Chapter Text
Every one of her comrades knows the Order has a rather formidable spy network, an invisible thread linking a myriad of people together in a tangle of mental blocks, silently extracted information, and what Lily can only describe as sleeper agents. People who seem entirely normal, until an Order Member says the right phrase and they serenely relay all they know with a compulsion more absolute and eerie than the effects of veritaserum could ever hope to accomplish. And now she's seen men spill their soul onto the floor of the ministries hearing chamber with a glassy look in their eyes, the horror only allowed to dawn on their face when its far too late. A plague has swept through the death eaters so well-maintained outer circles, a plague of honesty and confession like none she's ever seen before. Its like suddenly all those so carefully maintained threads spun by their spies are unravelling from the center out, cut to the quick and left to the mercy of a solid conviction. Fifty. Fifty convictions in two weeks, none with a mark but all with a damning story and a blank face.
Strangely, Dumbledore doesn't seem perturbed as unwilling informant after unwilling informant are unmasked to the dubious hand of ministry justice. She overhears Alastor Moody taking issue with it, one day, "Don't tell me the boy's dead, Albus. We're losing our entire network, here!"
Albus Dumbledore had just smirked, "Don't tell me you've come to care for the boy, Alastor."
"Someone damn well has to!"
And now she sits at a familiar circular table in their headquarters, joined by her boyfriend and Alice and Frank and Alastor Moody, all of them waiting tensely for Albus to explain why they're here. "All of you know that our Order has a rather formiddable espionage unit," Albus begins, voice unaccountably solemn. Had he not reassured them so many times, despite the sudden onslaught of their informants cut loose? Had he lied to Alastor? Have they lost their most valuable— "I must apologize, as I have misled you all." He folds his hands before him, and meets her eyes in particular, "It is not a unit, precisely. The Order is beholden to one spy, a protege in Occlumency and Legilimency who has taken to surpassing both of his teachers. This agent is responsible for the rest; he has laid every trigger, every mental block, and is the one who has dissolved our network."
She pales, feeling her throat tighten. It can't be, it can't be, she thinks, like a mantra. She only knows one man who fits that description, and Albus is still looking at her, and she can feel the apprehension on him like a physical feeling.
"You're an empath, Lily," a childish, too high voice says, bright and cheerful. "They're very rare."
"As rare as a psion?" she’d asked, her voice too a few octaves higher with youth, full of naivety and the barest hint of jealousy.
"Just as, yea. But I wouldn't tell anyone. Wizardingfolk don't like it, think it's wrong. Ma...she says its a curse."
"You see," Albus continues, though she feels far away, unmoored and adrift, "His position has been compromised. He told me this would happen were he to be found out." He pauses, face grave, "We are unsure if he yet lives. But he put his life on the line for us, and I would like to at least try to extract him."
They stare.
"He's destroyed our entire line of informants," James says flatly, "What good is he now?"
"James!" Lily snaps, appalled by his callousness.
He shrinks under her gaze, "Lil, I don't see why we should risk—"
Dumbledore clears his throat pointedly, "He has saved your life twice in raids, Mr. Potter, though you wouldn't have noticed. Given us information that has saved all of your lives at least once."
Lily pales, "Who?" She snaps. "Who is it?"
"Ms. Evans—Lily, that is privileged informa—"
"No, who is it?"
"...Severus Snape."
Severus Snape. Severus Snape. Severus Snape. The name rings in her head like a bloody mantra, her mind unable to concile the facts she's been presented with and the fiction she's been living.
Severus Snape, strange, surly, brilliant Severus Snape is their spy? Impossible. Impossible. And yet as she moves through the yard of a sprawling, shambling manor house, she cannot deny that that is what the truth is. Alastor knew, Alastor has known for years. She'd left him for one word and he'd gone and maybe gotten himself killed for a cause she abandoned him for not believing in. Every time she closes her eyes to blink she can see Severus' anguished form hovering outside the portrait to the common room, tears drying on his face, shame cast to the wayside as he begged her for forgiveness. He'd groveled at her feet and she'd all but spat on him.
"—Mr. Snape has been a part of the Order for a long time, longer than any of you, and he has been an invaluable asset. This war would be lost without him, and I dread to think what Voldemort has done to him since figuring out his deception."
"The boy's already been—"
"Alastor," Dumbledore had softly chided, looking very old and very tired, "It is not your place. Whether he lives or not, his privacy will be respected."
