preparations for the mixing of custom potions; in reality, her work was much like Severus’s crap job, except that it involved toting and listing magical items and dolloping on the charm to wealthy and eccentric customers. “There’s only one thing that would pay you for it,� she had informed Severus, “and that’s money.�

But they did have money, and they had each other for company, and so several times a week, Severus went to Lily’s house after work and either sat around talking with her, joined her family for dinner, or took her somewhere cheap and greasy for a meal. Or was taken out by her, as was often the case -- Lily was a bit too fond of women’s lib -- and of making sure that Severus knew he wasn’t her boyfriend -- to allow him to pay every time. Nonetheless, she was all his, possibly for the last time, so he savored it.

It was a summer of relative domestic tranquility. Tobias Snape, when he was actually home, had seemed to keep in the forefront of his mind the fact that Severus could now legally use a wand, and as a result, so far Severus had not even been threatened. Eileen Snape worked late hours for extra pay, and to avoid her husband, presumably. Severus spent as much time as possible at Lily’s house. In other words, as long as the three Snapes avoided each other, an uneasy peace was maintained.

On this particular Friday morning, Severus had to be at the shop for his job at eleven in the morning, so he was still home when his parents were both long gone. He read ahead in his textbooks, made some notes on the book of useful and potentially lucrative potions he had purchased for himself before, and dressed up somewhat convincingly like a Muggle, which was to say, nothing that looked like anyone from a previous decade or century might have worn it. Muggles seemed to be absolutely mad about the newest and the latest. When he finally came downstairs to get a belated breakfast before walking to work, something caught his eye-- his father's tin lunch box, sitting on the kitchen countertop. Both parents had long since left for work, and his father would presumably never have time in his short lunch break to return home to get it. The foreman at the mill was a much harsher master than Mr. Bates at the market, who usually showed up a bit late and slightly hung over. Severus debated back and forth between bringing it to his father and letting him choose between going hungry, walking to the local chippie, or begging food off his co-workers. Finally an impulse of pity won out.

The town was as familiar to him as his own self, and it never seemed to change, even though he knew it was a constantly shifting tableau of decay. There they were, as they had always been -- the gas works, the old fever hospital, crisps wrappers and discarded bottles -- a nightmare vision of some sort of degenerate Victorian world, although perhaps the Victorian world itself had been just as degenerate and not really like something out of a Christmas card, the way it was so often portrayed.

Some benefactor had thought it salutary to provide a public library for the factory workers and their children-- perhaps in the 1870's, since the small, brick building was huddled in a warren of streets with names that came from the Crimean War. Therefore, most of Severus’s early education had come from the public library, Balaclava Street branch. He walked past it and on to the mill where his father spent his days in yet another dead-end job.

When he arrived, it occurred to him that he had no idea how to get into the place. There were high brick walls, the occasional gate, and numerous heavy-looking metal doors, but none looked like an entrance. He finally found something that looked like it might suffice as an entry door, and he knocked. No answer. He pushed, and the door yielded, leading to an empty hallway with dim fluorescent lighting and, at the end of it, a sliding window that looked as though a desk arrangement might be behind it.

When he arrived at the window, there was no one there, but a bell sat on the countertop with a handwritten note ordering him to “Ring for service,� so he rang for service. Nothing happened. He decided to wait a minute, and just when he was about to ring again, an ancient-looking woman opened a door and greeted him.

“I have my father’s lunch,� Severus announced. “He works here, and he forgot it. I would like to leave it for him.�

“Why don’t you bring it to him yourself, then?� the lady asked cheerfully.

Because I avoid him as much as humanly possible, Severus thought, but replied smoothly, “I wouldn’t want to disturb him. His name is Tobias Snape.� He held the lunch box out to her, but she tottered off in the other direction without taking it.

“Oh, there’s nothing they love like being disturbed,� the old lady joked. “Besides, you’d be giving my old back a rest. Just down that hallway and through the door to your left,� she concluded. There was clearly going to be no arguing with her and her old back, so Severus gave up and walked into the mill.

So this was the place his father had to work every day. No wonder the man was always so irritable-- it was utterly depressing. The building was dark, with the darkness occasionally broken by harsh lighting, and the air was close and dank. High above, a few partially obscured windows punctuated the brick with dim, yellowish light. The noise, though, was the thing that impressed itself upon him the most -- the endless whirring and humming and grinding of hundreds of gears and motors and machines. Low sounds, high sounds, the occasional beep or whistle-- he wondered that his father still had any hearing left and realized why he always turned on the television so bloody loud. At the machines were stationed dozens of men, and although some were tall and some were short, some were fat and some were thin, they all looked the same, somehow. He looked up and down several rows, but the employees didn’t even seem to notice him, until about the fifth row, when he heard a voice call his name over the din. The tall figure that was his father pulled a few levers, yelled something to his co-workers, and the machine they were working on came grinding to a halt as several men stepped away from it.

Severus walked over to him and held out the lunch box. “You forgot this,� he began.

Tobias Snape looked tired and, somehow, older than he did at home. "Thanks, son," he said quietly, taking it from Severus. "I'll be needing that." Severus nodded.

“You’re off to work, then,� his father said. It was more of a statement than a question, and Severus realised that his father was probably trying to make small talk with him to look like a decent father in front of his co-workers. Even he must have realised how pathetic it was that they had nothing to say to each other.

“Eleven o’clock until closing,� Severus added, and he was about to leave when the men nearby picked up the conversation.

"So, you must be the great Severus that we never stop hearing about!" one of the other workmen declared. "Brags about you all the time, your old man does."

