The only sound on that otherwise quiet summer evening on Crockery Road was the soft humming of a fourteen-year-old boy. After a long walk to the north shore of Devon, James Potter was glad to be nearly home again. The light from what little bit of sun remained in the sky was tinged with grey from perpetual stormy clouds. A breeze whisked in from the north, chilling the already unusually cool air. James closed his eyes for a moment as he walked while the wind swept across his face and through his disheveled hair. His mind wandered aimlessly from the purpose of his ten-mile walk to the north, to hopes of what his mother would be making for dinner that night, to thoughts of his anticipated return to Hogwarts next week.
James didn’t often walk; normally, he flew. He found that after a while without his usual time alone in the sky, away from the weight of life on the ground, he grew uneasy. So he was glad for the walk, as his broom had been smashed to pieces after a bad fall he took on it several weeks ago. His arm was still healing from it; it was wrapped in itchy white bandages and James was eagerly awaiting the day when he could finally take them off.
He couldn’t carry much with him with his arm the way it was, but James always carried light when he went anywhere, even on long treks. It was a habit that had developed from flying, which is best done without much baggage. He had nothing with him at the moment but his wand, a muggle –cassette,†he believed it was called, which Sirius had given to him for his birthday last March, and a bundle of long snake plant leaves, which he had gathered for their magical properties from a growth near the shore. The cassette jumbled around in this right pocket as he walked, a long, rubbery string extending from the devise to a large pair of earmuffs around his neck, from which music played. He was humming along to the tune of Season of the Witch, and was absentmindedly whacking the bundle of long leaves from side to side to the beat of the tune, kicking up dust from the dry, seldom-trodden road.
Beyond the hill that James was approaching was a small valley that cradled his family’s cottage - –The Heart of Hartland,†his father called it. As James ascended the hill, something in the sky caught his eye. Small, perfectly round clouds of brightly colored smoke, alternating in color from violet to indigo, green and orange, were puffing away and dissolving into the air above the treetops.
–I wonder what…†James began asking himself as he rounded the top of the hill. Sure enough, the puffs were emitting from the small metal chimney of his house in the valley. His mother must be working on quite a project in the sitting room.
As James strode up the walkway towards the front door, the bashful bluebells that his mother had planted just beyond the gate giggled and closed up their petals, reverting back into the bush. They peeked out again only when James closed the front door of the house behind him.
–Mum, I’m home,†he called as soon as he entered the house, peering into the purplish haze that was wafting into the kitchen from the sitting room.
–James? Is that you, darling?†called a voice from within the haze.
–Yeah, is Dad home yet?†James called, walking towards the sitting room.
–No, he’s still at the Cheswick’s,†his mother replied.
–Ah,†said James. –Ahhhh,†he repeated, upon seeing what was happening in the living room. His mother had about a hundred strips of fabric hanging all about the room, suspended in mid-air. Some of them were still white, but many of them had beautiful patterns on them in varying colors, imitating the Anatolian patterns on the quilts and glazed pottery they had around the house. The sitting room had filled up with such a foggy haze of color that with every new puff that came out of Mrs. Potter’s wand, a small eruption of color would escape both through the entrance to the sitting room and up through the chimney. This meant that as James walked through the open doorway into the sitting room, he became instantly spackled with various colors.
–Oh, darling, I’m sorry - here, back up into the kitchen,†Mrs. Potter said, and James obeyed, chuckling at the sight of his mother’s face, which was tinged with purple, green, and orange. –Here,†she said, turning her wand on him once they were out of the haze. –I’ve been using this spell to get the color out of the furniture - Tinctusolvere!â€
As the color dissolved from James’s face and clothing, Mrs. Potter looked him up and down and noticed the bundle stocks in her son’s hand.
–What’s that you’ve got, dear?†she asked him.