Lily grips her wand tighter as they come upon the place. There is a raid happening in a small muggle town miles off from here, and Frank and Alice are there, responsible for apparating to them to warn them if the death eaters retreat. They wouldn't want to be caught by a whole group of them, fresh from a raid. As it is, it's just her, Alastor, and James. Alastor trudges along the gravel walk with all the cheer of a man going to the gallows. He seems certain Severus is dead or tortured to insanity. Had warned her not to get her hopes up. And, as they finally get near the door tucked into the side of the manor for servants, he pauses, and gives her a long, unreadable look. Searching her for something, maybe. "He asked after you, you know. He seemed to think the world of you." He pauses, chewing on his words for a moment, "Listen, Evans. When—If we find him, look away. Remember him whole and hale, girl. It'll be easier to bear."
Her jaw tightens, "We'll find him alive." She shoves past Alastor and tears through the wards in a way she wouldn't be able to without Severus' and her study sessions back in school. She was always best with charms, making them work, making them last, but Severus was so much better at putting them together and pulling them apart. He's able to see and feel things she can't. She can do it, she got the hang of it with a little prodding and a lot of time, but Severus just knows, the same way she always knows which way is north. He's brilliant. He's probably the brightest wizard in their generation, and he might be dead. He might be insane.
Alastor gives her a warning look and leads them through the halls, caution in his footfalls and the way he eyes their surroundings, constantly searching for danger. They are in a death eaters hide out.
James is silent beside her, stewing in his issues as he hardly ever does. She can feel his turmoil welling against the air, feel the way he's tearing at himself, the same way she is but worse. If she's wrong—if she's a bad person for cutting ties with Severus, what does that make James? When James had treated Severus as his personal villain to thwart for the Greater Good? God. He might be dead. He might be dead, and she'll never get a chance to say, I'm sorry, I forgive you, I'm sorry—
Nausea roils inside her. She doesn't know what she'll do, if they find him dead. She can't—she can't.
"Hey, Moody," James whispers, a choked, cloying sort of dread in his voice. Alastor turns to them, frowning, and his face falls when he notices the door James has pointed out. The wards on the thing are oppressive, thick and unwieldy, seeping through the walls into the hallway. A copper tang is in the air near it, and Lily wants to be sick. She doesn't, but she wants to.
"Evans..."
"I'm fine," she snaps waspishly, "I'm fine!" Moody eyes her dubiously and then tears into the wards methodically, far more gently than she had with the entrance. Some of these are deeply, irredeemably dark, made with blood and sacrifice, and before the door is a scattering of dark earth that she recognizes from a tome she and Severus had been pouring over as children. Stupid, morbidly curious children.
"And they have to bury someone ALIVE?"
"Looks like it. Then they take dirt from the grave site, and use it to bar the door—if the person trapped inside tries to leave they...they'll..."
"They'll what?" A much younger Lily had whispered, horror and curiosity warring in her high, innocent voice.
"...They suffocate, choking up dirt."
Half of these could kill whoever’s inside, if they aren't already dead. Feeling the burgeoning weight of the wards, Lily cannot help but hope. Why go to so much trouble to hide a corpse? The dirt would be freshly spread every time the jailors leave, so why would they do it for someone already dead? Please, please, be alive. Please be Severus.
At last, Moody drags his boot through the soil to disrupt the last ward and raises his wand as he gingerly eases the door ajar.
After a quick look inside, he nods, and gestures them in. No one's here. No one's here. The room is mostly white and cream, a queen bed with fluffy, colorless bedding and brass head and footboard in the center, joined by a vanity and a chest of drawers. The windowsills are similarly sprinkled with earth, and the amount of magic still saturating the space is cloying. Lily steps forward automatically, wand half raised as she approaches the bed. Her throat burns and she looks away with a grimace and squeezed shut eyes at the large, damp stain on the bed, a vivid crimson standing starkly against stoic white sheets. At hip height, roughly.
"What happened to her?" Lily asked, several weeks ago, expecting "the killing curse" or "blunt force trauma" or anything, anything but what was said.
Sirius, face pale and eyes haunted, had said in a hoarse whisper,"...she was raped to death. Passed about between them like—like—oh, merlin...she lost too much blood too fast, we couldn't, we couldn't—" Sirius had bent double and promptly vomited on the carpet. Lily hadn't asked how anymore muggleborns had died, when Sirius came back to the flat with that expression on his face.