Brags about you all the time? Did they have the right person? Severus’s father thought he was a good-for-nothing and a freak. Severus flicked a puzzled glance in his father's direction; Tobias Snape’s face had hardened, and he wouldn't meet Severus's eyes.

"Top of your class at your fancy boarding school, we hear," the man went on.

“Severus this, Severus that,� another man mocked. “You don’t look like a genius, lad. More like a teenage boy who needs a haircut.�

“It’s what’s between the ears that counts,� a third man commented sagely.

"Nothing wrong with schooling," a thick-set ruddy-featured man declared firmly, with the air of an expert. "My Kevin's probably the first lad in our family to go to the university. The cousins all take the piss; s'posed to be working in a factory and getting into fights and getting some girl up the builder when you're twenty, not studying architecture. But his mother's of gentler stock than my lot, and she's proud of him. Only thing would suit her better would be if he'd become a priest, but I wouldn't be hearing of that. Someone has to carry on the family name." There were roars of laughter at this one.

“Enough,� the elder Snape growled. “If we don’t work, we won’t get paid.� The others didn’t seem inclined to argue with him -- few did, in Severus’s experience. Saying nothing to Severus, Tobias Snape turned back to the machine in front of him and jammed a lever into place as the thing rumbled to life. The others, looking disappointed, resumed their places. The party was over.

As he walked away, Severus was grateful to the proud father of some unknown architecture student for distracting the crowd's attention from himself. He had no idea what to think about this bit of information about his dad. He had a bad feeling that his father did actually brag about him but that he hadn't wanted his son to know this, and that after his dad returned home from tonight's payday excursion to the pub, Severus might be in for one hell of a beating if he didn't get his wand out first.

At least he could go to Lily's.

........................................

There was no way to contact Lily at her job -- the market hardly kept owls for messenger purposes -- so Severus wandered over to her house after finishing work in hopes that she, and not Petunia, would be home. To his surprise, when the door was opened to him by Lily, a gaggle of girls stood in the front hallway already. They turned to look at him as the door opened, with looks on their faces as if he were some creepy crawly thing. The faces were vaguely familiar -- Muggle girls, undoubtedly, probably from Lily’s primary school.

“Sev!� Lily said, clearly surprised. “I wasn’t expecting you!� Then he could feel the change in her mood as she read his face, and her eyes became serious and questioning, but she didn’t wait for questions and answers. “Wait -- of course I was expecting you,� she announced. “What a great arse I am, eh?� she continued, taking his arm and pulling him into the house. He could feel the gratitude welling up in his chest, and at that particular moment, he loved her so much that he could hardly breathe.

“I am so sorry, girls� Lily announced to the group before he could say a word. “I completely forgot that I had already told Sev that we’d do something. I’m also forgetting my manners.� And with that, she promptly introduced him to the slightly disgruntled group, announcing five names that he made absolutely no effort to learn or remember. He nodded and shook hands and muttered he was pleased to meet them, as expected. She went on with her apologies, arranged something for the following weekend, promised not to forget, and escorted them out, while Severus stood awkwardly in the hallway.

When the last of them had said their goodbyes and Lily walked back in, she stopped and looked him over with a quizzical look. “What happened?� she asked, clearly concerned.

He didn’t quite know how to explain. “Nothing, really,� he finally answered, playing with the chain of his pocket-watch. “Well, nothing yet.�

She just stood and waited, her arms crossed, her head tilted, and he could tell that she didn’t quite know what to make of him on this particular occasion.

“My dad,� he finally said. “I took his lunch to the mill because he forgot it. Stupid bloody idea -- last time I’ll do that. Anyway, his mates started going on about how proud of me he was.� He paused, trying to think of how to explain the next bit. It was a premonition more than anything else. It was nothing tangible.

“Wouldn’t that be a good thing?� Lily asked, finally. She looked puzzled. Of course, Lily’s family was normal, and predictable.

“No,� Severus answered decisively. “He looked like thunder. He looked like he wanted to kill me. I don’t think he wanted me to know that.�

“You can’t escape him forever, Sev,� she answered softly. “What will you do tomorrow?�

“I can escape him tonight,� Severus answered. “It’s a Friday. Tonight he’ll be out getting drunk. I don’t want to be there when he gets home. I’ll sleep in the park if I have to -- I’ve done it before. But I thought -- just in case --�

“God, I’d forgotten about that. It’s a payday, isn’t it? Give me a minute,� she said, and dashed off down the hallway. In even less than a minute, she was back from the kitchen, with her mother bustling after her.

“Severus! How nice to see you!� said Mrs. Evans, a slightly shorter, slightly plumper version of Lily with a somewhat faded variant on Lily’s auburn hair. She had blue-grey eyes, though -- the most brilliant of Lily’s features came from her father. Severus soon found himself being whisked into the family room, with a pile of blankets and pillows and towels being deposited into his arms as if he were going on a North Pole expedition.

“Lily’s dad and I going out to the theater with the Abernathys,� Mrs. Evans instructed, “but there’s some of last night’s dinner left in the fridge, and I daresay there’s enough for you if you get to it before Vernon does. There’s plenty of food in the fridge, and there’s the telly, of course--.� A warm hostess, she gestured in the direction of the television as if Severus had never been over there or had never seen the invention before -- he wasn’t sure which. He was painfully familiar with the television, since his father seemed to do little else besides sitting in front of it and watching it when he was home. Severus knew to shut up when the television was on.

He thanked Mrs. Evans, and in response she gave him a pleasant smile, gave his arm a little pat, went on a bit more about how he was always welcome, and then commented on the time and bustled up the stairs to get dressed up for her evening out, leaving Severus and Lily alone.

“Dinner?� Severus asked.