–What?†asked James, at first thinking that she was referring to the record player he had just taken out of his pocket in order to turn the music off. Realizing that she was looking at his other hand, however, he said, –Oh, just snake leaves. From Winsley Wood.â€
–You went all the way from the shore for those?†His mother placed a fist on her sturdy hip. –What are you up to?â€
–What do you mean?†he asked innocently.
–What do I mean indeed! So, I don’t suppose you know that those particular leaves have highly magical properties?†She raised an eyebrow, as if to say, Who do you think you’re fooling, mister?
–Do they?†James began, but his mother quickly responded with a playful slap on his shoulder. –Ok, ok, I…†James faltered, knowing that telling the truth would be a great breech in trust between him and his friends. So he fudged the details. –I wanted them for a potion. We’re to start with more experimental potions this year and… well I’m not all that good in potions and I thought that if I made something really good-â€
–Ohh, is this about that girl?†asked Mrs. Potter, still listening as she walked around him to check the stew she had going on the stovetop. –The one who always beats everyone out for top marks in potions? Is this supposed to impress her?†She cocked her head over her shoulder at him as she stirred.
–I don’t know what you mean,†said James quickly. His mother chuckled as she leaned over the pot to take a long whiff of the stew. She didn’t answer James, but instead proceeded to add another handful of chopped onions into the mix.
–Well,†she said, wiping the sticky residue of the onion juice off on her apron before picking up the wooden spoon to give the pot another stir. –I’m just glad you weren’t out flying all that time. You didn’t fly to Winsley Wood on that old broom in the shed, did you?â€
Apparently, she did believe that he was trying to impress Lily, as had decided to drop the subject out of tact to avoid embarrassing her son. James eagerly pursued this new avenue of conversation.
–No, no, that broom is shot. I rode it to death learning to fly years ago,†James reassured her.
–Mm,†Mrs. Potter replied, only half-listening at this point. She would much rather talk about the girl, but James didn’t seem too eager for that. –I made stuffed cabbage for you, and lentil soup. Take your pick,†she said, putting the lid back on the pot and turned back to her son. –Oh, I’m just glad you weren’t up in the air. Let me see.†She gestured for him to give her his bandaged arm.
–Mum, I don’t even have anything to ride right now,†said James as his mother examined his arm. –Although I would if you hadn’t locked the carpet away-†he mumbled, but stopped when she shot him a look. –Besides,†he continued, –that fall was a one-time thing. I don’t even remember how it happened-â€
–Yes, that’s the point, dear, if it was so bad that – ugh, I can’t believe I let you order that new broom! I certainly can’t believe I’m still letting you play Quidditch-â€
–And I love you for that, as does all of Gryffindor house, I’m sure,†said James, leaning in swiftly to plant a kiss on her cheek. –I’ll be upstairs. Thanks for the lentil!â€
James climbed up the stairs in quick strides, snake stocks in hand. Once in his room, he tossed the stocks on the floor next to his dresser and wrote a quick note to Sirius - Got stuff – we’ll start Tuesday - and sent it off with Pan.
He threw himself onto his bed. He lay there on top of the crisp, cool white sheets for some time, staring up at the ceiling. The smell of the lentil came wafting into his room from under the door, and he closed his eyes, realizing only then how tired he was from the day’s walk. It was nearly dusk now, and the remaining light of day coming into his room through the windows was growing dimmer by the minute. He wasn’t sure if he had passed off into sleep, but when he again opened his eyes the entire room was dark, and a cool breeze had found its way into his room through the window that he had left open when he let Pan out. It was probably the chill that had awoken him, and he rose from bed at once to shut the window. Peering outside as he did this, he caught sight of a flash of gold out in the grass below. It was Shepherd chasing something - perhaps a rabbit - across the lawn, which meant that his father was back from his visit to the Cheswick’s. James left his room in pursuit of his father downstairs.
–Have you guys eaten yet?†James called down the stairs as he sauntered his way down the hall. He was still a little groggy, and the house was dark. He wasn’t even sure what time it was. When he heard no response he wondered for a moment if it was so late that his parents had already gone to bed. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, however, he saw a light through a crack in the door that led through to the kitchen, and heard hushed voices from within. Pushing his way through, he had to blink in order to shield his eyes from the sudden burst of light.
