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.
Snivellus and the Head Girl by SeverusSempra
Chapter Notes: A year's worth of catching up to do.
Chapter Endnotes: Thank you to Fresca (Colores) for the exceptionally helpful beta-ing, and for all of you who keep reviewing this and forgiving how long I'm taking to write it.