ACT TWO, chapter twenty—one :
but i can see us lost in the memory
august slipped away into a moment in time
'cause it was never mine

ϟ

For the first time this summer, Lili got out of the house.

First, she'd taken her friend on the tour of her home, and now the tour of her town.

Opening the front door, the girl wasn't surprised by the sudden onslaught of sound — even if Harry jumped a bit. Compared to the near silence of the house, the noisiness of the rest of Cokeworth could be overwhelming. Long ago, Lili learnt that Sev put what was more or less a silencing charm on their home to keep out the sound of car engines and inane chatter. Now, outside, they were hit by a wave of intense petrol fumes and muggy air and the sound of people getting about their day.

Their shoes crunched in damp soot and gravel, breaths a bit heavier with the weight of polluted air. Harry was taking everything in, green eyes intent and interested as Lili guided him down Spinner's End onto Slack Ave and past Old Walsall. It was misting slightly, even if bits of sunlight could be seen through the smog. When she was sure no one was looking, she gave a subtle flick of her wand to keep the rain off.

Harry's eyes brightened instantly. "You can do magic here?" He paused, hesitating with confusion, "I thought... underage magic was—,"

"Ah." She spun her wand between her fingers before slipping it back up her sleeve. "Underage magic can't be identified when there's an adult wizard nearby... You'll find that Sev likes even less of the rules that he makes everyone else follow," she sounded indifferent rather than bitter.

Harry eyed her contemplatively, "You call him Sev. You don't do that at school, even when we're not in class."

Her cheeks blushed pink, the feeling of being noticed stirring quite pleasantly in her chest.

"We're... He's different here. Well, usually."

Mercifully, Harry didn't ask anything else.

After a while, Lili found herself biting her lip and peeking at her friend from the corner of her eye, anxious and feeling stupid because of said anxiety. Because she had never once cared what others thought; when had that changed? She was under no delusions that Cokeworth wasn't a shabby little town with smokestacks and pollution being its most defining features, but it was her home — besides Hogwarts, of course. And she was nervous to receive Harry's judgement.

But Harry... he had never judged her, and she knew he wouldn't now.

Leather jacket on her shoulders, Lili pointed out what was important, "There's the old mill — it's been shut down for years. Across the bridge, you can see the better side of town (we don't go there), and there's the park but it's been shite for ages... And, I, uhm, spend much of my time out here."

Finally, she'd delivered him to the Big Tree, her favourite place in all of Cokeworth (besides Spinner's End).

Harry seemed just as much of an expert tree—climber as Lili herself, having spent a childhood reaching for branches and scraping their knees. Yes, he was an expert tree—climber, but for an entirely different reason. Lili climbed trees to escape her life below while Harry climbed to escape from whoever was chasing him. And no, he wasn't about to tell her that.

Without even saying a word, the pair of kids raced to the top, pushing and shoving at each other, shrieking and laughing when one began to outpace the other. Harry was competitive; he loved a good challenge. Unfortunately, Lili had an advantage; having climbed this tree for the past nine years, she knew where the strongest branches grew and where the best footholds were. It didn't matter who won (it was Lili).

Up in the air, far off the earth, life was good.

Warm wind blew through Lili's loose hair and turned Harry's cheeks pink. She drew in a long deep breath, lashes fluttering, relishing in the (sort of) fresh air she hadn't felt in days, weeks, months. Her friend seemed to be feeling the same way, eyes closed, face turned to the sun. She was on a higher branch, lighter and smaller than he was, not minding that the branches bent and swayed under her easy weight.

"Hey..."

Lili cautiously reached out a fist, turned over her hand, and uncurled her fingers.

In her palm grew a small lily.

Harry smiled softly as he watched the white petals open and close like some kind of beautiful, enchanted oyster. Finally, he looked up at her with a keen look in his eye, "Your magic is different from most others'."

"Different?" Lili's cheeks flushed with worry.

"Yea, Lil. Like it comes to you naturally, simple as breathing. You don't even have to try; it's entirely your own — I've never seen another like it..." And then, sheepishly, "It's, you know, beautiful."

Beautiful.

Harry discovered a hollow within the tree where they hid from the blazing sun, knees pressed and breath shared. He was carving their initials into the tree (LS + HP) after they found some other kids did the same, years and years ago (LE + SS). 'That way,' he'd said with a smirk, 'There'll be something left of us when we're gone.' She quite liked the sound of that.

Lili kept a sketchbook on her lap, boots resting on Harry's knees to better prop herself up, lip in her teeth as she drew what was sitting in front of her. The boy kept trying to sit up to sneak a peek, but she tilted it from his view with a self—important sniff.

He had absolutely no patience, asking for the sixth time, "How's it going?"

"It's going fine," she replied blandly, still sketching.

"Right... So..." Harry fidgeted, "Can I look at it yet?"

Lili raised her chin, "You can look at it when it's finished."

"Ugh. And when is it gonna be finished?"

"It'll be finished when it's finished, Harry Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes and went back to work on better defining the S and P of their initials. Biting back a smile, Lili squinted at her subject (who did not know he was her subject) and focused on the soft curve of his jawline. When she was certain she got it right, she rubbed a wrist on her forehead and smudged charcoal across her pale skin. With a sigh, she let her head fall back and focused on the easiness on Harry's face, the looseness of his shoulders, the unfurrowed brow.

Even at Hogwarts, he never looked this relaxed.

And he certainly hadn't looked this relaxed the night he left the Dursleys'.

"Harry?"

"Hm?"