–’Z’it too late for lentil?†he groaned, rubbing his eyes a little with the back of his hand. When he looked up a moment later, he found his father sitting on one of the high island stools with a strange look on his face. But a moment later he forced a smile onto his lips as he cried out, with only a quarter of this usual enthusiasm, –Jimmy, there you are. All right, son?â€
–Yeah, sure,†said James suspiciously. He thought of asking his father the same thing, but then his mother spoke.
–I’ll get you a cup, dear,†she said, answering his earlier question. She turned away from the counter to fetch a bowl and taking care to make sure that James couldn’t fully see her face, butt was the stuffiness in her voice that hadn’t been there earlier that evening that had caught James’s attention.
–Mum? Are you ok?†he asked.
–Mm? Oh, yes, dear,†she said, bringing a hand to her eyes. –Just the onions.â€
–What onions?†James asked, looking around and finding no freshly cut Vidalias on the counter.
–I’ve already added them. The fumes have a way of sticking around.†She put a smile on as she handed him his cup of soup.
James wanted to believe his mother for the sake of propriety, but was finding it difficult considering that he had felt a chilling tension from the moment he had walked into the room.
–How were the Cheswicks?†James asked, suspecting that whatever his parents were holding back from him had to do with his father’s visit there that day.
Mr. Potter folded his hands together as he leaned forward, appearing to consider whether or not to answer the question.
–They’ve been better,†he said, staring at a spot on the counter rather than at his son.
–Have they made any headway in getting Henry’s job back?†James pressed him. Mr. Cheswick was a healer at Saint Mungo’s, or he had been before he was let go after Antonin Dolohov took over as the new head of the hospital’s board of directors. Mr. Potter had been on the board before his retirement six years ago, so he was still in contact with many of the hospital’s staff. He was currently in the process of helping his old colleagues fight many of Dolohov’s new policies, one of which had culminated in the laying off of the majority of the board’s members and a large number of the healing staff.
–I’m afraid that cause is at its end, for Henry,†Mr. Potter answered, and Mrs. Potter immediately began to protest his decision to indulge their sons’ curiosities.
–George–â€
–I know, Martha,†he interrupted, –but if he doesn’t hear it from us he’ll be hearing it elsewhere, or in the papers if we’re very unlucky.â€
Mrs. Potter furrowed her brow anxiously, but remained silent by way of reluctant agreement.
–What is it?†James asked.
–Henry Cheswick,†his father began, but faltered. He heaved a shuddering sigh, as if his chest had suddenly deflated. –Henry Cheswick died early this morning.â€
Mr. and Mrs. Potter seemed to be waiting for some kind of response from their son, but James said nothing. They’re just having a lot of trouble getting on their feet, that’s what James had expected his father to say, that was the worst place that his mind had gone to. What his father had just said was so far removed from anything that James had imagined that he found himself unable to react to it at all. He simply stood there as if he were still waiting for his father to answer his question, all the while feeling as though his breath were slowly being taken out of him second by second.
–I don’t understand you,†James said, short of breath. –What - what do you…†He couldn’t get the words out, and found to his surprise that it was because he was growing angry. He was angry with his father for having said something so blatantly absurd. He had just seen Henry Cheswick with his wife and two daughters last week. That can’t have been the last time - it didn’t make any sense. He wanted to tell his father that Henry Cheswick couldn’t be dead when he had just been in their sitting room with his family five days ago, wanted to yell it out even as something cold inside him was telling him that the argument was absurd. –How do you know?†he finally asked, resolving to believe that his father could be mistaken.
–It’s not been in the papers yet, for the family’s sake, but he’s dead,†his father assured him. –Sybil hasn’t told anyone outside the family, and they completely forgot I was coming today. I can’t blame them.â€
–But I don’t understand - how?†pressed James, his fists in knots. –He wasn’t old.â€
His father looked up at him for the first time since he had entered the kitchen.