She staggers away from the bed quickly, feeling nauseous and dizzy. But then her mind circles back to the earth, and she thinks, why would they ward an empty room? That's when she sees the door. An ensuite, probably, because it isn't warded. It's ajar, and the light is on inside. She points it out to the others, presses a finger to her lips, and, making her footfalls as quiet as possible, wand at the ready, she approaches it. It's open enough that once she gets within arm’s reach of it she can easily see inside.
And what she sees makes her heart lurch painfully. Severus, Severus, it's him, it's really him. Oh, God. Oh God.
Severus is standing at the sink, dabbing bruise salve on his busted, black and blue cheek with a dispassionate expression. His wrists and neck are cuffed by vivid black-and-blue rings of fingerprints, with eyes shadowed and deadened staring straight ahead, almost through the mirror, which is silent and deceptively mundane. Two vials sit on the edge of the sink, the barest dredges of the distinctive red of a blood replenisher. His chest is unbound, soft against the dark, crimson dressing gown he wears, which seems to be the only thing he's wearing, soft silk against sun-starved flesh. He moves in a mechanical, businesslike manner, like he's been doing this for years. And hasn't he? Maybe not exactly, but his parents, his homelife—
"Sev?" She despises the way her voice cracks, the way it thickens with tears. He jerks as if struck, dropping the little jar of salve to shatter against the porcelain as he staggers away from the sink, arms coming around himself. Hugging himself, protecting his chest and belly.
"Lily?" He rasps, eyes wide and disbelieving. He shrinks back when she swings the door open, eyes fixed on her as if unable to believe she's real. Then, "Please, not wearing her face...anyone else, anyone—" he shakes his head, taking another halting step back. "I'll do anything you want, just—just stop wearing her face." His words are a desolate whisper, and she feels her heart break as she realizes what he means. What it implies. "Potter again, Black, maybe, I don't care, I—" he rambles, breathing growing short.
"Evans, you should step back now," Alastor rumbles, and both of them jerk, turning to him. Severus' shoulders round and then slacken along with his mouth into true, honest disbelief.
"Alastor?"
"Hey, lad. Looking a little roughed up," Alastor says gently, a friendly lilt to his voice. "Why don't we get you out of here?"
Severus tugs his dressing gown closer self consciously. Now that she really looks at it, she realizes it's probably not even his, not even bought with him in mind. It's so long it drags the floor, and Severus has to gather the excess fabric close around his thin frame. He stares at them a moment longer, and then says, roughly, "I can't apparate."
"We can side along you," Alastor says, non-plussed, "But we really should—"
"You don't understand," Severus says, "I can't apparate."
Alastor stares, and Lily joins him, mouth popping open. "You—you're—" he isn't wounded enough for that to be an issue, and even if he was it's a risk worth taking, when they can heal him the moment they're safe. But... if he's...
Severus folds his arms protectively over his middle and casts his gaze to the side, ashamed and fragile looking. Lily feels unmoored all over again. Oh, God. No, no— "I'm keeping it," he rasps. "I'm—you should go. Just leave me here. You can't get me out anyways, not without—"
"Nonsense," Alastor grunts, moving forward and gripping him under the arm. Severus flinches badly, trying to lurch out of his grip in a panic, likely thinking he'll be apparated against his will. Alastor just holds him tight by the arm. "We'll walk halfway across Britain if we have to, boy, but you're getting out of here tonight."
Severus' black, depthless eyes flit between them for a moment, with the same expression he used to make when he was weighing a tough decision in their childhood. In their childhood, those tough decisions had been whether to splurge on a nicer, second-hand pair of gloves or stick with his falling apart, third-hand ones from years ago. Whether to have tea or begrudgingly join her in drinking butterbeer. Not—not anything like this.
A snap of apparition makes them all flinch. And it isn't Frank or Alice, by the way James yelps in surprise. Lily and Alastor rush out into the main room, followed warily by Severus. She blanches.
Lucius Malfoy stands there, hair windswept, death eater mask forgotten, with the first hint of a five o'clock shadow ghosting his jaw. He has her boyfriend by the nape of his neck, expression deadly. Then he sees the rest of them, breathing tense and swift as his eyes dart between Moody and herself, wands aimed in the general direction of between his eyes. They can't do much while he has James hostage, so both of them are taken by surprise when Lucius pushes him roughly off to the side and stalks right up to them. Neither let a spell loose—after all, purebloods hardly ever close in for their violence, and Lucius doesn't have the look of a man intending it anyways. He has the look of a man weighed on by the horrors of war, the horrors of his own decisions. When he approaches Snape, Lily feels the spell build at the tip of her fingers, hackles rising, but her wand slackens when Lucius grips Snape about the neck in the way Sirius always did Regulus, the way James does Sirius and Remus. A brotherly gesture.