Lili bit her lip and tried to sound as calm as possible, "Why'd you blow up your aunt like you did?"

Harry exhaled hard and his head lightly thudded against the back of the hollow, "You know it's kinda funny, nobody's bothered to ask me that. Not even the bloody Minister... Aunt Marge, she said something about my parents."

"What'd she say?"

"Said my dad was a drunk, said... said something was wrong with my mum, that's why there's something wrong with me. 'If something's wrong with the b—tch, then something's wrong with the pup'."

"What the... hell?!" Lili's eyes widened and her cheeks paled with anger while Harry kicked a bit at the edge of the hollow, jabbing at the bark with the penknife, jaw clenched tightly in anger. She hissed, "Oh Harry, sorry, but she's lucky she only got overinflated. I'd've torn her limb from limb."

The Potter boy smirked tiredly and more than a little appreciatively at her.

"Anyway." She swallowed back her anger and shook off her tension. "There's nothing wrong with you, Harry."

She'd never seen him smile so bright.

The pair of kids spent days by the Big Tree; lying side—by—side in the grass, finding shapes in the clouds, playing Exploding Snap, practising handstands. Harry had much better balance than her, with all his broom tricks in Quidditch, and he had no trouble teaching Lili. He was good about it, too. No impatience, no frustration, took the time to demonstrate and explain. By the end of their first week, Lili could do a handstand all on her own and without any magic.

And Harry was just as happy about it as she was.

With the arrival of August's endless stream of hot days, another distraction was teaching Harry to swim in the river. The water was still dirty and a little too cold, but they went anyway.

"Come on," Lili coaxed him in, biting her bottom lip, "Just here. It's not so deep right here."

Harry followed her directions blindly. Big mistake. The boy couldn't see the giant hole he was walking into and sank straight to the bottom. Dog—paddling saved his life — like she knew it would, despite nearly choking on the massive intake of dirty water.

"You absolute mad woman," he choked out the accusation when he collapsed onto the riverbank.

Giggling, Lili waded to the side but made sure to keep well away. She remembered what he did to his aunt Marge. She had no interest in turning into an overinflated weather balloon today.

Tossing her soaked hair back, she teased, "You can swim now, can't you?"

This didn't particularly cheer him up as he shook himself like a dog and promptly marched away. His wild black hair was pasted to the side of his face and snot was flowing from his nose.

Still giggling, she called to his turned back, "Hey Harry! Does this mean we're done swimming for the summer?"

Harry flipped her a very particular finger that happened to be the universal sign of discontent.

Lili clutched her sore stomach, still giggling, as she chased after him.

ϟ

Summer at the Snape's was weird as sh—t.

It wasn't bad, Harry knew, it was just... so, so unnatural. Strange. At least not as strange as having to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, though. True, Spinner's End couldn't have been more different from Privet Drive. Here, paint peeled off walls, doors hung crooked, wood planks blocked broken windows, and not a spot of green could be found. But Harry still firmly believed that Spinner's End was better than any place else, but only because, here, Harry had Lili.

If it was just Snape here, well, he'd be hard pressed to have to choose between his relatives and most hated professor.

Still... Harry's greasy git of a professor had given him a room. Even if it was crowded with books, it didn't have the cast off and thrown away feeling that Dudley's second bedroom did. At Hogwarts, he received things by default, because he was a student and that was the rules. Begrudgingly, Harry realised that no adult had ever provided so much for him. It felt... different.

Lili seemed to be thoroughly avoiding Snape (not that Harry minded, really).

After all, Snape seemed to be doing just the same. The Potions professor seemed to take issue with Harry being even within his general vicinity. Except that he was avoiding them — both of them, not just Harry who he hated with a passion. Since his first night here, he'd barely seen even a glimpse of the man, nowhere in the house or the back garden, hardly even at mealtimes.

Harry didn't think he would ever understand the dynamic between the Snape father and daughter, but he knew them enough to know that this was odd, especially for them.

They were by the river again, Lili was reading a newspaper, and Harry had been wondering, "How does one escape Azkaban?"

"I suppose you're talking about Sirius Black?" When he nodded at the moving picture, Lili hummed, "No one ever has before, at least from what I know. Sev says he's a fool, but can he really be if he managed that? Maybe he's actually clever; after all, Sev said he managed to hide that he was loyal to the Dark Lord..." Something shuttered over her face, bright eyes dimming, and she suddenly cleared her throat. "Come on then, gotta get started on dinner. I... I think we'll have it with Sev tonight."

Back at 14 Spinner's End, Harry's eyes were wide when he watched Lili effortlessly begin preparing their meal while Snape stood idly by.

So, it was just like Privet Drive, then. Just like at the Dursleys', the kid acted like a servant for the adult, cooking and cleaning and doing everything in the house. There Snape was, in the cellar — day and night, that git spending all his time getting greasy over cauldrons while treating his daughter no better than a house elf.

Harry felt a burning indignation, more intense than he'd ever felt for himself.

He opened his mouth to tell Snape off, to hell with the consequences, when the Potions Professor suddenly moved to assist her.

Lili and Snape cooked dinner... together?

And why didn't they just use magic?

He knew that Ron's mum cooked meals for the whole family, but the Weasley's, they were different. Lili and Snape were their own kind of peculiar unit, one he could never hope to understand.

Harry watched in fascination as the Snape's worked as a well—oiled machine, without magic, barely speaking as they got to cooking their supper. And somehow, reaching a new level of weirdness, Harry fit right into their process. Without a word, he'd started on preparing the steamed veg while Lili seasoned the meat and Snape cooked the sauce.