Lily looked thoughtful. “Not here. I was planning on going out, and that’s what I’m in the mood for. Fish and chips?�

“Fish and chips,� Severus concurred. He waited while she pulled a light cardigan off a hanger in the hall closet, slung her handbag over her shoulder, and ushered him out into the front garden. Then she stopped to give him a look.

“What?� Severus asked.

“Nice outfit,� Lily commented archly.

“What’s wrong with it?� he continued, knowing perfectly well what was wrong with it.

“It’s entirely black,� she responded.

“Like my heart,� he smirked, giving her a sidelong glance to enjoy her reaction as they walked along. He had prepared that one. She grinned, swatted him lightly, then looped her arm in his. “It could be worse,� he added, “I could have worn the one with the Sex Pistols logo on it. Your mother would love that.� He immediately felt slightly guilty, since he actually rather liked Lily’s mother once he got past the Muggle bit, which he was trying heroically to do. She was… motherly. There was much to be said for that.

“My mother has no idea who the Sex Pistols are,� Lily answered, continuing, “In fact, I’m surprised that you do. You’re more of a Muggle than you let on. But anyway, all she would care about is a boy walking into the house to pick up her daughter with a shirt that said something about sex. I think that would be enough -- she’d never let me leave the house. With any boy. Ever again.�

“Remind me to wear that one, then,� he said.

“You wouldn’t,� she said firmly, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. I don’t even own one. I just wanted to see whether you believed me.� This time she smacked him harder, but her laughter was worth it.

“I did believe you. You actually do a good job dressing like a Muggle,� she said, clearly impressed, as they walked on.

“I know,� he responded. “Useful in avoiding getting my arse kicked at work. Even Petunia might approve.�

“You could be dressed like the Prime Minister and Petunia wouldn’t approve,� Lily said dryly, but with a hint of sadness. “We are who we are, and she doesn’t like it. Shall we go here?� He nodded and followed her into the small, greasy establishment which seemed to be their favorite locale for dining out. It was nearby, it was cheap, and it was open.

“Mary says hello,� Lily informed him as they stood in the early evening queue. Apparently on this particular balmy Friday evening, no one felt like cooking.

“Can Mary actually send owls?� he asked, curious about how exactly Mary would get in touch given her family situation and the International Statute of Secrecy.

Lily looked at him like he had grown a second head on his shoulders. “The telephone, Severus,� she answered with an amazed look. “You’ve heard of it -- it’s a black device with a dial on it with numbers and it rings and you pick it up and someone can talk to you from far away. Your dad has one in your front hallway.� She was smirking, but then she cheerily asked, “Shall I pay for dinner? After work and all that babyminding last weekend, I’m positively flush.�

“Only if I can pay next time,� he answered. He had some money saved up not only from his job, but also from his black-market business in potions that were technically perfectly legal but usually difficult for underage students to procure, and he had been looking forward to doing the lion’s share of paying for meals and pictures for the summer. Fish and chips and ice-cream could be twisted in his mind to seem surprisingly like a date when they involved him pulling out his father’s castoff billfold that he kept for summer use.

“So, still hearing from James Potter?� he asked as casually as possible as they sat down with their trays.

“Just that once,� she responded with a sigh that Severus deeply hoped was not a sign of pining for the aforementioned. “He’s a nice enough fellow, Sev -- he’s decent to most of the Gryffindors, anyway, and probably to most people except you. You two got off on the wrong foot and somehow never moved on.�

She tucked into some battered plaice, obviously ready to end the conversation, but he felt an inexorable pull to keep it going. He knew she hated the topic, but he also knew he couldn’t stop himself. “Would you ever go out with him?� he asked, shaking vinegar over his fried fish somewhat more violently than necessary. “I mean, he’s asked you enough times.�

She sighed again. “Fine. I thought about it,� she said. “Just to get him to leave me alone -- and to go out on a date, quite honestly. It might be nice now and again. But then you and I became friends again, which means I get to see up close and personally what a berk he is. So, that was rather off-putting. In short, no, I never did go out with him -- not even when you and I weren’t talking. Satisfied?�

No, he wasn’t satisfied. “You’d think about it, though,� Severus could hear his own voice saying, even as some other, wiser part of his mind wished to retract the stupid, masochistic comment. He was being petulant now, and he knew it.

“Don’t be a jealous git again, Sev,� she said quietly, but her eyes were angry. “We’ve been doing so well. You’re my best friend, and I don’t want to lose you again. And that’s not a threat -- but I don’t know how we could call it friendship if all we do is fight. Which is what happens whenever James Potter comes up.�

He took a deep breath. He knew he was being a fool, but James Potter still seemed to goad him into making an ass of himself even from many miles away. He wondered whether his possessiveness of Lily would ever end -- if she agreed to go out with him, if she married him, both of which seemed highly unlikely -- or if things never worked out between them and she wound up with someone else. Would he be one of those men who wouldn’t let anyone else near his girlfriend? Would he still be jealous if he lost her, embarrassing himself by haunting someone else’s wife and hating some other wizard for his good fortune? He knew he had changed a great deal over the past year, but these impulses still kept pushing up like weeds. It was the holding onto her, he had long since realized, that made him most likely to lose her. The original plan had been to become someone she would want to be with. Letting go of his need to possess her seemed impossible, but it was clearly the next step.

