September 16, 1975
6:17 am
Gryffindor common room

Every generation of witch and wizard reflects on its Hogwarts years differently. Throughout its history, Hogwarts has been both a strict, crisp boarding school and an easy-going escape from the harsh strictures of polite society, a tiger's cage of discontent and competition and a community of friendship, generosity, and unity. Hogwarts is, in short, whatever its students need it to be.

For the class of 1978, Hogwarts was a home in the most intimate sense. Classmates were more like brothers, sisters, and cousins than unrelated acquaintances; teachers more like wizened grandparents or loving aunts and uncles.

Together, the student body lived and breathed the excitement and suspense of the game of Quidditch. Its players were heroes, symbols of the greatness and particular hallmarks of each house.

At six o'clock in the morning on a brisk September day, Gryffindor heroes James Potter and Sirius Black sat in front of the cold, unlit fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, passively observing the journey of a thin vein of drool making its way down team captain Caradoc Dearborn's chin.

"A Galleon it drips," Sirius muttered, rubbing the dryness from his eyes. This year's tryouts began at promptly 6:24 and so far, the three were the only players present.

Dorcas Meadowes tramped down the stairs from the girls' dormitories in full uniform, carrying her broom, protective pads, and helmet. She plopped onto the couch next to Sirius, and looked over at Caradoc. "Absolutely not . . . it's going to make it to his neck." She reached over to shake Sirius' outstretched hand, sealing the bet, before leaning forward to connect the buckles on her shin guards.

The four teammates sat in companionable silence for a few moments. Dorcas continued to put on her protective padding as James and Sirius continued to absently watch the drool now sliding down the curve of Caradoc's lower jaw. They looked up at the sound of footsteps on the boys' staircase. Seventh year Trenton Schappell took the last step and mumbled a sleepy "hey" before kicking his classmate square in the shin and sitting down on the chair opposite him.

Caradoc blinked awake and used the bottom hem of his red and gold Quidditch jersey to wipe the drool from his jaw. Sirius and Dorcas exchanged glances, and Dorcas shrugged; they would never settle their bet. Caradoc looked around at the group before him and checked his watch. "It's 6:22. Is this all we've got, then? Do any of you lot know who's trying out?"

James readjusted his goggles - Quidditch-appropriate replacements for his everyday spectacles - over his eyes. "We need a chaser and two Beaters. All I know is Sirius is re-trying for Beater."

"It's a stupid rule, mate," Sirius complained. "I don't see why you have to try for the same position two years in a row before it's officially yours."

"It's to make sure we don't get stuck with rubbish players," Caradoc yawned, shaking his head to clear the last fog of sleep from his brain. "Some people are great for the try-outs then bloody awful during the season. This is our last chance to boot you."

Sirius shrugged, unconvinced. As silly as he found the rule, he and James had discussed the regulation at length in the past, and James had assured him he would change it if he should ever become the team captain. Since this was Dearborn's last year, he had to appoint the next captain by Christmas hols, and James was a prime candidate. He'd been on the team for two years already.

"At any rate," Dorcas chimed in, "you'll probably get it, Sirius. You did great last year, so I see no reason you wouldn't make the team again." She turned to Trenton as she fastened a buckle on her right wrist guard. "What are you trying for, Trent?" she asked, though she knew the answer.

"Chaser, again. I've been practicing all summer," Trenton replied, self-consciously pulling his undersized Quidditch jersey from some minor-league team Dorcas didn't recognize around his midsection. She had never seen him so nervous. Normally red-faced from laughter, Trenton was deathly pale as he half-heartedly chuckled, "it's my last year, so hopefully I've improved a bit. Third time's a charm, right?"

The other three boys were silent. Dorcas smiled reassuringly and patted his knee. "I bet you'll do great." He returned her smile, taking a deep, steadying breath. The room was chilly and pleasantly silent for another few minutes. James stared vaguely out of the window, lost in thought; Sirius scraped dry mud from the bottom of his left boot with his fingernail; Trent nervously tapped his fingers together, humming almost imperceptibly to himself.

Finally Dorcas broke the silence. "I think Joan Dawson is going to try for Chaser as well." Although this was meant to encourage Trent, to show him he'd probably at least earn the position over a fourth-year girl, he looked as though he had just gotten word his kitten, Mitsy, had been crushed by a troll.

Same day
Meanwhile
Library

In a secluded back corner of the library, close enough to the Restricted Section that soft groans and sharp screams could occasionally be heard escaping from the dusty shelves there, an old, well-worn leather couch had been abandoned sometime in the early 1920's. Few students ever ventured this deep into the library, if they had ever stepped inside it at all. Lily Evans and Severus Snape, both habitual visitors of libraries, had found the couch together while exploring the library on a rainy autumn's afternoon within their first few weeks at Hogwarts.