"Go with them."
"What?" Severus rasps, echoing with hers and Moody's own voice, and even James'.
"Severus," Lucius ducks down to look him right in the eye, "Severus, you haven't heard what they plan to do with you. Your families gift—they'll keep doing this to you until you die. Until your heart gives out under the strain." He blows out a strained breath, "You won't be the first." Then, Lucius looks back at them with a sneer, "I'm the whole reason they're here. Do not throw away this chance." He pulls somehting out of his robes, a strange, interlocking piece of metal, and thrusts it at him, "Portkey. Not as much a risk as apparition."
"Lucius—"
"Please, my friend. You've always wanted to hear me beg, hear me knocked down a peg or two, so here I am, begging. Please, go with them. Get the hell out of here and don't you dare look back." Severus stares at him for a moment, obviously wavering by the look on his face, then he—he lurches forward and hugs the man, leaning up on his toes to do so properly, and Lily can see the way his hands tremble as they fist into the back of Malfoy's robes, face hidden mostly by his shoulder.
"Thank you," Severus murmurs. Lucius splays a hand between his shoulderblades for a moment, then pushes him back.
"Take this. Get past the wards. I have to return, before I'm missed—"
"Don't you dare get yourself killed, Lucius." Severus says, the tone of his voice caustic and biting as he takes the portkey and steps back. It doesn't do anything, it won't until they leave the wards.
#
Lily looks around blurrily, momentarily confused by how large everything is. But no, that's correct, isn't it? That's normal. She steps forward, and blinks when she sees who's sitting at her vanity. Serena, crying silently, with a pair of scissors in her hand. Jaw set and eyes burning defiant, she hands the scissors to Lily over her shoulder. Lily's small hands grip the scissors hesitantly, "Are you sure?" She asks, gathering Serena's hair into a tail. She's seen Mum do this, once, she knows it should be easily to clean it up after she chops it all off... "Are you sure, Serry?"
"Of course I am," she snaps. "And don't—don't—" she inhales sharply, "Can you not call me that? Just...treat me like a boy, Lils. Treat me like a boy."
Lily frowns, hesitating with the scissors. "Is that what this is about? Do you want to be a boy?"
"I damn well am!" Ser—his voice is shrill and angry, face blotchy, "It's everyone else whose got it twisted!" He scrubs angrily at his face. "I don't care what stupid bits're between my legs, Lils, it doesn't—I'm not—"
She puts the scissors down, making a face, "Boys can have long hair. You can be a boy without chopping it all off. You can be a boy however you want."
Se—he blinks, wiping more gently at his eyes. "...really?"
"Why not? Why's it matter?" Lily pauses, hesitant, and then says, softly, "Mum's friend—Agatha—she's a woman, but...like that. She says it doesn't matter what your bodies like. It's all up here anyways." Lily taps her temple, and feels his anger ebb out, replaced by confusion and a faint, sparkling hope. Lily drags a chair from her desk over to the vanity and sits next to him. She takes his hands, his nails painted glossy black to offset her red ones. They'd done that yesterday, and one of hers is already chipped from playing outside. "Boys can have painted nails, and long hair. People might...people will be mean to you about it, but I'll protect you from them if I have to."
He smiles thinly, "Still my knight in shining armor, huh?" She giggles when she recalls all their make believe games. He was always such a good princess, dramatic and swooning in the face of danger, though usually he ended up helping her fight the dragon in the end...
"Still my prince?" She asks, and feels the way his heart soars, bright and brilliant and joyous. He tackles her in a hug, a rare thing that hardly ever happens, and she yelps as they both tumble to the floor. Giggles follow on both sides. Eventually, though, he stands, helping her up.
"I still...I still kind of want my hair short. Don't um, don't chop it all off, Lils, but..."
Lily hums, and takes her place again behind him, scissors in hand. She takes his wavy hair in hand, soft from being washed that morning at her house, and moves her fingers down to about his shoulder, maybe a little beyond. "Here? I think it'd look good here."
"....yeah."
As the scissors snip away and chunk after chunk of long, black hair falls to her bedroom floor, Lily asks, "Have you thought of a name? If you don't want to be Serena anymore?"
He pauses, squirming and embarrassed, then says, quietly, "...Severus."
"Like in that story book of your Mum's?" Before he can take it wrongly, she nods firmly, "I like it. And, instead of Serry....Sev?"
