Harry Potter 1. I

**Note:** Please allow me to thank you for your interest in my first darkfic and for your precious support. _The Sleep of the Soul_ is being written at request.

Many thanks to blue artemis for the beta and to Almanera for her priceless advice.

**Warning:** I'm afraid a sequel to _The Redemption_ cannot be cheerful. This story is set in a dystopian universe and contains mature and explicit scenes.

* * *

The blush of the somnolent sun was fading. Soon, a lizard green glow would bloom in the sky, obscuring the moon. For four successive nights, the Dark Mark had been unfolding on the horizon, setting a sinister routine which could never be grown accustomed to.

The breeze was delightfully cool; it sneaked into her large blue sleeves and inflated them into bell-like shapes. Despite the tingles of goose flesh over her arms, she savored the sensation just as much as the fresh scent of greenery in the wind and the whisper of the trees. A peculiar whistling sound of a rapidly spinning Sneakoscope was floating around, its intensity rising and falling at irregular intervals. It was curious, for no one in the house would ever scheme but Severus, and he had been summoned by the Dark Lord in the early afternoon. She was alone with their baby and their two devoted house-elves.

Lily glanced away from the window, letting her eyes wander to her son, who was attempting to crawl amid the soft cushions scattered on the floor. He was now seven months old. As early as a week ago, he had displayed his first sign of magic when, crying with hunger and impatience, he had caused the bottle of milk in his approaching father's hands to shatter. Whether it had been an instinctive hint of the Summoning Charm or a magical expression of frustration remained uncertain. Severus's elated _yesss_ had mildly disgusted Lily.

She wished she were able to give her poor baby at least a portion of the love he deserved. A reluctant tenderness and scraps of affection were all she had to offer, and she knew only too well this was not enough. How badly would her disinterest make the boy suffer? How would it influence his future? She dared not think of it, and Severus kept his assumptions to himself. Thus far, he had not said a word of blame to her; only his dour gaze betrayed his discontent. He was very fond of the baby.

As preposterous as it seemed, her attachment to Severus had been deepening. She felt so utterly dependent on him, so defeated and pathetic that it was beyond her understanding why he was still interested in her. Her gaze floated toward the steely surface of the distant lake, which was sparkling with orange and pink glints.

It was by this very same lake that Severus had recently taken her for a walk. A small enchanted boat had awaited them at the shore – a surprise he had arranged for her. They had spent the evening contemplating the savage green beauty of the surrounding hills while the boat slashed through the rolling water and the wind tossed their hair about their faces. The charm of that pure, peaceful moment had moved Lily to tears, and she had softly cried with gratitude. Once the darkness had descended, they had returned to Black Manor to a light dinner and hot drinks. Not only he had not touched her that night, he had also offered to read her a story of her choice before she fell asleep. This particular gesture had stirred her more profoundly than any other. By the time she had drifted off to sleep to the murmur of his voice, she would have consented to make love with him until dawn, should he express such a whim. It had been the happiest evening in her year and a half of captivity, a beam of sunshine in her otherwise bleak existence.

An existence aggravated by the knowledge that her health was deteriorating like a withering flower. She was no longer constrained to take the aphrodisiac potion Severus had designed for her, yet although he had been gradually reducing her doses before ceasing to brew the drug altogether, the change had been acute. A number of withdrawal symptoms had emerged, the most disturbing ones being the violent headaches, complications in her feminine cycle, and the frequent periods of heightened desire. During such instants, her loins would clench of their own accord, and the feeling of excitement would not leave her center for hours. She would think of the taste of his skin, of his scent, of the sparse birthmarks on his sallow torso, and fantasize of his thickness filling and stretching her as though she was a gluttonous snake.

She had asked Severus to swear he was not secretly feeding her another potion, to which he had obliged. This had left her to presume the drug had disrupted the natural processes of her body more severely than she had feared. If her exceeding lust did not fade, it might morph into a psychological addiction, and then she would be lost. She could not imagine a crueler and more mortifying perspective than being reduced to begging for Severus's touch. While it was true their intimate life had considerably improved over the last several months, one could say she could not gain the slightest relief from her misery without having to pay a tenfold price.