For four years, this couch had been the friends' spot for endless hours of uninterrupted study, reading, and conversation. This year would be no different.

Early morning was their favorite time to work; though the lonely corner that housed their leather couch was sleepy and hardly ever trespassed upon, the library was quieter than usual in the earliest hours of the day. One could hear the walls hum softly with hundreds of years' worth of secrets, mysteries, laughter, and sadness. The noises from the Restricted Section were especially acute as the ginger-haired Gryffindor met with her friend from Slytherin House. They would be brewing together this morning.

Severus approached Lily almost noiselessly - but for his robe trailing softly against the stone floor, she would not have heard him approach at all. He nodded a welcome to her, pulling his hair from his face with his thin, delicate fingers. She patted the couch above her left shoulder; she usually sat on the floor to mix ingredients for the potions and would join him on the couch once the concoction was left to brew in peace.

As always, Severus was in charge of reading the instructions aloud and noting helpful changes in procedure or incongruities within the appearance of the potion itself as it was manipulated by Lily. He made sure he carefully copied all of their notes into his textbook, which grew increasingly annotated and well-worn with each year.

They almost always began potions homework first, because they could work on other assignments while the potion fermented. Scanning over this week's assignment, Lily pulled out the ingredients she had packed from her bag. The project was a written explanation and description of the effect of salamander's blood on a variety of Potions. The idea Slughorn was trying to get across, Lily ventured, was that a single additive to a potion could change - possibly ruin or enhance - the integrity of the brew.

Only three weeks into school, Professor Slughorn was still covering theoretical aspects of potion-making. The class would not start practical brewery for another few weeks, so any potions brewed for homework assignments were done out-of-class by applying knowledge from previous years of study. Which potion of each kind the students tested for this essay was a matter of free choice - if brewed correctly, the results should be more or less the same.

Opening to the page on common ingredient types and their uses, Severus cleared his throat. He pulled his collapsible pewter cauldron from his bag and handed it to Lily. She squared it in front of her and lit a contained fire to warm the pot before they started adding ingredients.

"We need one sleeping potion, a cleaning potion, and a healing potion," Severus read from his notes on the assignment, breaking the morning's calm silence. "Let's see what you brought." What they would brew depended on what they could make out of the materials at hand. Severus eyed the array of items laid out on the ground before Lily. There seemed to be a little bit of all the common ingredients, as well as a considerable selection of more specialized elements. A small appreciative smile graced his lips. Typical Lily - always prepared for anything.

She leaned her head back and smiled up at him from the floor. "Well, I wanted to make sure we had options, so I brought a little bit of whatever I could get my hands on." When Severus said nothing, she turned, and pointing to his textbook, reminded him, "We need to choose our potions so we can get started. You know how long some of them take."

"Right," Severus nodded, flipping the pages of his book to the indexes in the back.

He had been adding this moment to the list of times Lily had - without effort or design - impressed him beyond anything he had come to expect from the people in his life. To say he merely appreciated this couch and this corner of the library would fail to convey the sheer significance of the spot. Of any one place in the entire castle, in this small corner of the library alone could Severus fully let down his guard. Here, he need not fear pranks, criticism, or pressure from his housemates or teachers. Here, he could simply be himself - a quiet, often morose academic who wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Lily was his preferred and only company.

"Under 'Potions to Make One Sleep', we can make a Draught of Living Death, Dreamless Sleep, a curing spell for sleepwalking, if that counts . . ." Severus looked up at Lily, who shrugged. He continued, "I think the Dreamless Sleep is our best option."

Lily nodded. "As much as I would love the challenge, we don't cover the Draught of Living Death until next year, and I wouldn't want to deprive Slughorn of the opportunity to teach us something." She laughed playfully, and Severus simply smiled back, loving the way her nose crinkled a little when she grinned.

Same day
10:23 pm
7th floor corridor

The wind knocked against the window as Alice laid her books on the chair beside her and stretched, reaching high above her head and extending her legs, which had been curled under her for nearly five hours. Down the hall from Professor Flitwick's office was a small alcove that housed two lush armchairs and a small table in between. A window, medieval glass sagging with age, hung at the top of the alcove. This was Alice's favorite spot to study, in-part because it was close to Flitwick's office. He was her favorite professor and Charms her second favorite class after Muggle Studies, so she loved to stop in and chat with the diminutive Professor if she was having trouble on an assignment or simply wanted to discuss charm work.