“I’m sorry,� he said. “It would be -- unreasonable to think you’d have continued turning down James Potter over someone you weren’t even friends with anymore. I’m surprised you did.�

She looked surprised herself, probably because none of their many conversations on this topic had ever ended with a concession on his part. “I would never go out with a fathead who treats you the way he does,� she said decisively. “It’s not just the Hufflepuffs who are loyal.�

“Then I’ll just have to hope he keeps being such a git,� Severus said, much more lightly than he actually felt, “because if he ever started behaving normally, you might actually go out with him, and then I’d be stuck putting up with him.� He would put up with Potter if he were Lily’s boyfriend, he realized -- whatever it took to stay near her. But he would never stop trying to undermine the pompous git, however subtly, even if that just meant being better than James at everything she needed. And he would never stop hoping.

As a final concession, he even changed the topic, bringing up the question of who would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts during their seventh year. They both planned on taking it -- Lily because she was considering becoming an Auror, and Severus because he had no idea what he wanted to do but the class certainly seemed a sensible choice, not to mention one that he was good at -- and for a few minutes they reviewed the litany of Defense teachers who had instructed them during their six years at Hogwarts. The conversation had drifted in this comfortable direction for a few minutes when the restaurant’s door slammed open and a noisy crowd of young men shoved in, headed by the inevitable Vernon Dursley.

Vernon Dursley was an eminently boring young man, but Severus managed to find interesting things about him every time they met. How easily he got red in the face. The complete and utter lack of anything even resembling a neck. Or the fact that he did not seem to have in his wardrobe any article of clothing that contained natural fibers. Severus was not the type to notice people’s clothes, but Vernon’s clothes were outstanding in their content of all things artificial. They positively glowed with chemical goodness. On this particular occasion, his ample girth was straining against what appeared to be a shiny blue polyester polo shirt and brown polyester trousers with their own built-in belt. His hair was slicked back with some sort of product that caused it to completely defy the second law of thermodynamics, being completely and utterly immobile. There was no entropy in Vernon Dursley’s hair.

Vernon and his friends seemed to draw their sense of self-esteem from attracting notice from other people -- in this case, the other patrons of the restaurant, who turned with annoyed glances at the noisy banter. In return, the crowd of young men looked brazenly around the restaurant, as if they dared anyone to ask them to shut up. Of course Vernon’s gaze fell upon Lily.

“Well,� he announced to his gang. “Look who it is. Petunia’s oddball sister and her freakish friend.� His companions laughed.

“Say that to my face, Dursley,� Lily challenged, standing up and slipping out of the booth seat that she occupied.

“Excuse me?� Vernon asked, his pallid, doughy features starting to darken with anger.

“I said, say that to my face,� she repeated. Her voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking her mood.

In response, Vernon ordered his friends, “Get the Captain’s Special for me, with extra chips,� and then lumbered over toward Lily and Severus. “What was that you said?� he asked nastily. “Or was that your boyfriend? Maybe he sounds like a girl. Looks enough like one with that long hair.�

As Vernon approached the table, Lily glanced quickly at Severus, who had been the object of the Marauders’ enmity long enough to know when a fight was going to start. Her eyes pleaded don’t, and she almost imperceptibly shook her head. Severus stowed his wand again, but kept playing with the handle, ready to use it if needed.

“Now,� Vernon said, standing over Lily, but keeping a careful distance. “What was that you were saying? It sounded like you were trying to embarrass me in a public place.�

“No need -- you do a good enough job embarrassing yourself,� Lily snapped.

“I know about you,� Vernon hissed in an angry whisper, stepping far too close to her. “And I know about your lot. The authorities might be interested in knowing also. Decent, normal people shouldn’t have to--�

At this, Lily stood up to her full height to better look into Vernon’s piggy eyes. “And I know about you,� she challenged him, chin up, eyes flashing.

Vernon looked almost afraid, then angry. Without another word, he backed away a few steps and said, with a jerk of his head toward his friends, “Right, mates, let’s stay away from these two before we catch something.� They left in a murmur of grunts and laughter, and Severus felt himself relaxing.

Lily sat down, looking limp and relieved, into the booth. “Where were we?�

“You know what about him?�

“Nothing,� Lily said brightly. “I just made it up. I wonder what on earth he thinks I know?� She looked delighted with herself. “We need to find out what it is,� she went on, clearly plotting something. “You!� she announced. “You can do Legilimency!�

“I can do Occlumency,� Severus corrected her. “Prof-- Davis hasn’t taught me an Legilimency.� The first name bit was going to take some getting used to.

“Then that’s your next step, isn’t it?� Lily replied with an impish grin. “Vernon seems so dreadfully boring,� she mused, “I wonder what on earth he could be hiding.�

“I’m not sure I want to think about that,� Severus answered, continuing, “Petunia was stupid enough to tell him?�

“Petunia is stupid enough for any number of things. And think about it -- do you actually think the police would believe him?�

Severus thought about it briefly, and agreed with her. “Fair enough. We were talking about Professor Llewellyn.�

“Of course. Professor Llewellyn. I’m sorry, Sev-- I know you got on well with him. I wish he could have stayed, too -- he was brilliant and adorable at the same time, and don’t get jealous on me again. I’m allowed to say that he was objectively rather attractive in an intellectual sort of way, and in a too-old-for-me-and-married-to-someone-else sort of way. Why did he leave, exactly?�

She moved on too quickly for Severus to make the necessary sarcastic remark. Instead he just answered, “He has to find out what curse he has and how to break it. I suppose it would have been too much to ask for any decent Defence professor to last more than a year.�

“So it’s a curse, then? I just thought he was rather sickly. How did it happen?�

“Well, he thinks it’s a curse, anyway, and I suppose he’d be the one to know. I’m guessing Africa, since something similar happened to his friend.� Severus decided to skip the fact that whatever had happened to Professor Llewellyn’s friend Jonathan had killed the man, since it was a depressing and altogether too real possibility. “By the way,� he added, changing the subject, “do you want to visit him? If you don’t mind the fact that he might be cursed, I suppose.�

“Visit a professor? I would love to visit a professor. Even a cursed one. Especially him. Why -- did you get an invitation?�

“Yes.�

“And I didn’t?�

“Apparently.�

“Fascinating.�

“Isn’t it, though,� Severus replied dryly. “But you do get to be in the Slug Club.�

“Lucky me,� Lily mused, sipping on her soda.

