Yes, a man grows older but his soul remains alive.
All those tremulous stars still glitter and I will survive
Let my heart grow colder
And as bitter as a falcon in the dive.
Lily practically had a heart attack. Her jaw dropped, causing a partially chewed mini egg roll to flop out of her mouth onto the carpet. “S-snape?” she spluttered, her head whipping around so fast that she got a crick in her neck. Snape had always had a talent for sneaking up on a person, but never before had it been so thoroughly unexpected.
“Miss Evans,” said Snape coolly, his expression somewhere between severe grimness and snide amusement.
“Mrs. Potter, actually,” Lily snapped, feeling intensely uncomfy.
Now the snide amusement on his face was unmistakable. “Ah,” he said. “Yes, I can see why you’d be proud of that.” He gave a nearly imperceptible tilt of the head over to where James was wearing a Viking helmet and singing,
“And now, this here song, it has ended.
I’m thinking it’s time I should quit.
If any of you feel offended,
Stick your head in a bucket of…
SHAVING CREAM! Be nice and clean!
Shave every day and you’ll always look keen!”
“There is nothing wrong with a man having a few drinks at a party,” Lily said stiffly. She knew that James hated alcohol, but Snape wouldn’t, and she had to make some excuse for James’s outlandish and, frankly, bizarre behaviour.
“Oh, have you driven him to drink as well?” Snape raised an eyebrow. “Oh dear. Don’t tell me your marriage is turning out to be anything less than idyllic?”
James’s idea about sticking people’s heads in buckets of, er, shaving cream sounded highly appealing to Lily. Who was Snape to criticize her family, her marriage? It wasn’t as if he knew much about such things. He’d never even had a real girlfriend.
“Look, why are you here?” blurted Lily. “Because I’m not turning in any more of my friends to the Death Eaters. I’ve already fallen for that trick once, in case you forgot.”
Snape gave her a long look. Uncomfortably long. “Perhaps we’d better go into a different room to discuss this,” he said.
Lily did not trust him for one second. “There’s nothing you can possibly have to say to me that you can’t say to anyone else here,” she said, returning the long look and immediately wishing she hadn’t.
She knew it was a cruel thing to think, but Snape really was the least attractive person she’d ever seen. He’d never been good-looking, of course, but as a little boy, he’d had that scraggly-little-street-urchin look about him that some people had found endearing. And in school… well, most teenage boys were pretty goofy-looking. But now at nineteen, his looks were an uncomfortable mixture of boy and man.
Snape was a small and thin man who was only a few inches taller than Lily herself. His hair was overgrown and greasier than Lily had ever seen it, which was saying something”apparently he’d been too busy for personal hygiene, although his billowing black robes were immaculately clean. He still hadn’t grown into his nose (actually, such a thing seemed impossible given its size) though he had attempted to grow a thin mustache and goatee. ‘Attempt’ was the operative word, because ‘mustache’ and ‘goatee’ were very optimistic words for the fluff on his lip and chin.
And like Lily, his teenage spots had not yet cleared up”no, NOT like me, Lily corrected herself hastily. His face is oily enough for me to see myself in, and totally covered in acne. I just get the occasional pimple every now and then. THERE IS A DIFFERENCE.
“I don’t mean to rush you,” said Snape carefully, “but it’s rather important we go to discuss this in another room.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t trust you,” Lily told him, her voice blunt. “We were friends a long time ago. Things have changed.”
“Some things,” said Snape. His eyes darting over to where James and Sirius had levitated two baguettes into the air and were sword-fighting with them. Sirius’s snapped in half and flopped lamely to the ground.
James laughed. “What a pathetic baguette.”
Sirius’s eyes narrowed. “What did you call me?”
Lily couldn’t quite look Snape full in the face. She was quite positive that he’d have lifted his left eyebrow and right corner of his mouth an infinitesimal fraction of an inch, giving him that infuriating look that said ‘I am saying very nasty things right now in my head, and you can’t possibly tell what they are.’
Instead, he simply said in a voice that sounded so measured and polite that it was impolite, “Perhaps someone should inform your husband that ‘baguette’ does not rhyme with ‘maggot.’”
“Not everyone is an expert on France,” snapped Lily.
Snape’s expression remained exactly the same. “Yes, I’m sure Mr. Potter has considerable expertise in… other areas.”
Shutupshutupshutup, thought Lily. She hated when Snape was ‘polite’. Flat-out rudeness would be a welcome change.
“In any case, France is exactly the topic about which I would like to discuss. I will simply say that should you choose not to speak with me now, the consequences may be… unfortunate.”