Again, that bright-burning warmth, blinding happiness, she's never felt him so happy, "Yeah, Lils. Yeah."
A bang jolts Lily awake, shattering the dreamscape around her in glimmering fragments. She inhales sharply, rubbing at her eyes and stretching weakly. She hasn't had a dream like that in years. A memory on replay. When she looks over, she finds Severus standing in the little kitchen area of their flat, banging through the cupboards. He's dressed in borrowed clothes from James, a temporary fitting spell shoddily shrinking them to fit, though it leaves them long in the arms and legs, spilling over the tops of his hands and bunching at his socked feet. The dark plum jumper and black trousers are something he'd wear anyways, so it doesn't look too odd.
His hair is still the same length she cut it to, all those years ago. Weeks before their first year at Hogwarts. Weeks before everything started going downhill between them. It clings at his jaw, faintly damp and curling. He'd been mortified when his waves had bounced up into curls, no longer weighed down, and shoulder-length had become jaw-length. Of course, when he didn't have the means to wash it properly it still laid lank and limp against his shoulders and neck. The Death Eaters hadn't left him with that sort of dilemma. They wanted him—they wanted him pretty, to make it easier to do what they were doing to him. God.
The bruises on his cheek and jaw are fading slowly but surely, the ones around his neck and wrists hidden by the high collar and long sleeves of the jumper. "What're you looking for?"
"Tea," Severus answers stiltedly. She levers herself to her feet with a frown, and pads over to join him. Severus looks over at her, impassive and blank faced. Where is her Sev? Her Sev with his surly expressions and sneers and smirks and imperiously cocked brows. It's like someone has poked holes in his soul and let it all leak out until there's nothing left.
I left him and they took him and twisted him and broke him why did I leave him why did I—
She frowns, "we only have black, and you shouldn't be drinking caffeine." Recalling Severus' situation, the blood stain, why he's here makes her want to vomit. She did, when they got back, when Severus had promptly thrown himself down onto their couch and fallen into sleep, exhausted by his ordeal. She'd run to the bathroom and dry heaved until she couldn't anymore and cried until her tears went dry. James hadn't been much help. He's reeling too, just differently. Quiet and haunted, whereas Lily wants to scream until her voice gives out. When he doesn't respond, she says, stiffly, "The Headmaster is coming here to debrief us in—" she fumbles, and casts a quick tempus, "An hour or so. I could ask him to grab something for you."
Severus is already shaking his head, "No, it's fine."
Later, she sits down at the kitchen table and finds Severus already across from her, nibbling on dry toast as James cooks something on the stove. Bacon and eggs, she notes when she leans around to peer at the pan. James cooks, generally, though he'd had to learn, being the scion of a filthy rich family with a doting pureblood housewife for a mother. Lily is abysmal at it, always has been, always will be. If it was up to her they'd live off muggle corndogs and frozen, prepackaged meals. Severus has situated himself against the wall, a habit Lily is familiar with. Even in their school days, Severus was hypervigilant. Even before that. When James makes up three plates, Severus almost looks surprised to get one. Almost. It's hard to look surprised when your emotions are flat and empty and your expression fit to match.
Breakfast is an awkward affair, one riddled with sneaked glances and pointed avoidance of eye contact. Severus taps his fingers on his collarbone as he eats, though he does so with a quiet sort of gusto, as if he's afraid of making a sound but more afraid that the food might be stolen away from him at any second. Some things never change.
The doorbell chimes. She and James share a look, dithering over who should answer it and who should be left with Severus. He gives her his most pathetic puppy dog eyes, and she caves, nodding him towards the door. Severus pointedly ignores the silent exchange, plate empty, sat back in his chair.
James disappears, but his voice calls them to join him when he says, "Alastor? What're you doing here?"
Severus brushes past her, getting there first, and even as he stands beside James he leans to the side as if he might decide to hex him. It makes her want to squirm. She—she's dating him, this man, this Auror who is the antithesis to everything Severus is, everything she should be. She left their friendship in the dirt, a sacred bauble crushed beneath her heel on the way to snog James-Bleeding-Potter. A man who doesn't understand her, a man who can never satisfy her, a man who will never know that she wants to bury her teeth into someone’s throat and fuck them 'til they cry.