–They said he killed himself,†he answered. –From the stress of losing his job, among other things.â€
–No he didn’t,†James corrected him bluntly, feeling angrier with his father than ever.
–Well, that’s the thing-â€
–No, that’s enough,†Mrs. Potter interrupted. –There’s no need to go into detail. Now, James, I know that the Cheswicks would truly appreciate it if you came to the service. It’s Wednesday evening.â€
–Of course,†he said quietly.
–I know it’s a shock,†she said, stepping closer to rest a hand on her son’s cheek. –We’ll bring them something tomorrow.†He nodded. –Good. Now, do me a favor and go let Shepherd inside. I hear her barking. Take your soup.â€
James tactfully obeyed his mother’s excuse to get him out of the kitchen so that she and her husband could talk privately. Once he had closed the kitchen door behind him, however, he stopped. An image of Mrs. Cheswick and her two daughters - alone, without their father - was burning itself into his mind. He found himself wondering who had found the body, how the girls were handling everything, if they knew the truth about how it had happened, that it was a suicide, and as he tried in vain to push the blurry image of Henry Cheswick’s lifeless body out of his mind, he found himself imagining his own father there in his place. In his mind’s eye he saw blood spackled on walls and hardwood floors. A horrible chill ran through him like a ghost and he wondered why on earth he would be imagining such a thing. He suddenly felt sick.
A bark from Shepherd pulled him out of his unsettling thoughts, and he strode down the back hallway to let her in. She bounded into the house and up the stairs to his room straight away. As James walked back up the hallway, he debated whether or not to go back into the kitchen. He couldn’t have gone to sleep without knowing more, but his mother had made it clear that this wasn’t going to happen tonight, as they had purposefully excused him so that they could continue the conversation without him. This, of course, James took as an invitation to eavesdrop. He silently thanked the carpet in the hall for muffling the sound of his footsteps as he crept up to the door, soup still in hand, and leaned his head in to listen through the crack between the door and the casing.
–-and on top of all of that, they have to lie and tell everyone it was suicide-†Mr. Potter was saying.
–Aurors don’t often think in terms of emotion,†his wife replied gravely. –Not when they have a murder to keep under wraps.â€
James’s head jerked back in surprise, and he clutched onto his cup of soup a great deal tighter than he had been before. He suddenly felt unsteady, and turned so that his back was leaning against the wall between to the door and the small corner table in the hall.
–You weren’t like that,†his father was saying in reply.
–Maybe not, but when I was on the job we didn’t have a Dark Rising the likes of this,†she reminded him.
–No,†he said. –We had Grindelwald.â€
Very slowly, so as not to make a sound, James placed his cup on top of the corner table beside him. He inched his head closer to the door.
–It’s different this time, George,†she replied, her voice collapsing slightly under the weight of this statement. –This new rising… they’ve learned from his mistakes. The Aurors see it, even now. They’re becoming even more secretive in their methods. They’re suspicious of everyone. I suspect that’s why they want people thinking Henry’s death was a suicide. The less people who know the truth, the easier it will be to keep tabs on the people who do.â€
–But suicide? Could they have thought of anything more painful for a family to lie about?â€
–You don’t think the girls have been told anything that specific? They’re far too young, George!â€
–Ellie Cheswick’s not that young. She’s a year above James in school. But I’ve no idea. I’d like to think they know as little as possible. But if they were told anything, I’d think it’d be better if it were the truth. After all that he did and why he was killed, it would be an insult to his memory to make his own children think he’d taken his own life. They’re not being spared any pain by being told a lie.â€
It was at that moment that James realized he was barely breathing. The lack of air was making him dizzy, and he knew his lungs would force him to gasp for air any second to make up for the loss. Praying that his footsteps would remain as quiet as they did before, he took quick, long strides to the staircase and practically flew up to the second floor. He didn’t dare take in breath before he had shut his bedroom door behind him.