They put on the stereo, old and decrepit, to fill the awkward silence, and the music that emerged was more punk rock than Harry'd ever really heard in his thirteen years of life. It was a surprising choice for Snape, whom he didn't think would ever like something so... so Muggle. And even more amazingly, both Snape and Lili were muttering the lyrics under their breaths.

Justice, the fate of criminals

So you're proud of your plan, the way you've kept it in hand

All life is sacred except your fellow man

Get it right, get it right, get it right, get it right, get it

As they moved through the kitchen, the father and daughter each took different turns at switching the tapes (of which Snape apparently had hundreds, hidden away in a cupboard that looked far bigger on the inside than on the outside). Even Harry himself was made to switch tapes a few times, under Lili's strict instruction. It almost felt like the Snape's had all their albums catalogued in their heads and apparently knew exactly what songs they wanted to listen to at any given moment.

Insanity.

As if this summer couldn't get any more weird.

Nearing the end of their latest selection from a band called 'The Adverts', Harry'd learnt enough of the lyrics to more or less mumble along:

Now you don't see me, now you do

Pretty soon now you're going to see what punks can do

Still singing, Harry startled when Snape's eyes caught his own, and he tensed to prepare for some kind of snide comment or cruel reprimand, but instead... the man gave a terse nod. The man's mouth, usually curled into a sneer, had its thin corner angled upward in what might have been... amusement? What the hell?

By the time they sat for the meal, Harry was fairly certain this was just one long fever—dream.

The preparation of the meal, however, compared very little to the actual meal itself. It was, in a word, 'awkward'. They ate in silence, looking at their plates, the only sound being the clink and scratch of metal on glassware. Snape was pointedly ignoring them both, holding himself stiff and perfectly upright, like he'd a broomstick for a spine. Lili was shooting her dad strange glances from under her lashes but sat equally rigidly. Harry couldn't help but keep glancing at the door, wondering at what point would be good to make his escape.

At least the food was good.

If anyone had told him last year that he would be sitting at Snape's dinner table and genuinely enjoying the meal, he would've laughed in their face and then suggested that they get looked at by Madam Pomfrey.

"You should eat more, Harry."

The boy startled at the sudden break in silence, eyes finding his friend's. "Er. I'm okay."

Lili clearly didn't believe him.

But he was okay. He was. Because he couldn't take anymore than he'd been given. Even now, he could hear Aunt Petunia's voice in his ear, 'How dare a little freak like you take food out of my precious Dudders' mouth!' He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, ignoring the still hungry feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Snape was eyeing them both critically now, and after primly wiping his mouth on a serviette, he asked, "Is the food not to your exacting standards, Potter?"

Ah, hell. Couldn't they go back to Snape just ignoring him for the rest of summer? He could just imagine how this would go. 'Poor Harry Potter,' Snape would sneer at him, 'Too small, too scrawny. Didn't your relatives feed you enough? Guess nobody's ever loved you enough to do so, have they? Is that why you always play the Boy Hero, Potter? Desperate for approval? Well, won't find it here, will you?'

"No. It was — delicious — sir," Harry replied haltingly.

Snape seemed to take Harry in, eyeing his thin face and rather scrawny height, making the boy squirm in extreme discomfort. He prepared himself for a stream of insults. Suddenly, the professor jerked himself into a standing position, nudged Harry on the shoulder, and then swept towards the stove where the food still sat. Both Harry and Lili were shocked.

"Sir, I'll just—, I can get it myself, don't—,"

"Ah, but it's no trouble, Mister Potter."

The sarcasm in that comment was rampant, and it made Harry sick, even as he watched the man dish him a fresh plate that he really was so hungry for. God, why did Snape have to be such a b—stard?

"Stop!" Harry was half out of his chair, sounding stupid and desperate, "Stop doing that, I'll just do it myself, I don't want you to—,"

At his side, Lili suddenly tensed, and Harry shut himself up, but not before seeing Snape's entire body stiffen. Very slowly, the Potions Master turned to face the two children with a thunderous expression, dark and threatening.

"You don't want me to... what?" Snape hissed so low, he had to strain to hear. "Poison you, Potter? Would it put the Boy Hero at ease if I first sampled the food, so you can be assured that I have no intention of killing you?"

"No need, sir." Harry forced himself to lift his chin in defiance, refusing to break the man's mocking gaze. "The poison's probably only lethal in larger quantities, not to mention it probably can't be easily traced. If you're going to murder me, I'd at least like you to get caught."

Lili slapped a hand over her mouth, and at first Harry thought it was to muffle in a gasp, but no... no, he knew that look in her eyes. She was laughing. The madwoman was actually laughing! Harry couldn't help it, a chuckle slipped from his lips before he clamped them tightly shut. And Harry thought hell would freeze over. Because he saw an actual quirk of the lips of his surly Potions Professor.

Seriously... this summer at the Snape's was even weirder than sh—t.

ϟ

As summer continued, Severus hated how much he liked this.

There was laughter in the house at 14 Spinner's End, Cokeworth, like there hadn't been all summer, and perhaps like there never had been before. And shocking to even him, it didn't irritate him. He felt strangely, uncomfortably... happy. Or something close.

Something about his child glowed, now, from the inside out.

Severus discreetly watched Lilium clearing away the dishes with a smile, laughing as she cut through potions ingredients, and more eager than ever to run round their shabby town. She seemed happy, and this made him happy (or as close to it as he ever got). Because, truly, after the end of last year, he had feared he had lost her forever. He had stomped out her spark for life, and he had severed whatever light she had burning inside of her.