He sure likes using those three little dots, Lily couldn’t help but think. But then, I really like italics, so I can’t talk.
“You’re a Death Eater,” she said aloud.
Snape merely inclined his head. “I am,” he said. “There’s no danger in admitting it. The Dark Lord already controls the Ministry. But even so, I need to speak with you alone.”
There was something very disconcerting about this man. Not counting the incident at Lily’s wedding, her last conversation with Snape had been when they were in their fifth year at Hogwarts, and he’d threatened to sleep outside the Gryffindor Common Room and apologized desperately, near tears. He’d been an awkward, stoop-shouldered, somewhat pathetic boy who too often let his emotions run away with him.
He’d changed profoundly since then. Though still small and stringy and extremely ugly, he held himself straight and moved with an aloof, calculated grace. His perpetual expression was best described as ‘inscrutable,’ and his black eyes were cold and unfathomable.
And then there was the way he talked, like someone out of a book. Lily was a writer, for crying out loud, and she sounded like an ignorant child next to him.
As much as she hated to admit it, Severus Snape”the picture of gangly, laughable insecurity in school”had become very intimidating.
Lily remembered, somewhat wistfully, how approachable he’d once been when they were ten or so years old. He’d worn jeans”admittedly ill-fitting ones, but jeans nonetheless”and used words like ‘yeah’ and ‘cool,’ and ate sweets and made Lily a card on her eleventh birthday. It was hard to believe that Severus and Snape were the same person.
At last she said in the suspicious voice of one hiring a panda to guard a crop of bamboo, “All right. I’ll come with you. But if you try anything...” Her voice trailed off. She wasn’t sure what she’d do. Lock him in a room with James?
“How articulate,” said Snape. “I look forward to reading your novel.”
Wait. Did he actually know Lily was writing a novel, or was he just being typically snide?
As if reading her mind (probably because he most likely actually was), he said, “What else would you be doing to occupy your time? Having romantic dinners with your husband and watching him insert breadsticks in his nose?”
Lily ignored this entirely. In his own way, Snape was being as immature as James. “Right. Well, before I go into a room with you, I need to make sure you’re who you say you are so that I can make sure…”
“That I’m not a Death Eater pretending to be me?” smirked Snape. “Don’t worry. I am a Death Eater who actually is me.”
Somehow, this wasn’t especially comforting.
“I know what you are about to ask, and my middle name continues to be Septimius,” he told her smoothly.
Wow. He’s good, thought Lily.
Well, he’s evil, she reminded herself quickly, but I know what you mean.
Of course you do, thought Lily. You’re me. Incidentally, is this what they call ‘internal conflict’?
Snape cleared his throat politely, and Lily blinked.
I am really glad he can’t read minds, she thought.
Oh… wait…
Oh dear…
Worrying intensely about her sanity, Lily followed Snape into the cloakroom and shut the door warily behind them.
“Now,” she said in what she hoped was a forceful manner, “This had better be important.”
Snape’s eyes were as dark as the spider that had fallen from the cloakroom ceiling into his hair and promptly suffocated to death on the grease. “Surely you’ve heard of the Phoenix,” he said slowly.
“Yeah, but to be honest, I don’t really fancy having a chat about ornithology,” Lily responded irritably.
“I’m assuming that was an attempt at a joke. Otherwise, I would worry that Mr. Potter’s mentality is contagious. In any case,” Snape continued briskly, seemingly trying to attain the world record of insults toward one person in the shortest span of time. “In any case, I am referring to the man best known for rescuing Muggle-borns.”
Lily squinted at him. “Of course. What are you getting at?”
Don’t end a sentence with a preposition, said her conscience. She had a writer’s conscience, which was an awful lot like a beta reader.
“You must find out who he is.”
Lily did not blink for quite some time. She was positive Snape had lost his mind. “I’m sorry,” she said, “did you expect me to say, ‘sure, of course I’ll work for the Death Eaters’?”
“Not yet,” said Snape calmly. “The Dark Lord wishes you dead. I persuaded him to let you live, on the grounds that you would prove yourself useful.
Lily experienced a distinct sensation quite like her brain imploding. “Well, that’s fantastic!” she babbled, her voice shrill with sarcasm. “I especially like the way you asked me before you went off telling Voldemort! I can’t believe you--”
“I believe ‘thank you’ would suffice,” Snape told her, his voice cool. “I did, after all, save your life.”
Lily tried not to look afraid. She was absolutely terrified, though”she could not wrap her mind around the concept of Voldemort himself singling her out to be killed. It was true that she was Muggle-born, but she was such a witch”married to a pureblood, an alumna of the oh-so-fascinating Slug Club, Accio’d her things instead of getting them herself when she was lazy”that it was very easy to forget.