Her study alcove was situated in the middle of the corridor, equidistant from both corners. Alice could always see who was walking toward her from either side and devise a conversation before they reached her. Around one of those corners was the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. When Alice got tired of studying, her bed was only a few short steps and a couple of flights of tower stairs away, and since most people studied in the common rooms or library, the alcove was usually vacant.

Alice looked up when she heard a voice approaching around the corner. It was a male voice, and he seemed to be talking to someone in confidence. "No one in Gryffindor knows about us, except Mar- " Sam Trent broke off as he rounded the corner, arm-in-arm with a dark-haired girl Alice recognized as a year below in Slytherin. Smiling, Sam made his way toward her. "Emerson, I feel like I haven't seen you in ages," Sam complained. He addressed the girl beside him. "Have you met my friend Alice?"

"I don't think I have, not officially. Nathara Hastings," she said, untangling her arm from Sam's and extending her hand. She was short, thin, and unjustly beautiful for a girl of about fourteen. Her dark brown hair hung in waves about her round, rosy cheeks. Deep blue eyes smiled at Alice from a face the color of cream.

"Alice Emerson." Aware that her hand was sweaty from hours of holding a quill, Alice rubbed her palm against her robe before accepting Nathara's handshake. "You said 'Nathara'? I've never heard that name before."

"Most people call me Nat. It's easier," the Slytherin said with a wink. "Well, I'd better go. Long day tomorrow. Nice to meet you, Alice." She stood on her tiptoes to land a small peck on Sam's cheek before turning and heading back the way they'd come.

"Sleep well, Nat!" Sam yelled as she retreated around the corner. He turned back toward Alice, hands sunk into his pockets. He smiled. "I know that look. You're working too hard."

"I'm not, really," Alice protested, picking her books up from the chair beside her. "I have to work on the Charms essay. And anyway, easy for you to say! You're out all the time with hoards of girls and you always get good marks. It's not right." She grinned and reached for the quill tucked in the crease of the book at the last page she'd been reading.

"Ohhh, no you don't. Put those away," Sam commanded, grabbing her knapsack from the ground. "Go put all this in your room and meet me on the fifth floor next to the statue of Gregory the Smarmy."

"The statue of who?" Granted, she didn't exactly love History of Magic, but she'd paid enough attention to know Binns had never mentioned any Gregory the Smarmy fellow.

" 'Who' is not important. Dress for the cold and bring your wand and a few Galleons." Sam beamed mischievously as he took off around the corner that led to the Gryffindor common room - and the stairs down to the sixth floor.

Alice sighed and began picking up her books.

Ten minutes later, dutifully dressed in a thick, winter traveling cloak and fur-lined boots, Alice rounded the first corner on the fifth floor that would take her to where the statue should be. She'd had to ask Remus if he knew where the statue was, and sure enough, he'd come across it several times during Prefect patrols.

"Erm, yeah . . . two doors down the hall on the left from the staircase is another smaller corridor - take a left there and then a right at the row of windows. You'll walk about forty-five meters before taking another right once you come to a big door at the end of the corridor. The hallway is rather small, very ill-lit, but there should be a row of chairs against the wall and at the end of that, the statue of Gregory the Smarmy," he'd said with a look she couldn't place. "Why do you need to know?"

"Sam's meeting me there," she supplied, pushing past him to get out of the common room. She shot out a quick, "Thanks, Remus!" before disappearing through the portrait hole.

As Alice turned the corner into the last small hallway, she looked around. The hall was lit only by a few torches hung on the wall. The chairs were of faded red leather on wooden frames; behind that was the statue Alice assumed was Gregory the Smarmy. Everything was covered in a thick blanket of dust.

Notably, the hallway was empty. As it was very small and did not extend much past the statue, if Sam were there, she'd have seen him.

"Samuel Trent!" she hissed, making her way to the statue. It was late - she was knackered, there was homework to be done and no time for games. Alice turned to leave the corridor when she heard a low grumble, the scraping of stone being dragged across stone. She turned just in time to see the statue settling into place, revealing a small entrance hole at the ground behind the statue. The entrance was about a meter high and only wide enough to squeeze through on hands and knees. Sam popped his head out of the entrance, his smile lighting up the dark corridor.

"You called?" Alice didn't answer, petrified by wary excitement. "Neat, isn't it? I thought you'd like it. Here, climb in."

Sam held out a hand, still kneeling in the passageway's entrance. Alice slowly came to, and sluggishly shook her head. "Sam, this is - this is incredible, but I'm sorry, there's no way..."