He didn’t want to bring himself to believe it was possible. Murder. Here, just outside of Hartland. And the Aurors… what did the Dark Rising have to do with Henry Cheswick?
James gave a start when Shepherd grumbled from her spot in the corner of his room after he didn’t move from the door for some time. He couldn’t very well sleep now, so he went over to the corner and sat down by her. He ran a hand over her fine golden fur absentmindedly, staring off into a dark corner of the room. Normally the week before his return to school was one of the best of the summer, filled with gleeful anticipation and new hopes. In just one week it seemed as if his whole world had turned on its head. He didn’t feel at all hopeful about the coming year. Instead, an unfamiliar anxiety had been growing in the pit of his stomach for the past week, beginning with his flying accident. Ever since that day, a heavy darkness had been hanging in the air even on the brightest of days, casting a shadow over the unforeseeable future. At times even the thought of returning to school couldn’t lift his spirits. In truth, this had turned out to be the worst summer James had ever endured before his return to Hogwarts.
This had turned out to be the worst summer Lily had ever endured before her return to Hogwarts.
To begin with, Petunia had grown even more suspicious of her sister over the last year that she had reached an entirely new level of paranoia. Petunia was so suspicious of Lily using magic in the house that Lily had to be careful not to let her sister see her with so much as a wooden spoon in her hand lest it be mistaken for a wand. Mr. and Mrs. Evans sometimes made tentative attempts to repair the burned bridge between their daughters by mentioning some accomplishment of Lily’s at school, but Petunia always refused to partake in any conversation that involved magic. From Petunia’s point of view, her parents’ constant efforts to talk about magic in the house was further evidence that they favored Lily because of her –special talent.â€
Usually it was Severus who made the summer holiday more bearable, but the two hadn’t spoken all summer. While this had delighted Lily’s parents, who weren’t fond of the grubby, shifty little boy from Spinner’s End, Lily had spent the summer wrought with internal torment. Recently, Severus had begun spending a lot of time with people that Lily wasn’t particularly fond of. These people, in turn, were not particularly fond of Lily - or, to be more precise, people like Lily. Lily couldn’t help but become upset that her closest friend would want to associate with people like Walden Macnair and Calydon Crabbe. Any time Lily brought this up, however, Severus would say that he felt the same way about her associations with James Potter and his gang of Gryffindor recluses. At first, Lily thought that perhaps Severus was right, that she was being hypocritical. But when she compared her Gryffindor companions to Severus’s Slytherin ones, she couldn’t help but feel that her housemates were of a far better class of character than most of Severus’s. This, however, she kept to herself, until an argument involving Potter - as arguments between them so often did - after Slughorn’s end-of-year party had brought a lot of bottled-up feelings to light. Torn between wanting to drop the argument and wanting to find out exactly why Severus so greatly desired to be friends with such horrible people, Lily had gotten into the habit of making excuses every time Severus called the house to ask if she was free to talk. She had visited Mary MacDonald in the beginning of August just as an excuse to get out of Surrey for a while, and she hadn’t seen Severus since she had returned.
This all changed three days before September first. The Evans family was sitting down to dinner together in the dining room. They didn’t often do this, as Mr. Evans worked odd hours and Petunia preferred going out in the evening with her friends. But Mrs. Evans had insisted that they eat together as a family before Lily’s return to school.
The only noise in the entire house came was the clinking of silverware on china plates and the sound of the game playing on the telly in the next room. When the commentator’s voice became muffled under a sudden roar of screaming fans, Mr. Evans got up from the table to turn the volume up a few notches.
–Could you turn that off, dear?†asked Mrs. Evans, her jaw clenching as she tried to turn her grimace into a smile. From behind her, Lily heard her father sigh, the sound of his slippered feet shlumping their way to the TV, and a soft click followed by silence.
–Did you hear about your sister’s school elections, Lily?†Mrs. Evans said as Mr. Evans lowered himself once more into his chair.