But then came the Potter brat.

An interesting development: Harry Potter was cautious round Severus Snape.

True, Potter was not meek (imagine any Potter being meek, Severus sneered), but the boy did indeed tread quietly through the Snape home with his actions and words. Where was the defiant little dunderhead he'd warred against in Potions classes for the past two years? Because, here, whenever Severus was nearby, Potter's head remained more or less permanently ducked, tone determinedly deferential, and fingers even occasionally tangling in the stretched ends of whatever oversized shirt he possessed.

In truth, it disturbed Severus.

He wondered if the spoilt prince was like this at Petunia's home as well. Surely not.

"Look at this, Lili!"

Hiding his face, Severus grimaced at the sound of the nickname coming from across the backyard. Lili. It made him nauseous with pain.

Sometimes Severus worked in the garden, and sometimes Lilium and Potter helped him. Today, he was elbow deep in the thick bushes of wormwood, face twisted in frustration at the invasive stinging nettles that had grown over. With summer winding down, he needed to bring all that he could for the last harvest before their return to Hogwarts. Behind him, he heard Lilium and Potter happily working with the yellow flowers of asphodel.

Lily. Sometimes, Severus wondered what Petunia had told the boy about the first Lily. Had it been the romanticised version of Lily Evans Potter, the one the wizarding world liked to remember? Lily the Saint. Lily the Holy Mother. Or was she the real Lily? The one who lived and breathed, who was smart and wonderful and full of imperfections, so much more than merely Harry Potter's mother. Would Petunia ever have shared any of that?

Severus' stomach turned at the reminder of petty, ugly Tuney.

Last he heard, Petunia Evans still hated Lily, and so why she ever took in the boy, Severus was never sure. But, according to Albus, the vindictive cow of a girl he knew had well and truly grown up; she'd gotten married, had a child of her own, and was now running a loving household.

Or at least she was, until Potter f—cked it up.

But surely, the Dursley's would take him back. If blood protections were why Potter was there, then surely they would take him back. After all, such wards required love, and familial love could not be so thrown away... But Severus knew that wasn't true. And, maybe, perhaps, some deep dark part of him even knew that Potter's behaviour did not evidence a loving household...

Another raspy laugh drew Severus' attention, sounding so foreign after a summer of silence, and when the man glanced back, his breath was stolen from his lungs.

The Evans eyes and a Snape smile.

Even now, watching Lilium and Potter beam at one another, it startled him to see.

'Who would have thought it, Lily?' Severus' mind whispered to her ghost, 'Those two features, back together. After all this time...'

ϟ

The Snape's place was what Harry thought a home should look like.

His room — that is, Snape's study — was smaller than Dudley's second bedroom in Surrey, but it somehow felt more like his own than anything ever had, except perhaps his cupboard which he had both loved and hated in equal measure. And yet, this room felt more like his than even the cupboard ever did.

His textbooks were stacked neatly on the desk along with some pens, quills, and an inkwell. His trunk was shrunk, but this time his meager belongings were safely taken out of it and stored away on an empty bookshelf. His Nimbus was propped in the corner while Hedwig's cage was in the other, the window lightly propped open so his snowy owl could come and go freely.

With his stuff scattered round, casual but neat, it felt a bit like staking a claim.

Perhaps, with a room like this, he could trick himself into imagining this was his home, too.

Because, deep down, in a place he was too scared to name, he could confess that he wanted something like this. After staying briefly with the Weasley's last year, he'd thought a home like the Burrow was a dream with all its clutter and noise and closeness. But now, here, this felt right.

True, it contained a bit more potions than he would've imagined, but he liked the nights spent reading books in comfortable silence or playing chess by the fire (he'd even played with Snape once or twice — and it wasn't bloody awful). Mornings were full of pancakes with fruit and syrup, or porridge with cinnamon sugar, and the days contained mud and hazy sky and laughter. With very precise recipes, they cooked suppers together, and Snape helped Lili with her summer work rather than forcing her to hide it.

Harry imagined what a life would look like here, in a home like this.

He imagined being loved.

He would get that for himself one day, Harry was sure.

Currently, they laid in the Snape's back garden, Harry and Lili, drinking tea and working on summer assignments.

The Potter boy was relieved that he actually had his school books this early in the summer; unlike before when the Dursley's locked his books and wand and everything in the cupboard. Now, he could actually take the time and concentrate on what the hell he was doing. Hermione would be pleased. Besides that, the backyard was a far nicer place to work than in the dark of Dudley's second bedroom or last minute on the Hogwarts Express.

Harry liked their garden.

It was just as well—kept as his aunt's but far more unique and interesting. For one, it was full of plants that Harry had never heard of in his life, and he was certain they required tending he couldn't even dream of. He knew Lili worked on it in the years before, but he could see that it wasn't some kind of forced chore that Snape forced upon her until she was sunburnt and aching. She genuinely enjoyed it. If it was something like this, Harry thought he enjoyed it, too.

Lili periodically sighed as she unhappily worked on her History of Magic essay as Harry suffered through the ten inches of a parchment for Transfiguration, but when he finally reached the last line, his hand smudged straight across the ink. He groaned. Harry still hated writing with a quill. Honestly, hadn't anyone in the wizarding world heard of a ballpoint pen? Lili snorted at his side, and she chuckled a bit louder when he bumped their shoulders with mock annoyance.