God, Severus, no—she thinks, sick with herself when his black eyes find hers, momentarily distraught before returning to hollowed-out nothingness. No, she isn't—it isn't—
"You're looking better, lad," Alastor says, ignoring James entirely. She feels the way that stings, radiating off of him in stuttering waves. James has always wanted a better relationship with his mentor, and here's Severus, getting all the attention he craves so badly. "Figured I'd get here before Albus. Stopped by to tell Master Argav you were alive, by the way. The man’s been worried sick." Alastor lifts two things in his hands—a box of donuts and a muggle-to-go cup with a black lid, decaf scrawled across the side in looping hand. "Said you liked that place on the corner, and to get you something. Tried to pay, but the girl at the shop said it was on the house."
Severus' mouth twitches, a faint ghost of a smile as he steps forward and accepts the offering, head dipping, "Amy?" He asks.
"Yep, that's her," Alastor grunts, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.
"...thank you," Severus murmurs.
"Ah, it was nothing," Alastor scoffs, giving him a light, fatherly slap on the shoulder. "Come on, we should have a chat." He leads Severus across the room, and gives them a look: give us a minute?
She and James return to the kitchen, cleaning up the left overs from breakfast, while Severus and Moody's low murmuring eeks through the doorway. They start on the few dirty dishes they've created to stall for time. "Master Argav," Lily says, "Where've I heard that name before?"
James frowns at her, as if she's said something absurd, "He's a potions master, pretty good at what he does. A little strange, though." James dries the dish she hands him, and puts it on the rack, "Worked with my uncle for a while. You know, the one who made Sleakeazy?" He frowns, "I—" she turns fully to look at him when she feels anxiety thrum through the air. He looks guilty. "Lily...when I—when we all thought he was a death eater, I had him blacklisted."
"What?" The word snaps through her teeth before she can stop herself, low and dangerous.
James ducks his head, ashamed, "I-I though he was brewing illegally!"
"And cutting him out of legal channels would've assured that he did, if he hadn't been already!"
"I didn't know!" James snaps, "Neither did you! Hell, you're not innocent here, Lily. You've said some pretty awful things about him too! I've heard you do it, we all have."
She stiffens, looking away. "Yeah, I have," she mutters. "So, you blacklisted him and he got through somehow?"
James shifts uneasily, "Maybe...maybe Argav knows what Snape's been doing? He's a muggleborn, and he was—I don't know much about the war muggles went through, you know, but Uncle Paxton said he was—" James halts his rambling, wracking his memory for the words, "A polish jew? Whatever that has to do with a war. I do know it means he was a target during it, as a kid, but not... why." He shrugs helplessly. James is pretty useless as far as muggle history goes, though not so much as Sirius. Lily, she feels her breath stick in her chest. God, now she remembers. She's talked to Argav about the war, his parents died in a bloody concentration camp when he was a child, for gods sake. How could she just forget that? She hasn't talked with him in a while, but he's a good man, a man whose story doesn't deserve to be lost in the clutter of her mind.
"Now, if you're ever in a bind, if those awful men ever try to hurt you, you come here, girl. You come right here, or to Ms. Adler at the tea shop on the corner. We'll figure something out, you hear?"
"I couldn't put you in danger like that, Mr. Argav."
"We're all in danger, girl. These're dark days, dark, dark days. We stand together, you understand? I'll have none of that self-sacrificing nonsense. You take these ingredients and do me proud, now, won't you? That a girl."
"If he knew Snape was fighting the good fight, it would explain why he'd risked hiring him. He hasn't worked with my uncle since, even though that's got to be hurting his business," James says. She nods. It makes sense, especially with the conversation she'd just recalled.
We stand together, you understand?
A great job she did of that! She might be a muggleborn, and a target at that, but she has a support system—she's got connections in the muggle world, a middle-class family and parents who love her, not to mention the support of the Order and all the wizards on the light side of things. She's in danger, yes, but where is Severus, on that scale? Half a rung up from her, the "worst sort" of halfblood according to pureblood rhetoric, and impoverished to boot, with a drunk father and a dead mother, reviled by the light and coveted as a convenient object to be used by the dark. God, what choices did she leave him with? Did she ever even let him explain why he was hanging around Mulciber and Avery? She can't remember it if she did, she can't remember him ever saying anything damning, other than, the dark arts are misunderstood, and, our categories for magic are backwards anyways. Look, these spells can be used for healing, I don't care! wouldn't you sacrifice a little blood or a few years to save a life, Lily? I would. She remembers that young boy who'd frowned and said Human sacrifice isn't always wrong, Lily. I'd die for you in a heartbeat. Misguided, dark, twisted—but not cruel. At least, never to the innocent.