With a sigh, she pulled away and closed the window on the dusky sky tinctured with poison green. One last, feeble gust of wind blew strands of hair off her pallid face. She sat on the floor beside the baby, who was tugging at the fringes of the largest cushion with an endearing application. Feeling her presence, he looked up, and suddenly a smile, toothless and radiant, lit his face. Disarmed, Lily took him onto her lap to cuddle him, humming quietly in response to his contented coos. The room grew darker as the evening progressed, punctuated with the whistling of an invisible Sneakoscope.

* * *

Lily took a bite of an egg-shaped roasted potato, pensively eyeing the water decanter before her. Its bronze stopper was sculpted into a hog's head, and it closely resembled the decorative patterns she had encountered at Hogwarts. Hog's head had once been an uncommonly popular motive in this wizarding area, perhaps even more so than in Muggle medieval arts. When she was a student, there used to be a pub of the same name in Hogsmeade. _Hog's Head. Hogsmeade. Hogwarts. _

The boar represented a similar set of qualities as the lion: courage, resolution, defense of its values and fierce protectiveness of its offspring. She pictured Gryffindor's scarlet coat of arms with a golden boar in its center and smiled.

"What are you thinking?"

The sound of Severus's voice was always sufficient to remind her that the house of Gryffindor now only existed in her memories.

"Reflecting on the use of hog's head in wizarding visual arts."

The corners of his mouth twitched.

She finished her potatoes to the clink of their cutlery and watched her empty plate vanish. A piece of treacle tart materialized in its place, served with a scoop of clotted cream. She regarded it without interest.

"Do you enjoy being headmaster?" she asked.

"I suppose there are worse jobs."

Their gazes clashed, hers grave, his roguish.

"Believe me, there are," she assured him.

His eyes glinted. "Like what, for instance?"

She chose to ignore the teasing question. Somberly, she put a napkin on her dessert plate and waited for it to disappear. A bubble of arousal was building in her groin for no less than the fifth time since that morning.

"If you could get the job of your choice, what would it be?" she inquired, hoping for a distraction from her physical ailments.

"Research. Exploring the boundaries of known magic and refining our techniques of potion making would be an appropriate use of my time. Administration is hardly a fulfilling occupation."

It was undeniable his skill at developing new magic spells and perfecting even the most obscure potions was extraordinary. In truth, the Dark Lord's decision to entrust him with the time-consuming burden of directing Hogwarts had been fortunate for the Death Eaters' enemies.

Another question had already formed on her lips.

"Is anything new happening at Hogwarts?"

Spring had come, and the first school year under Voldemort's reign would soon be over. Classes would resume in September.

At once, his eyes turned blank. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, as much as I hate it, I'm a part of this world. Hogwarts is where we spend most of our time. I should know at least a crumb of what's going on."

He took a full minute to ponder on his answer as he ate his portion of the treacle tart.

"Muggle-borns will once again be allowed a magical education," he said finally.

"Will they really be?"

"Yes."

She had not expected such encouraging news.

"I thought the Ministry would forbid it, given… the circumstances."

"Most pure-blood supremacists have been advocating the complete exclusion of Muggle-borns from our world, yes," he clarified, taking a sip from his goblet. "However, such a system cannot work. You can't prevent Muggle-borns from being born. What you _can_ do is control them. We intend to have them registered, provide them a special education, and lead them to occupy the jobs that need to be filled. There will be no exceptions. It stands to reason that Muggle-borns can't hope to be employed at the Ministry or receive important posts at St Mungo's any more than they can mix with pure-bloods and half-bloods. But manpower remains necessary in many domains, and this is where they'll be helpful."

Lily's heart plummeted. The plans he had disclosed would doubtless ameliorate the desperate situation of the Muggle-borns in the country. And yet, they were beyond dreadful. She shivered at the idea of Muggle parents having their magical children forcibly taken away before being Obliviated; of the factual orphans forced to live in submission and misery.