"Here," she murmured softly, stretching over with her wand, "I know a charm to wipe away the ink. Tergere!"

Instantly, the smudged ink disappeared and his written words were safely left behind. Harry sighed in relief and also in a bit of annoyance that he hadn't known this spell before. Honestly, how many times had he been forced to rewrite an entire essay just because he smudged ink before? Ridiculous. Where had Lili Snape been all his life? He blushed at his own thoughts before quickly shaking his head.

"Thanks," Harry shot her a grateful glance before his eyes snagging on her pushed up sleeve,
"Wow, you have a tattoo?"

Lili flinched. The girl instantly leaned back and tugged down on the sleeve so hard that the hem went past her fingers. Startled to see her face so white and terrified, Harry quickly rolled himself to a sitting position to be even with her.

"Lil...?"

She'd folded herself up tightly, arm pressed tightly to her stomach, eyes focused on her grass—stained knees.

"It's... it's just, no, please don't tell anyone, please—,"

"I won't!" Harry rushed to say, startled by the desperation in her voice, "I swear I won't, you can trust me."

Her eyes pierced into his, startling him with their intensity, but he did not back down. He was determined to show her that he meant it, that he wouldn't betray her secrets. And she finally must have been convinced of it because her eyes squeezed shut and she pressed her chin onto her raised kneetops.

"You'll hate me."

"Not possible."

Harry meant it.

With a soft and shaky exhale, Lili slowly pulled her sleeve back up so he could get a better look at the tattoo. It was faded, but it was definitely a tattoo, intricate and detailed, of a skull with a snake protruding from the gaping mouth, its body long and winding. Something about it made Harry's stomach clench.

"I... I don't remember getting it, but I've had it for as long as I can recall." His friend's voice was barely above a whisper as she glanced both ways, eyes darting with obvious anxiety. "It's not truly a tattoo, so much as a brand; i—it's called the Dark Mark, a wizard's sign. A sign of the Dark Lord."

Harry's cheeks paled and a pulsing seemed to race through his body, coursing wildly from his heart up to his head, most searing in the lightning shape of his scar. Lili was being careful with what she said, hesitating over each and every word, not wanting to reveal everything. That was all right. After all, Harry had a lot of things he preferred to keep secret, too.

"My mum, she—," she bit hard into her bottom lip, digging her fingernails into the skin surrounding the tattoo — that is, the Mark. She whispered on, "I found out she was a follower of the Dark Lord — called a Death Eater, and she had me branded for his service when I was a baby 'til Sev got me out, bringing me to Hogwarts and Dumbledore."

He stared at her. She stared at him. Desperation took hold.

"I'm not Dark, Harry. I'm not, I would never—, I wouldn't—,"

"Lili." His voice was low and firm, cutting her off before she could go any further, "I've faced off Voldemort with you for the past two years, I think I'd know if you were Dark or not. We're on the same side. Some ink on your skin doesn't mean sh—t."

Her eyes filled with shocking tears, and after a quick and small smile between them, they both quickly looked away. They were embarrassed.

"Hey." Harry said after a moment, suddenly brightening, "I've an idea."

He leant over to her art pouch and snagged onto one of her paint brushes, twirling it between his fingers before dipping it in the inkwell. Then he put the soft bristles to the smooth skin of his left forearm, right where her Dark Mark was, and he began to mark himself, too. The brush tickled fiercely and his hand was shaking (he had absolutely no artistic talent), but soon he had more or less painted the visage of a Gryffindor lion.

The ink was smudged and smeared and generally looked terrible, but it made Lili laugh — that dancing silver in her eyes. Most people thought Lili's eyes were entirely black, but really, if one looked close enough and watched long enough, you could see sparks of silver in them when she laughed or smiled, like pieces of stars fallen to earth and caught in her lashes.

Harry grinned at her.

"You better do it. I'm hopeless."

With a lingering smile, Lili carefully took the dripping paintbrush, pushed up his sleeve, and rested his hand on her lap. Then, she began to paint on him, and they became their own artwork. She covered them both in flowers and runes and stars and towers. Harry was overwhelmed with sensation: the soft strands of her hair brushing against his arm, the feather—light touches of the paintbrush so gentle, the warmth of her skin against his.

Stupidly, Harry's face heated up, and he shifted slightly.

As Lili sat back to admire their work, the thought of it being over made his whole chest clench. She finished at the crook of his arm, and the paintbrush tapped against the inkwell before she set it aside. All four of their arms were covered in ink, sleeves rolled tightly up to their shoulders, ink stiffening as it dried.

It was rather brilliant, actually.

"Now," he told her, "We're the same."

The stars in Lili's eyes gleamed.

The screen door slapped open, startling them both when Snape suddenly appeared to hiss, "Just what in the hell are you two doing?"

"Nothing, sir," Harry replied cheekily, "Just practising to get tattoos when we turn seventeen, sir."

The Potions Master snarled at them both and stormed back inside without another word, but Harry and Lili could only share a pair of wide smiles. Now, with the ink blown dry on their dark decorated arms, neither of them could even see the Mark hidden within.

ϟ

Summer was almost over.

And after such a horrid start, Lili was shocked how sad she was at this fact.

In truth, she might not have survived this summer with her sanity intact if Harry hadn't shown up to fly the Nimbus together round the backyard, ride bikes to the Big Tree, or visit the local creamery, if they managed to scrounge up a few Muggle coins. Lili wouldn't have been able to cope if they hadn't sat together on the back stoop for hours at length, reading Ron and Hermione's letters from Egypt and France (respectively) in the last light of afternoon.