Severus raised one eyebrow and was unable to keep himself from smiling at her. “Lucky you.�

………………………………………..

When he woke up the next day, he first had to figure out where he was. Lily’s parents’ sofa. Of course. The sofa wasn’t long enough for him, so he had slept curled up a bit unnaturally and felt stiff as a poker. He seemed to have awakened before the rest of the household, so he used magic to brush his teeth and straighten his hair -- his usual implements being back at Spinner’s End -- straightened his clothes, made a mental note that after sleeping all night in the same outfit he’d worn the day before, he definitely needed to bathe, and returned to the front room where he had spent the night. The Evans family woke up one by one not long thereafter -- Petunia chose not to stay in his company, but the others greeted him cheerily and sat down, with heads fuzzy and housecoats on, to breakfast. The Evanses, with the notable exception of Petunia, were all so bloody fond of each other -- if he hadn’t envied it so much, he would undoubtedly have found it disgusting.

Severus and Lily were at the breakfast table with her dad as the older man pored over the sports section of the local paper, when the two owls arrived.

“Two owls,� Mr. Evans commented, puzzled. “Interesting.�

“Professor Dumbledore,� Mrs. Evans said proudly from her spot at the stove scrambling eggs. “The man is a genius. He must know you’re visiting with us, Severus. I take it this is your list of supplies for the fall term?�

Lily, who had opened her parchment more quickly than Severus, was staring in shock at the page in front of her. “I’m Head Girl,� she said, standing up slowly. “They’re asking me to be Head Girl.�

“Well, of course they are,� Mrs. Evans responded, dropping her spatula and giving Lily a big, motherly hug. “Because you’re smart, and kind, and a natural leader. Our Lily!�

“Our Lily, Head Girl,� Mr. Evans said. He had put down the paper and was grinning madly, glowing with pride over his daughter.

“Well, I suppose now I can get away with whatever I want, then, can’t I?� Severus joked. Lily grinned and shook her head.

In the excitement over Lily’s announcement, Severus had stopped opening his own parchment, but when he did, the words were so unexpected that he had to re-read them several times.

“What did they send to you, Sev?� Lily asked inelegantly, through a mouthful of cereal. In the background, her mother made a comment about talking with one’s mouth full.

Severus paused, unsure whether he should say.

“They’ve asked me to be a prefect,� he finally announced.

“Very funny,� Lily laughed, too caught up in her joy and her breakfast to realise that he was deadly serious.

“Not funny at all,� he responded.

“You’re not serious,� she continued.

“Unfortunately, I am,� he said. The Evanses looked puzzled by the exchange.

“Let me look at that,� Lily ordered, exercising her Head Girl privileges already, and grabbed the page away from him. “A prefect!� she shouted. “They’ve asked you to be a prefect! Oh, Sev! We can work together! How brilliant! Well, it’s about time they asked you, I mean really--�

“I’m not going to do it,� he announced. “Apparently they're in for a minor disappointment. Which I’m sure they’ll get past quickly, because obviously they’re completely mental."

“Why wouldn’t you want to do it, Severus?� Mrs. Evans asked with cheerful concern. “Such an honour!�

“Slytherin isn’t like Gryffindor,� he explained simply. “It’s not the same. No one in his right mind wants to be the prefect in Slytherin.� The Evanses looked confused, but not inclined to keep pestering on the subject of something they didn’t understand.

“That’s because all the courage is in Gryffindor, apparently,� Lily replied. “Coward.�

“Lily. Behave,� her mother admonished her. Lily was tucking into her eggs, and Severus couldn’t tell whether Lily was teasing him or genuinely angry. The “coward� comment stung, but even so, Lily had no idea what a Slytherin seventh year prefect would be up against. He could either do absolutely nothing and tacitly side with the Voldemort Youth, like Nott, or he could set himself up for a year of hell. Being friends with Lily, Severus clearly couldn’t pick the first option -- once again, after achieving a hard-won semblance of relative neutrality, he was being forced to openly take sides. The only logical thing to do was not to accept the position at all. Lily’s parents didn’t understand this, but they did understand being polite to a guest.

Lily, however, was clearly not going to let it go so lightly. An hour later, when Severus had said his thanks and was about to leave, she cornered him and started questioning him again.

“I’m sorry I called you a coward,� she began.

“You should be,� Severus responded dryly. He wasn’t going to get angry, but he wasn’t going to just let her off the hook.

“So,� she asked, moving on, “You’re absolutely sure you won’t do it. Sev, we’d get to work together.�

“Absolutely sure,� Severus replied. “You know how badly it would go. And we can work together in class. Besides, as we know from last year, I’d be much more useful if I’m not part of the establishment.�

“It’s too late for that. You’re my friend, Sev. Your utility is over in that capacity. You may as well serve as a prefect. Nott was worse than useless -- no wonder they asked you.�

“What, and enforce the rules all the time? With that lot to contend with? You can count me out. They already hate me enough because I won’t join them. I’m not doing it,� he said with finality.

“Fine,� Lily replied, holding out her own parchment for him to read. “I didn’t want to do this. But what if I told you that they’ve made James Potter Head Boy?�

“What the hell?!�

And thus began the leadership career of Severus Snape, quite possibly the most reluctant prefect in the long and illustrious history of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Chapter 18 - First Day


"WOULD. YOUTWO. STOPPIT!!"