"Will they be allowed to carry a wand?"

"Obviously."

She bit her lip.

"So does this mean… this first year has only been a test?"

"You can put it this way." His forearms were now braced on the table, and his expressionless look roamed over her torso. "Have I satisfied your curiosity?"

"Not just yet." She took a breath to steel herself against another painful reply. "What happened to the old members of the Order?"

For a few seconds, Severus said nothing. Then, "Most of them are dead."

She swallowed. "How?"

"As you remember, those who weren't executed straight away were given to my colleagues. The truth is, taking care of a slave is a challenge for a man's self-discipline, especially if the man happens to possess the needs and urges of a Macnair. Giving in to such urges usually leads to destroying the victim in a matter of months or even weeks. This is what happened to the majority of your friends. For my part," – Lily's heart missed a beat – "I've always considered you my lover and wife rather than a slave, so you have never been in true danger. To my knowledge, though, I'm the only Death Eater who has ever loved an Order member."

One could believe that death had been a more humane destiny for those proud, brave people than the hardships and humiliations of captivity. But it was far from a happy outcome; they had not deserved either fate.

Severus was studying her impatiently. It was plain he knew everything she was thinking.

She was about to leave her seat when one last question occurred to her. "What about Andromeda Tonks and her family? She wasn't in the Order, yet she never joined your side."

His answer stunned her.

"Andromeda Tonks slipped between our fingers. She, her Muggle-born husband and their child fled abroad a few days before the Ministry fell." He smirked. "When Bellatrix heard the news, she went ballistic. She wants them dead."

Lily hoped with all her heart Bellatrix would never find the family.

With an air of finality, Severus drank the remains of his water and set the goblet on the table as if to indicate the interrogation was at an end.

"Where do you reckon they might have gone?" Lily queried tentatively.

He refused to heed her. "Let's take a shower together, shall we?"

"I've already showered."

"Very well, then; I won't take long. Come along."

She put her hand into his offered palm, and they headed for their chambers.

"This house is much too spacious," she heard him murmur while they walked through a long hallway.

"It's nowhere as spacious as Hogwarts."

"Hmm."

The following hour was bliss. Her skin sang where he caressed her, and her body clenched around him in pleasure so intense it was unnatural.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear, fondling her breasts. She had her back propped against his chest, and her head was leaning on his shoulder as she rode his pulsing erection. It felt both gratifying and easy to return his declaration.

Later in the night, he drifted off to sleep, his left arm wrapped around her. Although tired and sore, she was unable to bring her tense muscles to relax. And then, what she feared the most happened: a new spark of arousal flared in her blood, haunting and merciless like a nightmare. Her eyes shifted furtively to Severus's sleeping profile, but she knew she would rather die than awaken him for such a reason. She gritted her teeth and waited, willing her desire to subside. When it became too much to tolerate, her hand ventured down her torso in a frantic attempt to quench some of the fire in her crotch.

If this horror did not end very soon, she would ask Severus for a bottle of Sleeping Draught. What did it matter that she had come to loathe potions of all kinds?

* * *

A few weeks later, her lust abated to some extent. Numb and exhausted, Lily barely had the will to rise from her bed in the morning. She spent her days tending to her baby and looking out of the window at the green expanse of the Dark Forest, for they had returned to Hogwarts. She prayed this abnormal concupiscence would never reemerge.

Now that her emotional strength was at its weakest, an unsettling thought was germinating in her mind: how long would it take before Severus lost interest in her?

She was crushed and diseased; her seemingly pretty body was succumbing to inexplicable disorders caused by a long-term potion abuse, the suffering she had endured, and the Merlin-knew-how-many Memory Charms he had inflicted on her. Writing them off as mere symptoms of withdrawal would be foolish. Since she had acquired only fundamental knowledge in Healing and Muggle medicine, she surmised that an excess of magic might have partly damaged her brain, which, in turn, had led to her mysterious physiological fluctuations. And if this were true, the malady might also take its toll on her looks. As for her _personality_…

A vibrant magical painting of a plump young girl immersed in conversation with her cherubic suitor was hanging on a wall in her small room. Huddled on the bed with her knees pressed to her chest, Lily watched the enamored couple coo, aware that the blonde girl's baroque paleness was by no means as unhealthy as her own.