Together, they seemed to remember that they deserved a childhood like any others — an endless succession of Quidditch goals, jokes and mischief, and a constant repertoire of meaningless chatter.

Lili looked at her friend from across the room, reading a Quidditch magazine with utmost concentration. She smiled slightly and called, "Hey!" When he looked up with raised brows, she said, "Try running away again next summer, yea? I liked having you round."

Harry grinned, cheeks flushing pink.

Because, truly, it must've been the Potter boy who kept her sane through this summer, with the sure snarkiness of his talk, his impossibly messy hair, and his goofy boyish smile.

Harry opened his mouth to respond when—

"Get up," Sev barked with no warning, striding into the sitting room.

Lili didn't move from her spot on the floor, even if Harry jumped a bit. True, though, her back did straighten, shoulders rolling back and chin slightly raised. Through narrowed eyes, she took him in. Sev was dressed impeccably Muggle, in dark jeans and a warm black pullover, with his hair pulled behind his head into a short and tidy ponytail. Interesting...

"Oh?" The girl asked with distinct mildness, face carefully blank, "And where would you like to go?"

(To her satisfaction,) Sev nearly growled at her, "Out."

Well then. That explained everything, didn't it?

Harry shot Lili a commiserating glance once Sev's back was turned, but how could they ignore that order?

It was spitting outside, rain soaking through her jumper and sticking Harry's fringe to his forehead. With a quick and nearly imperceptible swipe of Sev's wand, the rain first lessened and then stopped from falling altogether — but just on the three of them. Everyone else could go hang. Though, true, Harry looked a bit surprised to be included.

Lili's welly boots (black and painted in small daisies) were instantly covered in mud, which rose from between the cobbles with each rainfall. Thankfully, her feet were kept warm and dry, but Harry's trainers, unfortunately, seemed to be faring not as well. Sev sneered at Harry's choice of clothing, muttering something about brats who didn't bother caring about their appearances, but more or less, let her friend go unscathed.

Their fellow pedestrians gave the trio a wide berth, recognising the strange snake man and his odd daughter from Spinner's End. There were rumours 'bout those two, rumours about that house — 'haunted,' they said, 'freaky,' they said. Lili mimicked her father's sneer when said irritable residents of Cokeworth threw suspicious looks their way, marching into their tiny run—down houses and slamming the rickety doors behind them, as if the trio were seconds away from becoming life—threatening.

Which wasn't far off, in truth.

Sev led them down Slack Ave and onto the High Street where the closest corner market could be found. Cokeworth wasn't much to look at, and thus there wasn't much to it. They were honestly lucky they had so much as a corner market. Broken street lamps lined their path, laundry was hung out to (unsuccessfully) dry, and the stench of pollution and the old mill clogged their lungs.

Lili trailed back and forth on the cracked pavement, either listing slightly too far ahead in her eagerness or dawdling behind when something caught her interest, but there was always Sev to pull her back to match his stride. Harry watched everything curiously, both their surroundings and the Snape's themselves.

No one dared say anything, tension thick in the air.

When the market was in sight, Lili stumbled when someone — a boy, she thought, a bit older than her — bumped straight into her, nearly knocking her off her feet. In the time it took for Harry to balance her, Sev had moved at lightning speed. The girl flinched forward, fingers curling from the yew wand hidden in her sleeve, but her father had it under control. Sev had snatched onto the wrist of the boy, and it was only then that she noticed that he'd been caught with his hand halfway into Sev's pocket.

"Oh, I think not," her father snarled, the somewhat familiar Black Country accent washing back over his tongue. "You can f—ck right off, you little b—stard,"

With a harsh twist, the boy was forced to drop the wallet into Lili's now outstretched hand, but, still, he was not released. Harry's eyes were wide enough to pop out of his head, but not because of the attempted theft but because of the strange foreign tongue his prickly, proper professor had slipped into.

Another local urchin, just like Sev had been, just like Lili was — a bit.

Her father continued snarling, "And if you find the bollocks to try n' nick sh—t from the likes of me 'gain, at least locate the brains to do it right. Now." Sev's upper lip curled as he hissed oh—so—frightfully, "Be f—ckin' off with you."

The boy stumbled as Sev shoved him roughly back by his wrist. Hissing with pain, he shot them all furious glares, spat at their feet, and then dashed off down the nearest alleyway without a glance back — like a perfect little sh—t. And if Lili sent a small stinging hex at his retreating arse, well, no one would be the wiser.

Except Harry, who was smirking at her a bit.

But the smirk quickly fell so he could warily look up at Sev.

Her father spoke through his teeth, "Not — a — word, Potter."

"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir." They had to jog to keep up, Harry blurting in shock, "But, that was cool, sir."

Sev paused slightly and glanced at him from the corner of his eye, looking taken aback for just a moment before murmuring. "If you say so."

Lili and Harry shared a smirk.

And then, Sev took them to the shops. The bloody shops. True, there weren't any large grocers in Cokeworth, but there was a general shop at the end of the High Street. It was only about a ten minute walk from Spinner's End, on the north edge of the bad side of town. The shop was fairly well—stocked with vegetables, breads, and the like, but ignoring the greeting of the cashier, Sev led them directly to a row of shelves with crisps and sweets.

Lili peered at the food and then back at her father, uncomprehending.

Sev rolled his eyes to the ceiling as if having to deal with them required heaven—ward assistance. With a huff, he instructed, "Pick something. Each of you. Now."