"Me?" James retorted, honestly puzzled. "ME??!! I think it should be fairly obvious that the problem here is--"

"The problem here," Lily spat, "is both of you, going on at each other like, like-- like I don't know what. Sev--" and here she turned on Snape, which was satisfying. The ‘Sev’ bit, not satisfying at all-- it emphasized their familiarity, the long years of their friendship, and, possibly even worse, it made that bloody awful name of Snape's sound almost normal. ‘Severus’ was ripe for mockery. ‘Sev,’ on the other hand, sounded halfway human. Snape glowered from under his greasy curtain of hair at no one in particular -- at the world in general, probably, this being Snape. How the hell did he have greasy hair on the first day of school? It was almost like he worked on it.

"Sev, he's Head Boy. No one knows why. Accept it and stop being such an arse to him about how he got the position. As for you, James--" But unexpectedly, even as she rounded on James, she grabbed Snape’s arm and roughly shoved up the left sleeve of his robe. Snape flinched, and for a second James almost expected to see something there -- the Dark Mark, not just a pale, skinny arm, which was, unfortunately, all there was to see.

Lily pulled the sleeve back down, let go of Snape’s arm, and announced, "He's not a Death Eater, James. Bloody well stop that nonsense and start behaving like a Head Boy should to a prefect. Both of you, act your age, which is seventeen, not three." She stopped, took a breath, and composed herself. "Thank you. Now, let's have no more of this nonsense for the rest of our journey to Hogwarts. Or this term. Or ever."

She turned back to her old friend and ordered, “You, go help round up the new Slytherin first years. We’ll be arriving soon.�

“But I--�

“If they’re small, and wearing Slytherin colors, and you have never seen them before in your life, then they’re your responsibility. Go.�

Snape slouched away, slowly, reluctantly, turning back to look at the two of them as the door slid closed. James, left alone in the Hogwarts Express prefects’ compartment with the one and only Lily Evans, didn’t even try to stop the triumphant sneer that made its way across his face. Snape’s features darkened, but Lily must have looked as though she meant business, because the greasy git didn’t stop, leaving James alone with his quarry. Unfortunately, Lily didn’t seem interested at this point -- as if she ever had in their six years at Hogwarts.

“You are Head Boy,� she informed him, quietly but still angrily. “Do you have any idea what that means?�

“I’m not an idiot, Evans,� he bristled, but then cheered up as he thought of the logical rejoinder. “But I am new on the job. I suppose I’ll have to take lessons from you.�

Lily blushed prettily, straightened her shoulders and continued. “It means you’re supposed to be an example for the other students and the leader of the prefects. I have to agree with Severus that I have no idea how you were given the position, although obviously I don’t agree with his… insinuations.�

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,� James responded sarcastically. “As for how I became Head Boy-- I was captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. For two years. How different can it be?�

It had not occurred to James to question his fitness for the role of Head Boy, so during this journey, it had come to him as something of a shock that apparently there were quite a few others who were openly baffled at his appointment. He reached back, elbow pointing at the ceiling, and ruffled his own hair, which he was certain made him look cooler than he felt at that particular moment. This is not how he had envisioned his final autumn train ride back to Hogwarts, or his inaugural moments as Head Boy -- marked by a squabble with Snape and a dressing-down from Lily Evans, who had been his favorite reason for taking the job in the first place.

“How different can it be?� Lily exclaimed. “James, your team is a captive audience. They all share the same goal as you, which is, I take it, winning. If they give you enough trouble, McGonagall presumably boots them off the team for you. The prefects are nothing like that -- they serve at the request of their Head of House and Professor Dumbledore, not you or me. If they’re difficult, you can’t toss them off the team. And as for the rest of the student body, you’re stuck with them. That’s how different it can be. You need to work to have them on your side. If they don’t respect you, they won’t bother doing what you say.�

“Oh,� James replied, dully. “Well, when you put it like that.�

“Furthermore,� Lily continued, in her charmingly bossy manner, “there are three seventh year male prefects out there who’ve been doing this for two years already and who all wonder why you got the job instead of them -- and yes, I’m including Remus. You may have nothing to prove on the Quidditch pitch, but you do here. I’d recommend you stop acting like such an arse and start acting like Head Boy.�

“What did I do to deserve all this?� James protested. “All you said to him was--�

“It’s none of your business what I said to him. Besides, I’ll talk to him later. Now get out there and do your job.�

And she pushed past him, leaving James standing in the prefects’ compartment, angry and humiliated-- and jealous. Jealous that Snape got away with a brief scolding while he received an unnerving lecture. Jealous that Lily would talk to Snape later-- presumably about Snape’s behavior, but also about matters other than prefect business, since Snape and Lily always seemed to have something to talk about. Jealous, even, of her casual physical comfort with the slimy git -- the arm linked in his, the hand on his shoulder to get his attention, even the fact that she was so familiar with him that she could grab his arm and push up his sleeve as though she did it all the time. Angrily, James pushed open the door of the compartment and stepped out into the hallway of the train, then wondered what the hell to do next. James Potter, Head Boy -- who had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

……………………..


“They should have asked Geeta.�

“Geeta?�

“What? She’d be better than Mary, at least.�

“Watch it,� Remus interjected.

James had survived his first day as Head Boy and was, mercifully, back in his own room with his own roommates, where he could finally relax after a day of following Lily and trying to imitate her as surreptitiously as possible. At least here, no one questioned his fitness for the position to which he had rather surprisingly ascended. He tried not to think too much about what Lily had said about Remus. Surely Remus understood why he couldn’t have the job himself.