–No, I didn’t. What happened?†Lily directed the question at her sister, who didn’t look up from her plate when she answered.
–Petunia,†Mrs. Evans coaxed cheerfully. –Tell your sister.â€
–I’m General Secretary,†she told her roast beef.
–Oh, wow,†Lily said. –Congratulations.â€
Petunia made no response.
–Lily’s in the running for a similar position at school, isn’t that right?†interjected Mrs. Evans. Lily saw Petunia’s knuckles whiten as her grip on her knife tightened. –Lily, you should tell your sister about it. Petunia, you’ll probably have a lot of advise for Lily, won’t you?â€
–I doubt my advice would be of much use to her,†clipped Petunia.
–I’m sitting right here, you know,†Lily mumbled.
–Well, you never know,†Mrs. Evans said, forcing another smile on her face as she took a long sip of wine. –Are you looking forward to elections, Lily?â€
–There aren’t any. And I won’t find out if I get a position until next summer.â€
–How are people appointed, then?†asked Mr. Evans, making his first contribution to the conversation for the first time since the family had sat down at the table.
–It’s probably utterly medieval,†muttered Petunia.
–Well,†Lily said slowly as she cut into her roast. –It’s not so bad. You do have to joust for the position, and everyone knows it just comes down to who’s got the flashiest armor, but if you kill somebody in the tournament it’s pretty much a surefire win.â€
Noting the silence as the clinking of silverware on china suddenly stopped, Lily looked up from her plate. Her father’s fork was paused midway to his slightly agape mouth, her mother’s eyes were wider than she’d seen in ages, and Petunia’s lips were clenched into such a tight little angry point on her face that Lily half expected her entire mouth to disappear.
–Kidding,†Lily muttered, picking up her glass of water to wet the back of her dry throat.
The doorbell rang before anyone could think of something else to say.
–That’s Margaret,†Petunia said, rising from her seat and grabbing her purse, which she had placed at the ready next to her chair.
–Now wait a moment, we’re in the middle of dinner-â€
–I couldn’t call her to cancel, she was already on the road,†Petunia said. –Mum, please.â€
–No,†Mrs. Evans said, placing a palm down in the table. –You’re welcome to invite Margaret inside. I’m more than happy to get her a plate. But you’re not going anywhere until we’ve finished family dinner.â€
–Mum, I can’t do that! She’s here!†Petunia cried, pointing a bony hand at Lily.
–What do you think I’m going to do?†Lily shot back.
–What if she does something?†Petunia whined, still refusing to speak to her sister directly.
–What do you think I’m going to do?†Lily repeated.
–I am so sick of having to lie to all my friends about her, and not being able to have them over here because of her, and-â€
–That’s ridiculous, sweetheart, I just told you to invite her in,†said Mrs. Evans.
–What am I supposed to say if she…†she glanced furiously around the dining room and waved her purse at the centerpiece. –If she turns those lemons into… into toads or something-â€
–Why the hell would I turn a lemon into a toad?â€
–Lily! Language!†shouted Mrs. Evans.
–I don’t know what you get up to at that freak show!â€
–Stop calling it that!â€
–Petunia! Apologi-â€
–Well what am I supposed to say?†Petunia shrieked. –I don’t even know what to tell people when they ask where she goes off to during the school year. Everyone’s always asking and I always have to cover it up!â€
–Why do you always have to talk about it like it’s some dirty little secret?†Lily shot back. –I remember a time when you were begging to go!â€
–DON’T YOU DARE!†screamed Petunia. Angry red hives were burning their way up from her chest to her cheeks, and her eyes looks as though they might shoot fire.
–Pet, calm down. Don’t make things so difficult,†interjected Mr. Evans, who was the only one who hadn’t stopped eating when Petunia had risen from the table. –If you have to just tell your friends what you mother and I tell ours.â€
–And what is that, exactly?†Lily asked, looking at her mother, who was refusing to meet Lily’s eye.