Once more, Lili and Harry exchanged a strange glance, and then each plucked something off the shelves without even looking. Sev practically growled. He snatched away their acquired items, thrust them back on the shelves, and then turned each of their heads to actually look.

"Choose," he bit out darkly. "Properly."

Lili blinked a few times, properly bewildered. Sev looked beyond annoyed at each of his charges, tapping his foot, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Finally, Lili confusedly choose from the shelves, and Harry tentatively followed her lead, keeping the man in his line of sight as if expecting him to suddenly lash out. Nodding sternly, Sev put his hands on each of their shoulders and steered them quickly through the shop to the cashier where he slapped down a handful of Muggle notes.

Whatever the hell that was, it was unbelievably... sweet (?)... of her father.

As they hurried back home, Sev announced, "Now, you've food for the train ride back to school."

Lili blinked in shock before a slow smile overtook her young features, a happiness like she hadn't known all summer burning bright in the middle of her chest. It was stupid and small and ridiculous, but this small act of consideration — of love, even — meant more to Lili than she knew to express.

But then—

"Lilium." Sev didn't look away from the pavement stretching ahead. "I'm afraid that I will be very... preoccupied this term."

Lili's happiness died silently, and when her smile faded, she peeked at his face from the corner of her eye. Without him even saying it, she knew exactly what he meant. Swallowing hard, she murmured, "You're not sure if you can take me to Diagon Alley... are you?"

Breath drawn in and head tilting back, Sev looked to be preparing himself for a fight, but Lili took him by surprise.

"It's all right." The thirteen year old gave only a slight shrug, voice softer than her usual rasp, "The Weasley's can take me; they're willing to do anything for me, Missus Weasley said."

Sev's brow twitched downward just slightly, peering darkly down his hooked nose at her. He didn't like that. It had almost... wounded him. She hadn't meant her words to sting, but she wasn't about to take it back either.

"Very well, then." Her father stiffly replied, "The Weasley's will take you."

Lilium Snape was a criminal.

But not because she'd stolen anything of actual substance; only the idea of a normal life. A normal life with friends staying over and parents who weren't murderers. As she walked between Sev and Harry, she tried to convince herself of something. You didn't deserve to be that happy, Lili. You really didn't.

The daughter of Death Eaters deserved nothing but punishment.

ϟ

"Yea, sorry, Lili, but I still don't believe you."

"Fine, don't. But you will eat your words, and I will preen in victory, Harry Potter!"

Harry snorted at Lili's dramatics, following his friend into the sitting room, "It's just hard to picture Snape — stern and severe Severus Snape — looking like anything other than a monk in mourning."

"Ugh." The girl said with intense feeling, "Just wait for the photo evidence then, you prat."

Harry stuck his tongue out, and Lili mimicked the gesture.

Then, with a swish of her hair, Lili began to scale the bookshelf. She set her two socked feet onto the second shelf and hoisted herself up, teetering a bit precariously. Harry flinched and stepped closer, more likely to cushion her fall rather than actually catch her. That was fine; he would do that, too. Humming to herself, his friend pulled down three massive tomes (Alchemy, Ancient Art, and Science, A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter—Actions, and Wanderings with Werewolves, respectively), and blindly passed them back. Harry jumped into action, barely managing to catch them before she let them hit the ground.

"A—ha!"

Finally, Lili revealed a wooden box smaller than one's average shoebox and hopped gracelessly back onto solid earth. The two kids knelt side—by—side on the thin, tattered rug by the fireplace and unearthed treasures from the not—so—distant past. Inside were a small stack of photos and knick—knacks that the Potions Master clearly could not get rid of but instead buried.

A willow wand, about ten and a quarter inches, tucked into a scrap of cloth. A little knit sock that must've belonged to Lili once but was about the length of his thumb. A dried and pressed white daisy. A few vials of old potions and jars of frightening but no—doubt rare ingredients. A small pouch full of black fabric that looked like shrunken clothes.

Lili bypassed all of it for the small stack of photographs tucked into the wooden corner. They hunched over the first picture, Muggle in kind, and Harry blinked in shock because there in the photo: a boy, maybe fifteen years old, with long hair, tight black trousers, and a leather jacket with metal studs all over it, stood with a hand thrown up to (unsuccessfully) cover his pale and glowering face.

Severus Snape.

And then in the next photo...

Two kids, one with hair black as pitch and the other with hair red as dark cherries. This was a green—eyed girl, laughing, leaning on the shoulder of a sullen boy who was doing his best not to smile, both of their heads adorned with delicate flower crowns.

"Who..." Lili's voice was soft, "Who is that?"

"I think it might be my mum," breathed Harry with reverence.

And he was right.

When they turned the photo over, in a young but spidery scrawl, it was written: 'Sev and Lily — 1973'.

Friends. They had been childhood friends, having known each other before Hogwarts and until his mum's death. His mum and Snape. Snape! But even with Hagrid's photo album, he had never seen her so small, so sweet with youth and childhood and happiness, the hope of a whole beautiful life ahead of her. A beautiful life cut short. Because of Harry.

He quickly tried to shake that thought away, only somewhat successfully.

If it was anyone else at his side, Harry'd be embarrassed by the sudden stinging in his eyes. He hadn't cried in... well, he hadn't cried since he was a little boy in the cupboard, realising that tears made no difference. Crying didn't fix anything, and if anything, it only made things worse. He rubbed roughly at his face and snuffed hard.

"Holy," she whispered, "Shite."

"Uh huh," he agreed.