“Come on, Remus,� Sirius continued. “I know she’s your friend, but Mary has… The Famous Mary Temper.�

“Which she exhibits only rarely, and usually to the deserving few,� Remus said evenly. “Geeta, on the other hand, never gets angry, but seems to think she has the right to say whatever she wants to whomever she wants whenever she wants. We need a prefect, not a queen.�

“Doesn’t seem that way to me,� Peter disagreed. “I think Geeta would have been much better.� Peter, notably, had been on the receiving end of The Famous Mary Temper on more than one occasion, and Peter seemed to take such affronts to heart more than his compatriots did.

“Hester -- too quiet,� Remus went on, ignoring Peter and ticking off the list of the seventh-year Gryffindor girls on his fingers. “Marlene -- not even remotely interested. And Lily, who is already Head Girl.�

“Which leaves Mary.�

“Which leaves Mary,� Remus concluded. “Should make it interesting for you, James. Mary and Snape get on like a house on fire, and now they’re your new prefects.�

“Why doesn’t he just ask her out and leave Lily for you?� Sirius asked. “He should have given up by now. Lily deserves better.�

“Even Mary deserves better. Snivelly and Mary -- bit of a revolting thought, really,� Peter mused, as Sirius grinned and began a bout of fairly realistic imitation retching.

“Why do you think Dumbledore made me Head Boy?� James asked, suddenly changing the topic and airing his newfound neurosis at the same time. Worrying about things was not a customary practice of his, and he was not enjoying it at all. In fact, he wanted his worries laid to rest as quickly as possible. Sirius and Peter looked at Remus, who seemed to be at a loss for words, and James found himself wishing he hadn’t asked.

“Presumably they thought you had the necessary leadership skills,� Remus finally offered, diplomatically. “Edric is not particularly bright, Roland is probably too quiet, and Nott was completely useless and has been replaced by Snape, who’s nothing more than the best of a bad lot, and too new besides. And I’m a werewolf.� Remus rarely referred to his lycanthropy himself, especially with such bluntness, so this was a bit of a departure, one to which James decided not to give too much thought. There was a hint of self-loathing in Remus’s inflection, something that had become mercifully uncommon these days. James himself had benefitted at Remus’s expense, somehow, and he hadn’t even asked for it. He couldn’t win.

“I’m new myself,� James answered. There was an awkward pause. “Are you angry?�

“At you? For being Head Boy?�

“Yes. You know you were the best candidate. And you know why… why you weren’t chosen.�

The pause was lengthy this time. Finally Remus spoke. “I know why. And I understand -- Dumbledore pulled me aside at the end of last year. Disappointed, yes. Angry, no. I suppose I’ll have to get used to this sort of thing. Besides, you’ll do a good job.�

“Do you honestly think so? I don’t think Evans does.�

It had all been so much easier the year before, after he had inadvertently gotten Snape out of the way. Not inadvertently, really-- he had been trying for years to make Snivellus look bad in front of Lily. Surely she could only come to Snape’s defense so many times before seeing him for what he was. James had intended only to humiliate and emasculate the creepy git -- had had no idea that Snape would, in his rage and frustration, take it so much further.

“I don’t need help from a filthy little Mudblood like her!�

Excellent.

At first James had thought it was just the latest, and probably worst, in a long line of fights for those two, since they seemed to bicker like an old married couple, fighting and making up over and over and over again. But apparently this time it had been different. Lily had appeared to no longer be speaking to Snape -- understandably so, given what he had said to her. They had left for the summer, and when they all returned, James had been certain that the gruesome twosome would be back to normal after a summer sequestered away in the dying mill town they called home -- Lily arriving on the platform chatting and laughing with Snape, reluctantly taking her leave of him to go to the prefects’ compartment as if parting from him were something she regretted. They had their problems during the school year, but summer always seemed to rekindle their friendship.

The previous summer, though, apparently had not. Sixth year had started, and Lily still had nothing to do with Snape. Snape, however, seemed to have jettisoned his would-be Death Eater roommates, and therein lay the problem. James and Sirius could continue to attack him; it was certainly very satisfying to do so. However, Snape had become a solitary figure, and attacking him made the Marauders look like a quartet of bullies. After a few incidents early in the school year, James had tacitly backed off. He had worked with Lily in Potions, and seemed to be making some progress, when all of a sudden, she seemed to be speaking to Snape again. James had no idea what Lily had been doing out by the lake that cold spring morning, or how Snape had known to go looking for her, but somehow Snivellus had rescued her from Avery and Mulciber, and unfortunately, the incident seemed to have erased past wrongs. One step forward, two steps back.

That summer, James and Sirius had escaped from the house, where James’s mother was virtually holding them captive for fear of the goings-on in the wider world, and had spent the day at Diagon Alley. Actually, they had spent the morning in London, chatting up Muggle girls, who all seemed to have an inexplicable fascination with Sirius, but eventually James had gotten bored of it and dragged Sirius to the entry portal at the Leaky Cauldron. They were still in Diagon Alley few hours later, trying to figure out where to go to dodge a sudden late-summer shower and spend the last of their money, when they spied him.

Snape was hunched in the doorway of, incongruously enough, WitchWear Boutique “for the Discerning Witch.� Beyond the unnecessary quotation marks, there was the fact that their least favorite person was standing in the door of a women’s clothing shop -- it was just too priceless. James wished he had a camera. He did have Sirius, however, which was the next best thing. He elbowed his friend and jerked his head in the direction of the shop, and then watched as Sirius’s eyes lit up and a cocky grin made its way across his face. They glanced at each other and then quickly changed direction.