And being murdered by Death Eaters… well, it was something that happened to other people.
Of course, she thought logically, getting murdered is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing.
“I am a Gryffindor,” she said in a voice that tried to be haughty but was about as stable as a jelly mold experiencing a train wreck. “I’d rather die than work for Voldemort.” She glared impressively.
Snape didn’t look impressed. “Yes, I expected you’d say something along those lines,” he replied. “However, I am not finished. You see, the Dark Lord also wishes to kill your sister and her husband. Their lives will, of course, be spared if you discover who the Phoenix is.”
Lily heard the words, but they echoed meaninglessly in her mind. She simply could not fathom what Snape was saying. “B-but that’s not fair!” she heard herself saying lamely.
Lame or not, it still wasn’t fair. Petunia had absolutely nothing to do with her. They hadn’t even attended (or been invited to) one another’s weddings. Petunia wasn’t part of the wizarding world”she didn’t even know who Voldemort was! But Petunia and Vernon had no way to defend themselves. They couldn’t use magic. They had no chance.
It was heroic to sacrifice oneself for one’s principles, especially the principle of I Am Gryffindor, Hear Me Roar. But it went against those principles to let an innocent person die because of the principles.
Lily would never work with Voldemort, and if she let herself die because she was too proud to give in, she’d be a martyr. If she let Petunia and her husband die because she was too proud to give in, she’d be a murderer.
“The Phoenix will save them,” she said at last, more confidently than she felt. “He saves nine out of every ten people Voldemort’s after.”
Snape’s black eyes darkened, something that didn’t sound entirely possible. “That is true,” he said incredibly quietly. “And that means he doesn’t save one out of every ten people.”
There was something about the way he said this that made it sound as though this fact was very important to him. Either he would be a very good politician or, for some odd reason, this statistic actually did matter to him.
The statistic certainly mattered to Lily. She’d never thought about things that way before.
“I have things to do,” said Snape. “You will contact me later. I am not going to force you to choose at once; I understand that internal struggle is not a pleasant thing to witness.” He tipped his head curtly and strode out of the cloakroom and shut the door, leaving Lily alone in the dark.
Literally and metaphorically, thought Lily miserably. She slid down the wall into a sitting position, feeling her skirt ride up in a most unladylike manner and hoping Snape couldn’t see through doors.
What was she supposed to do? The Phoenix was the only hope anyone had lately, and Snape wanted her to betray him to the Death Eaters? But on the other hand, there was something really wrong about letting Petunia and her husband rely on hope when she could be positive that they’d be saved.
It was insane. It was completely, totally insane. Why on earth would Snape do something like this? Did he think that she would feel comforted by knowing that there was a way she could save her sister? Of course, he also probably thought that his hair looked good when in actuality it was greasy enough to fry a couple of fish, so his judgment was usually a bit skewed.
But she was being really stupid. Snape hadn’t come to warn her, to try to save her and the Dursleys. He was a slimy, disgusting Death Eater. He wanted to find and kill the Phoenix. Lily was just a handy way to do so. She was bright, she had friends in many social circles, she was curious and indecisive, the perfect type of person for that kind of a job. And she was Muggle-born”no one would suspect she could have anything to do with Voldemort.
She hated the idea that there was the slightest chance that Petunia could die and it would be her fault… but Petunia was just one person. If she turned in the Phoenix, countless Muggle-borns would die, and it would be her fault as well.
But what made the Phoenix some kind of irreplaceable superhero? He had magic, of course, but so did everyone else in the wizarding world. If the Phoenix disappeared, wouldn’t someone else take over for him?
And more importantly, what was up with all of the rhetorical questions?
Lily could feel her makeup running and her pantyhose behaving likewise.
Snape had been right. Internal struggle was not pretty.
Who would have thought that Lord Voldemort would have such delightfully exquisite teacups? thought the real Desiderius Cairnwright with a nervous smile. He curled a long, thin pinkie around the pink china handle and took a shaky sip of his tea.
Everything about Desiderius was long and thin”his frame, his hair, his nose, his eyebrows, his lips”with the exception of his fingernails, which were gnawed short and stubby due to the vast quantities of dread circulating around in his veins.
Across from him, the Dark Lord himself reclined regally in his armchair, smiling what he probably thought was an indulgent smile but what looked an awful lot like his teeth were trying to escape from his mouth and chase Desiderius around the room on their own.
“Are you enjoying your tea?” he asked in his soft, chilly voice, making each word sound like a polite death threat.