"Of course there is!" he offered his hand again insistently. "Look, you clearly need a break . . . you've been studying too hard lately and I can't allow that. It's only the first month of school - where would my conscience be if I didn't at least attempt to drag you away from your studies before you go and off yourself?" The warmth in his green eyes and the light of the torches dancing playfully on his gold hair made him hard to deny. He smiled with just the hint of a smirk, like he knew she couldn't say 'no'.

Finally, Alice nodded, shooting a glance behind her to make sure no prefects, professors, or poltergeists were rounding the corner, ready to catch them disappearing into the wall. She knelt down and crawled into the entrance. Immediately, the statue began to shift back into place and Alice could hear Gregory grumbling about students waking him up for their shenanigans. She turned her attention back to the tunnel and realized by the light from Sam's wand that she was staring at his shins.

Looking up, Alice was surprised to find the tunnel much taller and wider than the entrance. She stood up and was glad, for once, to be so short - at about the height of Sam's shoulder, Alice could fit quite comfortably in the passageway while Sam had to bend his head down to avoid scraping it on the ceiling above.

"Where exactly does this tunnel take us?" Alice asked, though she had a guess. She shoved her hand into her pocket and lightly grasped her wand in case there were any surprises up ahead.

"Well, if memory serves, this should take us to Hogsmeade. Last term, I caught a glimpse of a rather odd map Sirius and James had out. They were arguing over something or another, and from my bed I could only see the back side of the map. It didn't take me long to figure out the map was of Hogwarts, and I saw 'To Hogsmeade' written above this statue labeled Gregory the Smarmy. I asked around, figured out where it was, and it only took a short conversation with the stony grump to figure out that he concealed a secret passageway to Hogsmeade." Sam grunted as he bent down further; the tunnel was carved roughly out of the earth, and the ceiling was at times shorter or taller than where they had started walking.

"So, you've never actually been down this," Alice guessed, her fingers tightening around her wand. "You have no idea where this will come out."

Sam's voice was a touch sheepish as he admitted, "Well, no."

"I see."

They continued down the tunnel. Luckily, there were no forks or off-shoots, and Alice speculated aloud that it was probably meant as a quick escape route from the school. "Or to it," Sam offered, his voice heavier.

Alice was silent. Sam was a Muggleborn, and though it was hardly discussed in mixed company, everyone knew that Lord Voldemort - the upstart dark wizard - and his Death Eaters were targeting Muggles and Muggleborn wizards. In fact, that morning the Daily Prophet reported that a Muggle family had been slaughtered by masked attackers and a strange symbol, a skull with a snake emerging from its mouth, branded into their chests with dark magic. For some, Hogwarts felt like the safest place to be during these last few months. The public had been assured the situation was being handled by the Ministry, but many were not so sure.

Finally, Sam and Alice reached the end of the tunnel. The only way out was through a small door, nearly the same size as the entrance behind Gregory the Smarmy. Sam and Alice exchanged a concerned glance.

"Can you hear anything on the other side?" Alice whispered.

As it turned out, they needn't have worried at all. After attempting to hear any voices on the other side of the small door, Sam and Alice eventually pushed against the exit to reveal a particularly spectacular view of the landscape and of Hogwarts silhouetted in the moonlight. They climbed out of the tunnel, which brought them out upon a small hillside, and enjoyed the view for a moment before Sam turned around and grinned. Alice, noticing his expression, followed his gaze.

Hogsmeade was lit up behind them. The charming village was a short walk away, and Sam offered Alice his arm. Blushing, she threaded her arm through his, and they were off.

"The summer was great . . . my family and I spent some time in Italy before it was time to come home." Sam and Alice walked arm-in-arm past several shops that were dark and deserted, having been closed for the night. Alice transfigured their school uniforms into non-descript everyday robes; though Hogwarts students sneaking out for the night wasn't especially uncommon, it was still against school rules, so if anyone caught them off school grounds - especially at night - they would likely receive detention.

The night was cold and crisp. The moon high above them was almost full, its light reflecting off the dark windows of the closed shops. A stray cat pranced across the street and disappeared into the shadows.

"That sounds fantastic . . . I've never been to Italy," Alice said. "My family always goes to France whenever we visit the continent." They were making their way toward the Three Broomsticks, one of the only establishments in town open at nearly midnight. The empty streets were quiet as a monastery until the doors of the Three Broomsticks opened; the air filled with loud bursts of laughter, booming crashes which could be anything from glasses dropping or a bar fight between patrons, and most of all, gay, raucous music. By day, the Three Broomsticks was a respectable bar and restaurant for all the towns inhabitants, but the dark hours of the night were reserved for only Hogsmeade's wildest debauchers.