–Well, Cherry, you weren’t very good at making friends at your old school,†Mr. Evans began, and Mrs. Evans began waving her hands at him as a signal to shut up. –The whole PTA knew it - always alone at recess and whatnot. Anyway, it made sense to just tell them we sent you somewhere else, a special school, where you could make more friends.â€
Just when Lily was thinking that she hadn’t heard anything so unpleasant and embarrassing in her life, a sudden burst of shrill laughter from Petunia filled her ears.
–Oh, that’s brilliant!†cried Petunia as she clutched her stomach. –That’s way better than what I came up with! I was just telling people-â€
–George, why would you - Lily! Where are you going?†Mrs. Evans called over Petunia, for Lily, not wanting to hear exactly what Petunia told her friends, had gotten up out of her seat, thrown her napkin on her plate, and strode out of the dining room towards the front door.
–Out,†she barked, bashing open the front door only to find Margaret Peterson blocking her path down the steps.
–Oh, hello,†Margaret said cautiously. –Is Petunia in-â€
–Inside,†grumbled Lily, knocking past Margaret without a second glance and storming her way down the street. She had nowhere to go, but she didn’t care. She just needed to walk, and she paid no attention to where her feet were taking her, her mind too encumbered with other thoughts. She didn’t stop walking until the heat in her chest subsided to a dull smolder. By this time it was growing dark. A dirty golden light was snaking across the road and up the sides of buildings, and the distant horizon was so red it looked as if the earth was bleeding. A cool breeze was coming in from the north, blowing Lily’s hair in front of her eyes. She lifted her fingers to push it back and have a look around. Upturned trash cans, graphitized signposts, cheap lawn furniture and plastic toys littered the street and tiny front lawns around where she stood. She knew exactly where she was.
–Oh, hell,†she groaned, cursing the number of times she had walked here over the years so that the path had implanted itself into her motor memory. Of all the places to end up at a time like this, she thought. Spinner’s End. Bloody perfect.
Just as she made to turn back around, however, Lily paused. Maybe she should talk to Severus, take this as a sign that they should meet before the start of term. Yet it seemed wrong that the only reason she would go to him was because she had no one else to turn to at the moment. As cross as she was with him, she couldn’t forgive herself for using him just to vent her feelings and then walk away again when nothing was resolved between them.
The sound of a storm door swinging open pulled Lily from her reverie. She turned around despite every effort her brain was making to tell her not to. Standing on the bottom stoop of one of the most depressed houses on the street was a young boy, pale, skinny, and dressed in an oversized brown t-shirt and worn jeans. Severus was staring at Lily as if he wasn’t sure if she was really there, as if he thought she may have just popped out of his dreams and appeared on the sidewalk to mock him. His long, lanky black hair was pulled back in a slack ponytail, so Lily could see his eyes more clearly than usual. They were an odd mixture of sadness and wonder.
–Hi,†he said softly. He raised his hand as if he were going to wave, but set it back down on the stair railing again. –I saw you from the window.â€
–Oh,†Lily answered. What was she supposed to say now? He thought she had come here to talk to him. Now her anger towards Severus was mixed with a sense of guilt. It was as if she was teasing him, not answering his phone calls then showing up at his door.
–You look…†he started, but didn’t finish the thought. –I’ve got scones and jam in the kitchen.â€
Lily couldn’t stop a sad smile from appearing on her face. It had become a tradition that every time something went fabulously wrong at either the Evans or Snape households, the two would vent to each other over scones and raspberry jam. The tradition had started two years ago when Severus’s father had started yet another shouting match with his mother in the kitchen. At times, Severus was truly terrified of his father’s temper, so he had locked himself in his bedroom until eventually he heard the argument travel to another room in the house. All Severus had wanted to do was get out of the house, to go somewhere where there was no shouting and forget all the unhappiness. On his way out the front door through the kitchen, he spotted the trey of scones that his mum had been making before his father had come home from work. He took some, wrapped them in a cloth napkin, grabbed a jar of jam and a knife from the cupboard and was out the door. Half an hour later he was at Lily’s front door with wet eyes asking if she’d like to go on a picnic. Now, standing here before her, Severus looked almost as dejected as he had been that day.