Hurriedly now, they sorted through the pictures, some Muggle and some magical. More of those two kids, 'Sev and Lily', outside Ollivanders in Diagon Alley, smearing ice cream onto one another's faces, lying on their stomachs while working on summer assignments. Another of three kids sitting in someone's fancy backyard, even younger this time — barely eleven, Lily and 'Sev' and another girl, horse—faced and dark—haired and covered in inky scribbles as if someone tried to eradicate her from the memory.

"Aunt Petunia," Harry breathed.

Lili made a face, "Sev hated her, apparently..."

On and on these photographs went, from ages nine to fifteen, from scabby—kneed kids to a pair of teenage rebels. Looking their age or a bit older in the last photo, Lily had an arm round Snape's shoulders, each with band t—shirts and cigarettes in hand, wearing tall black boots, her beaming while he had an almost—smile. They looked the sort of young teens that Uncle Vernon would've called punks and no—goods, would've warned Dudley to steer clear of on the streets when they went to town. To Harry, it looked like his greasy git of a professor was murmuring something that made his mum throw her head back in laughter, two pairs of contrasting eyes (green and black) sparkling.

And, in the present — in the fading light of the setting sun, their children with their green and black eyes, were laughing too — in incredulity or joy, it wasn't clear.

Now that they'd seen it, they couldn't ever unsee it.

What did this change?

Did it change anything?

It felt like it should change everything.

Harry was still holding the second picture with a vice—like grip, and Lili (being observant as always) of course noticed.

The girl bit her lip, peeked up at his glossy eyes, and then blurted, "Keep the photo."

His head snapped up to look at her, "Are you sure? What if Snape figures out it's gone missing? What if he—?"

"He had it buried for a reason. And if he ever notices it's missing (which I highly doubt he will), I'll take the blame."

Harry didn't like that, either. He sternly shook his head, "No way—,"

"Harry." Lili tentatively touched his hand and pushed the picture safely towards his chest, "It's your mum. Just take it."

Well. Harry couldn't very well argue with that, could he?

As the sun set and the fire blazed, they refused to move from their spots on the rug. He relished in the thought of being to lounge round in the middle of the floor, unafraid of being pounced upon, shouted, or spat at. Unlike the Dursley's, he was safe here. After hiding away their discovery, Lili'd Summoned biscuits and tea, and they feasted until their lids hung heavy and their lungs filled with yawns. She curled close to his side, head on his shoulder, sighing as exhaustion took hold. He rested his own head atop hers, still cradling the photo of his mum and Snape close to his chest.

Yea. This was nice.

Harry could practically hear Ron now, red—faced and gagging and going on about being in such close proximity with a girl. He smirked to himself, nearly snorting at the thought of his best friend. Merlin, it was like he still thought girls had cooties or something. And fine, to be fair, if it was any other girl, Harry would likely be the same. With the other girls in their year, he felt strange and awkward and out of place. He never knew what to say to them and he definitely didn't have the confidence to be close to them, much less touch them.

But Lili wasn't a girl like Lavender Brown or Parvati Patil.

She was just... Lili.

Just like how he was just Harry.

Harry must've fallen asleep because next thing he knew, his eyes were opening and the fire was only embers and the light from the window had died long ago. He groaned softly, stretching from his crooked position, snuggling a bit closer to the warm body at his side. Oh, right. Lili. He smiled to himself.

It was only then that Harry sensed the shadow. He jumped when he found Snape looming over them, like a big greasy vampire. Merlin, even Snape's pajamas were black. But what the hell was said dungeon bat doing over his bed at night? Except... the crick in his neck and his sore arse made it pretty clear he was, in fact, not in his cot. So, where the hell was he? Confused, he adjusted his crooked glasses and glanced round with dawning dread.

Harry had been sprawled on the floor, he was out after curfew, and worst of all, he had fallen asleep beside Severus Snape's only daughter.

Oooh sh—t.

Harry was dead. Snape was going to murder him. Snape was going to murder him and chop him up and use him as potions ingredients. He tensed and carefully peeked up at the man, fully expecting to get Hexed straight in the face. Instead, Snape just curled his upper lip and swept down so fast that Harry flinched back. Shooting the boy a dark glance, the Potions Master scooped up his sleeping daughter with ease. Lili softly sighed and curled a bit closer into her father, fingers gripping onto the front of his silk robe. A shocking and impossibly soft look flickered across Snape's face almost too quickly to seem real.

Then, simply, quietly: "To bed, Mister Potter."

"Yes..." Harry whispered, "Sir."

annie speaks

ϟ

these are honestly some of my favorite chapters so far, and yes i'm aware of how often i say that BUT i really mean it this time. having harry stay the summer with lili and snape was a big risk for me but i've loved how it's turned out. what do you guys think? what was your favorite part of this chapter? do you think harry and snape will ever get close to somewhat reconciling? i'm dying to hear your thoughts

also,, sorry i forgot (again) to do the chapter sneak peek on wednesday. i'm the worst.

things are about to go downhill FAST.

CHAPTER TWENTY—TWO:

Even after he was sure his daughter was asleep, full of anger and self—hatred, Severus stayed resolutely at her bedside, staying up all night with fourteen inches of ebony wood pointed at the front door.

Let them come.

If anyone tried to hurt his daughter again, Severus Snape would send them straight to Hell.

OH THINGS ARE GOING TO GO SO WRONG NEXT CHAPTER, STAY TUNED xx

now, little meme to amuse myself and hopefully you guys too:

at this point it's like 60+ but whew, i'm telling you, i live and breathe this story