"How can you hang around them, Sev? After what happened to your grandparents—you know how this ends! Why're you kissing Malfoy's boots when he's no better than the na—"
"That is different!" Severus had snapped at her, eyes narrowed and jaw set, "Don't you fucking dare compare what the Death Eaters are doing to that atrocity! Besides, Lucius Malfoy gives a damn about me, and doesn't even care that we're friends. It's more than you can say about your friends, Lily."
Lily had agreed at the time, had nodded along and never again compared what happened to Severus' paternal grandparents to what was happening to muggleborns, because Severus was right. He was right—comparing them is an insult to all the people that died. And besides, he had other points. Other reasons why she shouldn't be saying that rot. You can be a muggleborn and still benefit from being a pretty white christian-raised girl in a world of hate and prejudice. Except after their fight her mind had twisted those words back on him, You can be a halfblood and still kowtow to blood purists, Severus. It doesn't exempt you, and she was right except she was wrong because he's a spy and he apparently has been for years.
Mr. Snape has been a part of the Order for a long time, longer than any of you, Dumbledore had said. She and James joined a year ago, at the end of sixth year. They're fresh out of school, now. How long? How long has he been doing this? More than a year. Two, three? Was it after the thing at the lake?
Oh, god, was it before the thing at the lake?
She'd left him for that awful word, sure—but hadn't she lashed out just the same? Fine, tranny! I don't know why I bother! And Severus was the one getting stripped and humiliated, but no, it hadn't been the word. The word had been the catalyst, the last inch of a gaping chasm that had opened between them. She didn't feel safe, with him hanging out with people that wanted her dead—how would he feel, she'd thought, ugly and wrong, if I started hanging with the skinheads in Cokeworth? Not safe, surely. It would have ruined everything between them for him, just as he had for her. But—why didn't he just tell her?
The door opens, and Moody steps through. He eyes them both warily, "You can come back out now." His eyes find hers, and he adds, "Might want to say what you need to, before Dumbledore gets here. When he leaves—Evans, he isn't going to be coming back unless you open that door. The boys got more to worry about than old wounds, now."
More to worry about, her mind parrots, Is that what you'd call having a baby at seventeen?
She steps into the living room, and Moody takes her seat at the kitchen table, tapping out a wizarding cigarette and igniting it with a flick of his wand. She hears the faint murmur of him talking with James. "Hey," she says, soft and awkward. They haven't really had a chance to talk. She sits down gingerly, feeling the questions clawing up the back of her throat, and, harsher than she means, it spills from her "Why didn't you tell me, Sev? Why—"
"I couldn't," he says simply, solemnly. He looks down at his hands, clasped in front of him, "And what I could say, you didn't believe. Dumbledore swore me to silence on a lot of it. Still can't say what happened—just that it was... it was before the lake, in fifth year. Before that spat we had about Potter and his ilk."
She stares, horrified, "You were trying to say, you were trying to tell me and I—"
"It's fine. It's in the past now, Lily." He—He's talking about more than the arguement, more than the falling out. Their friendship is in the past. And it is, isn't it? She'd vowed never to look back. She had. And yet she has looked back and now she can't stop and the idea of never being friends with him again, never hearing his laugh or seeing his smile or getting silly little coded messages written in spell theory makes her heart shatter in her chest.
Severus stills, and looks over at her, expression genuinely baffled. "You still..."
"Yeah," she whispers.
Severus snorts, but she can feel how flattered he is, how happy he is, and she realizes with a jolt that she can feel his emotions again, that the light has returned to his eyes, dim and wavering but there all the same, and a weight lifts from her shoulders. Severus tips his head down with a ghost of a smile, "Potter'll have a fit."
"Don't care," Lily says, and means it, she doesn't. Hell, if James dumps her for this, so be it! It would hurt, but she'd live with it. Severus' absence has been like missing a limb, and she desperately wants it back now she's realized its gone. Then she swallows, "Listen, if we really—if we're going to stay in touch, I should say. About earlier, what you heard me thinking, I—"
Severus waves a hand as if to swat the sentiment away, "Lily, I've been hearing your thoughts since we were nine. And you my emotions. You really think I hadn't noticed?" Then, with a mischievous glimmer in his eye and a sharp tilt to his mouth, "Though I must ask: Potter really doesn't know?"
She huffs, feels her face heat, "No, you berk!"
Severus hums, "You should dump him," he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.
"What—Severus! I can't just—"
"If he doesn't know, you don't trust him enough to tell him. And if he won’t accept that his prospective wife wants a cock...well," he shrugs, even as she smacks him upside the head, thoroughly mortified.