–Severus, I was…†Lily began, not sure of where to go. –I was on walk and I just-â€
–I’ll let you vent but, first I need to say something,†interrupted Severus. For a moment Lily thought that Severus would bring up the thing with Potter at Slughorn’s end-of-year party. She didn’t know it, but by now the incident had grown so unpleasant in Severus’s mind that he had resolved to pretend it - or at least the part involving Potter - never happened.
He took Lily’s silence as consent.
–I’ve been an idiot,†he said, taking that last step off the porch stairs and closing the gap between them slightly. Lily was struck by how articulate almost confident he sounded, almost confident, and it occurred to her that he must have gone over what he would say to her time and time again just to get it right. –I haven’t been a good friend to you lately. I was a jerk last year. I know that now. I knew it then, but I was too stupid to admit it. And I understand you don’t like a lot of the people I’ve been hanging around with,†he took a deep breath, –and the truth is I’d rather be spending my time with you than with them any day of the week. This summer was a drag without you around. I don’t want things to be like that between us. You’re still my best friend, Lily. I don’t want that to change. I-â€
–Severus, stop,†Lily said, and to both their surprise she was laughing. She had never expected him to say any of the things that had just come out of his mouth. Usually he was so stubborn and tongue-tied, and this picture of him standing here before her with his heart on his sleeve tugged on her heart so much that, torn between crying and leaping for joy, she had burst out laughing. Closing the remaining distance between them, she enveloped Severus in a tight hug, and all Severus could think was that her smile and the way she wrapped her arms wrapped around him was the most wonderful experience he’d had all summer.
–You don’t have to say anything else,†Lily said. –I’m just glad we’re still friends.â€
–Always?†Severus asked softly into her hair.
–Always,†said Lily, pulling away to look at him.
–I want you to know that I wanted to talk to you sooner - before we left for summer holiday, even. I just didn’t know how. I thought maybe we would just get past it on our own… that was stupid.â€
–Stop it,†Lily said with a smile. –I wish we’d done this sooner, too. And I’m the one who was being stupid. I shouldn’t have been… Oh, I might as well say it, because we both know it’s true. I was avoiding you. But it was never because I didn’t want to be friends anymore. I was afraid things would get worse. I hate myself for that.â€
–Now you stop,†said Severus, smiling for the first time in ages. –I don’t want to talk about any of that anymore, so why don’t you tell me whatever it is they did this time. I can tell you’re upset.â€
–Oh, right. You made me forget, for a moment, actually,†said Lily, remembering why she had ended up at Spinners end in the first place and actually thanking her sister for sending her storming out of the house this time.
–Was she at it again?†Severus asked scathingly, referring to Petunia and her anti-magic antics. –With the anti-magic rubbish?â€
–Oh yeah. Wait ‘til I tell you this story,†Lily said, but Severus held up a hand, his black eyes bright.
–Hold on, I’ll get some scones,†he said, taking the porch stairs up two at a time. Lily laughed.
–I thought you were just saying that ‘cuz it’s our thing!†she called into the kitchen through the screen of the storm door. He emerged from the house two minutes later with a bundled up napkin in one hand and a jar in the other.
–What took you so long?†Lily teased.
–Had to find the jam,†Severus told her. –I wouldn’t make you try to eat these without something to sweeten it up.â€
Though it was true that Severus’s mother wasn’t the greatest in the kitchen, Lily politely shook her head in denial.
–So, what’s the story?†Severus prodded as they strode up the street to the park, neither of them giving a second thought to the hour or the fact that the street lamps had just come on. Even as Lily told Severus what had happened at dinner earlier that evening, her anger about it was overtaken by the joy she felt at having her best friend back by her side.