Much to the two Gryffindors' delight, the regular barman - an irritable, but well-meaning old man named John Robbins - had been replaced by his grand-daughter, a young beautiful woman that both the students knew quite well and recognized immediately.

"Rosmerta!" Alice exclaimed, rushing to the bar. The woman sporting a head of blonde curls turned, laughing, and rested her eyes on her two old housemates.

"And what exactly are you two doing out at this time of night?" Rosmerta squealed, rushing out from behind the bar, arms outstretched. Rosie Robbins had graduated alongside Alice's older brother, Michael, and her friends Frank and Alice Longbottom. "You're supposed to be in bed!" She hugged both Alice and Sam in turn and guided them to the bar. Nothing about her tone or demeanor suggested they were in any danger of being turned in to the Headmaster.

Before Alice could reply, Rosmerta chided, "McGonagall will have your heads if she hears you're out. What'll you have? It's on me. How have you two been? How are classes?" Rosmerta chattered away while pouring two rather large steins of the finest butterbeer on tap.

Sam and Alice laughed, taking the proffered drinks, and Sam began to reply, "Well, it's been " "

Rosmerta cut him off. "Oh, bother. Somebody's passed out again. I'll have to catch up with you two later. Come in again soon, yeah?" Rosmerta leaned across the bar to plant a swift kiss on each of their cheeks before disappearing into the crowded tavern.

"Wish we could have chatted longer, though she probably wouldn't have let us get a word in edgewise," Alice chuckled. She took a swig from her butterbeer and returned the conversation to their previous topic. "Have you ever been to Cassis?"

When Sam did not reply, Alice looked up at him and saw he was deeply lost in thought. She followed his gaze to a couple sitting in a booth opposite the bar; two wizards, both of middle age, held hands across the table, leaning in toward each other. By the way they bantered and teased, this was clearly not their first date.

Seeing two wizards together was not unusual for Alice. However, she recalled her Muggle grandfather's reaction upon seeing a similar couple in the market once and jumped to the wizards' defense.

"It's not the same, you know," Alice said slowly. "We don't . . . um, I mean . . . with Muggles it's . . . in the Wizarding world, the prejudice against - you know - wizards being with wizards or witches with witches . . . it doesn't really exist. Well, at least for most people."

Sam finally looked over at her, a small frown on his lips, expression otherwise unreadable. "Oh, no, it's . . . erm, it's not that. Sorry, I was just thinking . . . it's nothing." He smiled reassuringly at Alice, but she noticed his hand clutched tightly around his mug of butterbeer, knuckles white.
Time flew by with Sam, Alice found. They'd been friends since their first year, but hadn't ever spent much time together on a one-on-one basis. The conversation passed naturally between the two Gryffindors and Alice spent more time laughing that evening than she had in the past week. Rosmerta flitted about the tavern, always busy with one rowdy customer or another, but she always appeared just in time to refill Sam and Alice's butterbeers when they got low.

Finally, Rosmerta shouted above the din, "Bar's closing at half-past!" She turned to Alice. "It's three-twelve. You two'd better get headed back. You'll have classes later."

Picking up their glasses, she left the fifth years no choice but to say their good-byes and make their way through the village to the secret entrance in the hillside.

"I had a great time tonight," Alice said. Sam walked her to the bottom of the girls' staircase, and they paused in companionable silence before Alice whispered, "Thanks for forcing me to have fun against my will."

"My pleasure," Sam replied, voice low. The common room was empty, dying embers from the fireplace softly lighting the walls and furniture. "Anytime."

They stood there for a moment, both unwilling to let the evening officially come to a close. Alice looked up at Sam, and as the reddish hue from the fireplace painted a glow on his skin, she couldn't help but lean in for a kiss. If Sam was surprised, he didn't show it. Instead, his eyelids fluttered as he dipped his head, cupping the back of her head in his hand.

Their lips touched for only a moment before Sam pulled away, blushing furiously. "What am I doing . . . I'm sorry, Alice. You know I love you, but I can't." His hand pulled away from hers and ran through his hair nervously, a habit she guessed he'd picked up from living with Potter for four years.

Suddenly, Alice remembered. "Right - Nathara. I heard you talking before you saw me." Her blush matched Sam's as she explained in a rush, "I wasn't eavesdropping, I just - "

Sam cut her off. "Alice, it's fine." The perpetual laugh in his eyes returned as he grinned down at her, completely composed. "We've got to get to bed. Separately." He winked, and planted a kiss on Alice's cheek. "Goodnight."

He stood there for a moment until Alice realized he was waiting for her to ascend the girls' staircase. Muggle formalities, she recalled from stories her grandfather had told her. Ladies first. She waved shyly before making her way up to bed.