"Sev!" She exclaims, "You—You can't say it like that!"
Severus laughs softly, "Lily," he leans in conspiratorially, and she missed this, oh, she missed him, "It's all up here," he taps his temple. "You can be a woman whatever configuration of bits you give yourself, remember? And if Potter can't handle it, he doesn't deserve you."
She rolls her eyes, "If only it was that simple, Mr. Relationship-Expert-Extraordinaire."
"How isn't it?"
She huffs, fully conscious of her boyfriend in just the other room, and the ridiculous turn of the conversation into this. But God, she's already digging a hole, might as well double down and try to find bedrock, right? Plus, it's nice to...be distracted. To not think about—yep, better to talk about this. "I don't know, Sev!" She throws her hands up in frustration, and then says, exasperatedly, "He'd never be one to do it. Y'know. Bottom. But—"
Severus eyes her with dawning understanding, and then says, "Ah, but if you had a third, then everything would be solved? How scandalous, Lily, that isn't at all where my mind went. Do you really think Potter would ever share you?"
She shrugs, "If we were sharing the same person, maybe. And it'd solve all the problems of an heir and whatnot."
"Still haven't changed your mind?"
"No!" She grimaces, and eyes his belly, "I can't believe you have."
He shrugs, though she can feel a glimmer of embarrassment in him. And—she laughs, as she realizes. "Oh, what is it with me and the men I like?" Severus stiffens beside her, eyes wide, and she clamps a hand over her mouth, realizing what she'd just said. Stupid, stupid—
His back straightens, and she can feel him closing off from her. "Severus, I just—I meant to say—"
His mouth twitches in a wane smile, but this time his eyes are hard and mirthless and something sick and rotting inside of her wonders if this is how he looked at them before they— "Is that why you were so intent on apologizing, Lily? Because it wasn't just someone but me you wanted to—what, put in my place? Make sure I hurt like I hurt you, at the lake?" His voice is low and cold and deadly.
"No! Severus, of course not!"
He sneers, and stands up abruptly—then he sways and sinks back into the couch clutching at his head, eyes scrunched shut. She tries to grab his arm, worry thrilling through her, but he flinches away, and he might as well have slapped her. She deserves it, honestly. What he's just been through, and what she'd been thinking, and now to know—to know he was the ideal person she thought of when she thought of bringing a third into her relationship. God. How many of the Death Eaters had thought the same thing? Had done the same thing to him, as recently as a day ago? What is wrong with her? "I just stood too quickly," Severus murmurs, but he doesn't move to try again. He doesn't try to run from her.
Lily puts her head in her hands, shame roiling in her belly. "I didn't mean it like that," she whispers. "Of course not. I want to flay all those fucking bastards' skin from their bones for what they did to you, Severus." Severus is silent for a long time, and she fills the silence with words because otherwise the shame will swallow her up, "Look, you don't—you don't need to be dealing with my nonsense, not after what happened, Severus. You—You need a friend? I'll be there. A shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, words to advise you, any of it. I'll do it." She rubs at her face, "I'm never going to do anything to you you don't want, whether it's a hug or—or—" she can't make herself say it. She can't make herself think it even though she's had a stupid bloody crush on Severus for nearly as long as she can remember. "Anything else," she settles on, lamely.
Severus has stilled, and when she manages to tip her head up from her hands she finds him staring at her openly, hands wringing in his lap. His expression is one of confusion, a line furrowed between knit brows, eyes searching her for some sort of deceit and finding none. He looks down, scoffs. "Really? If I said jump, you'd say how high, Lily?"
"Yeah," she breathes. "Yeah, I would."
"If I told you to break up with him?" Severus nods to the door. "Not to be with me, no, just...in general."
She doesn't know whether or not she should be ashamed at how quickly she says, "Yes."
Severus blinks at her, "You aren't lying," he muses breathlessly.
"Of course I'm not."
"Two years ago, if I'd asked you to stop talking to James Potter, you'd have waved me off without a second thought. If I'd told you to stop dating him, if you had been, you'd have laughed in my face."
She shrugs weakly, "I don't want to, really," she says, softly, "But...we can't keep going as we are anyways, and...I guess I only realized how much I needed you around when you were gone."
He hums, looking off into the distance. "I'll consider it," he murmurs. "No breaking up with your halfwit boyfriend, though. I don't want to think of what he'd do if I came between you two, given what he did before you were together."
"Sev, he wouldn't—he's changed."
He snorts, "I'll believe it when I see it."