Desiderius opened his mouth to say something like ‘certainly, my lord,’ but unfortunately, his father beat him to it.
“Ar, it ain’t ‘alf bad,” Erasmus said loudly, belching without a second thought, “though I usually like sumfin’ a bit stronger, eh?” He cackled, laying an arthritic finger beside his nose and tapping it shrewdly. “An’ ‘ere, wot’s wif the pink flowery teacups? That’s a bit odd, I reckon, I does.”
Desiderius thought it would be a really wonderful idea to dig a hole to the centre of the earth and bury himself in it. Or better, bury his father in it.
Voldemort, however, remained blank-faced. “I see,” he said imperiously, a word which here means ‘giving the very strong impression of someone about to use the Imperius curse to his advantage.’ “I inherited these teacups from a woman called Hepzibah Smith. She seemed to think of me as a favourite nephew and left them to me in her will.”
“And you kept ‘em all these years?” asked Erasmus incredulously.
“She died after I served her poisoned cocoa in one of these cups,” Voldemort said baldly, an appropriate adverb as he was very bald indeed. “I’ve always found the irony of the situation rather amusing.”
Desiderius set down his teacup a bit hurriedly.
“But I did not call you here today merely to have a tea party,” Voldemort continued, his eyes flashing in a way that made Desiderius certain that the meeting was not going to get any less nerve-wracking as the night wore on. “I seem to remember you were ordered to kill the Tonks family?”
“Wstfgl,” squeaked Desiderius.
Voldemort lost all semblance of polite benevolence, not that he had much of one to begin with. “And yet you didn’t,” he hissed, shoving his face uncomfortably close to Desiderius’s own.
“If I may, er, make a point,” Desiderius continued in a shrill voice that made Voldemort’s own high-pitched tones sound basso profundo, “I was, er, technically unconscious and… uh… naked at the time. The Phoenix took my robes and was pretending to be me. What could I have done?”
“Ah, yes,” spat Voldemort, turning toward Erasmus. “And I understand you failed to recognize that the Phoenix was walking with you?”
Erasmus completely failed to be terrified, as per usual. This wasn’t because he was brave; he was merely too stupid to know when to be frightened. “Aw, yeh, well, yeh carn’t really tell ‘oo someone is when ‘e’s wearing those masks an’ robes, ‘specially when it’s dark. An’, I mean, I were a bit hugged at the time.”
At the sound of the word ‘hugged,’ the places where Voldemort’s eyebrows should have been rose marginally, but he was wise enough not to ask for an explanation.
“ ‘Ow were I to know ‘e were a Duke?” he continued, slurping away at his tea.
Now not even Voldemort was able to ignore Erasmus’s obscure slang now. “Duke?” he repeated.
“Ar, it’s slang,” he said happily. “Yeh, Duke o’ Gloucester, rhymes wif imposter, see? Jes’ made it up now.”
“Yes, I seemed to get that impression.” Voldemort did not look pleased at all. His face, never human in appearance to begin with, looked horrifyingly alien for a moment. Demons danced in the fire of his eyes, roasting marshmallows on the ends of their pitchforks.
He got up from his armchair and strode across the room, spidery hands clasped behind his back. In the half-darkness, his head shone pearly white like a full moon. “Lord Voldemort is a merciful lord,” he said quietly.
Desiderius shrank back in his chair. It was never a good sign when Voldemort began to refer to himself in the third person.
“It is extremely rare for a Death Eater to be offered a second chance.” Voldemort gazed off into the distance, and Desiderius knew there were things inside his head that he was very glad he was unable to see. “You were foolish, extremely foolish, to let your guard down when the Phoenix still lives.”
Desiderius nodded frantically, his knuckles growing as white as Voldemort’s with fear.
“But you may prove useful yet,” he continued, his voice pensive. “The Phoenix will expect you to be just as utterly idiotic as you were the night the Tonks family escaped. I believe this can be used against him. I will not kill you tonight.”
“Cheers to that!” exclaimed Erasmus.
“Thank you, m’lord,” gasped Desiderius, flopping back into his seat like an invalid starfish with relief. “Thank you.”
Voldemort’s eyes flared up again. “However,” he whispered, “I said nothing about whether I would choose to implement the Cruciatus Curse.”
Ghastly screams rang through the night. In the alley nearby, a cat harmonized along until silenced by a pebble thrown neatly at its head.
“Never could stand cats,” muttered the Phoenix, shaking his head, and pressed his ear to the door once more.
Yes, the weak will cower while the fittest will survive.
If we wait ‘till the darkest hour ‘till we spring alive
Then, with claws of fire, we devour like a falcon in the dive.