“Severus!� Sirius called out in his best cheerful, hearty voice as they walked up to him -- upon reflection, James concluded that he had probably never heard his friend call the Slytherin by his given name in the six years that they had known each other. The friendly introduction was nothing more than the joy of the hunt -- Sirius looked positively delighted.

Snape looked up and seemed to withdraw further into the corner of the doorway; James could see his hand surreptitiously reaching for his wand. He was not dressed for the weather, wearing only a T-shirt and jeans and looking cold and bedraggled. His wet hair clung to his forehead and neck.

“So,� Sirius began cheerily. “This is where you do your shopping. Explains a lot.�

“Only when I’m shopping for you,� Snape muttered to himself, but loud enough for them to hear it. Sirius opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

Even James had to concede that it was a good answer, but it was not acceptable for Snape to have the last word, so James interjected, “Really, Snivellus, still being dragged to the shops by your mum. Aren’t you a bit old for that? What self-respecting wizard lets himself be dragged to a women’s clothing shop?�

“I’m here for the same reason any wizard would be standing here,� Snape replied, with what had to be studied boredom. “Because unlike yourself, I’m here with a girl. Really, Potter, you should try it some time. One would think that people might start to wonder.� His eyes flicked from James to Sirius, and the corners of his mouth curled with just a hint of a nasty smile.

Sirius gave what could best be described as an indignant yelp and pulled out his wand, but James pushed his best friend’s arm back down and countered darkly, “Oh, I can think of a witch I’d like to spend time with. In fact, I’m certain I’ll be spending a great deal of time with her this year.�

He felt a brief surge of triumph -- brief, unfortunately, because his rival seemed completely unaffected and instead responded by sneering at him and commenting, “Interesting. Then why is she here with me?�

As James struggled for some sort of witty rejoinder, a figure pushed open the door of WitchWear, and suddenly there was Lily, resplendent in what looked for all the world like Muggle tennis whites, some sort of sporty white mini-dress perfect for showing off her legs but completely inadequate for the weather. Her outfit was covered by a rather ratty standard-issue Hogwarts pullover with Slytherin colors at the neckline.

Before she could notice James or Sirius, she waved her shopping tote and announced to Snape, “As I was saying, Sev, I appreciate the chivalry and all, but I won’t have you freezing to death on my behalf. Besides, I need a new cape anyway and-- oh, hello.�

The greeting was not entirely friendly.

“Hello!� James replied, as pleasantly as possible given the circumstances. “I hear we’re to be working together this year.�

“Yes,� Lily said, in a very neutral tone. “So do I. Should be interesting.�

“We should, ah, meet,� James continued. “To plan. For the year. Head Boy and Head Girl, you know.� He sounded like an idiot, and he knew it, but Snape was glowering at him by this point, which was always a good sign. “How about Friday night?� he offered.

“Sorry, already busy,� Lily chirped.

“Saturday night?�

“Busy.�

“Sunday, then.�

“Won’t do-- I have to wash my hair. Come on, Sev. Goodbye!� And she linked her arm companionably in Snape’s and walked off with a toss of her head, leaving James and Sirius standing there looking after them. Snape, to his credit, didn’t even bother looking back.

There was a lengthy pause.

“I think he won,� James said quietly.

Sirius seemed to be trying to think of something to say, and finally came up with, “He’s still an ugly git.�

“I wonder what she sees in him,� James pondered aloud.

“Who says she sees anything in him? They’re friends, remember? No point in flogging yourself, Prongs,� Sirius replied jauntily. “Come on-- let’s go before someone actually thinks we’re window-shopping for frocks.� James couldn’t argue with his friend’s logic, especially after Snivellus’s unsubtle suggestions, and he was kicking himself for losing the opportunity to use Lily’s hair-washing excuse as a chance to mock Snape. It was definitely time to go.

And that had been his last run-in with Snape and Evans before getting on the train and promptly launching into a mutually surly duel of insults with Snape in front of Lily and the entire prefect staff. Then Remus’s lack of a rousing vote of confidence, while perfectly understandable, had put a damper on what were left of James’s spirits. Even James, who had never lacked for self-confidence, had to admit that he was off to a bad start.


………………………….

Usually, if James wanted to talk to someone, he found his friends. If he wanted to flirt with someone, he found Evans.

This time, he wanted to talk to Evans, which was something of a departure.

It was early enough in the evening that a lot of Gryffindors, having unpacked their suitcases, had congregated in the common room, which had one large, rather loud crowd of fourth and fifth years batting around some sort of flying object, and smaller huddles here and there consisting of little groups of friends in animated conversation. Evans, befitting the dignity of her new position, sat by herself in a plush wing chair, one leg tucked under the other, apparently lost in a book. James could have stood there looking at her all night. Her left hand balanced the book on the arm of the chair; her right hand absently twisted a lock of that gorgeous auburn hair. She was a vision, as usual, but he actually needed to speak to her rather than contemplate her loveliness.

“Evans,� he said by way of greeting, standing in front of the chair.

“You can call me Lily,� she replied, without looking up. She managed to be both prickly and friendly at the same time, which only impressed him all the more.

“You know what you said about giving me some help,� he continued.

“Yes?� She glanced up briefly, placed her bookmark, and closed the text, looking up at him expectantly.

“I think I’m going to be needing that. I mean, really. I have no idea what I’m doing.�

Her response this time was a bemused smile. “That almost sounds like humility, James.�

“Almost,� James conceded. “Don’t be getting ahead of yourself.� And she smiled at him again. This time it actually appeared genuine, and this time, when James ruffled his own hair, for the first time all day he actually felt almost as cool as he supposed he looked.