She doubted there would ever be anything worth living for in this world – truth to tell, her wish to die was as fervent as before. Should Severus's desire wane, she might actually hope for death. He had told her once the Dark Lord had forbidden his Death Eaters to set the former Order members free: if they no longer wanted to take care of the slaves, they were to either kill them or cede them to another Death Eater. They could never release them, though, for the prisoners might pass on precious information to the opponents of the regime and even become leaders or martyr figures in a potential resistance movement. And wouldn't death constitute an immense relief?

But a part of her remembered the terror she had felt when being faced with the gruesome depiction of her death in the would-be Mirror of Erised. Besides, the idea of losing Severus's – however distorted – love was intolerable. He was her tormentor, yet he was also her support and the only one who gave her a sense of security and care.

In the end, there was nothing but anxiety to keep her company – no hope, no pleasure, and certainly no serenity. Not even the touch of his hands on her shoulders could distract her.

"What's ailing you?" he whispered from behind her.

She shook her head noncommittally. Without further preamble, he slid a hand under her chin and tilted her head back, seeking eye contact. His gaze bore into hers, expertly delving into the recesses of her mind. Once he located the thoughts he was looking for, he paused, then released her face to stroke it.

"There is something you need to understand," he said softly. Warmth was seeping from his fingers into her skin. "I'm tied to you for the rest of my life. Our marriage wasn't politically acceptable, and I had to request the Dark Lord's express permission to make it come true; moreover, he performed the ceremony himself. If I abandon you, he will interpret my gesture as an ultimate show of disrespect for his time and benevolence and will kill me." He granted her a sincere, if faint, smile. "You see, our union is one of the best forms of protection I could give you. It received the Dark Lord's approval and therefore cannot be undone."

His reasons, convincing as they were, did little to assuage her fears.

"This doesn't imply you can't stop loving me," she murmured. "And what's there to love in the first place? I'm a wreck."

"So am I." His voice was very quiet. "Have you ever considered that?"

Emotionally abused and scarred from early childhood, he had never escaped his own demons. Had he broken her so they would be a match?

"Still, you love me, Lily."

She buried her face against her folded knees.

* * *

The Covered Bridge was creaking in the evening chill, its wood boards old and wobbly, nebulous shadows creeping through the carved windows. The castle loomed majestically before her, most of its lower windows illuminated. It was the end of supper time, and the corridors would soon be lively. She had time to finish her stroll without hurry.

She had walked all the way down to the small lake at the limit of Hogwarts grounds, beyond which the Dementors stood their guard. The path had led through the antique courtyard, the Bridge, the Stone Circle, and the narrow plateau where Hagrid's hut had once been. She had never forgotten his giant pumpkins James and she had admired five years ago on a similar stroll. Now, like everyone else, he was gone. A semi-demolished wood construction was all that remained of his house.

Lily had found that memories no longer hurt like before. She wondered whether this realization should please or afflict her, for while her sorrow was alleviated, it also meant she had changed, accepted the new order. It remained, however, that no amount of grieving would bring the old times back. No amount of daydreaming, either.

Damara Dodderidge's portrait greeted her at the Clock Tower Entrance. With a wave of her hand and a melancholic _hello, hello,_ the depicted witch resumed her habitual requests for food. Lily turned her steps toward the Headmaster's Tower. Around her, groups of students were scuttling from the library or patiently waiting for the Grand Staircase to rearrange itself into the shortest itinerary to the dungeons.

The discipline at school had become stricter than ever before. After the curfew, the Carrows would patrol the corridors with the assistance of the prefects and the Head Boy and Girl – two insufferable pure-blood youngsters with perfect grades and boundless ambitions. The Carrows made Lily think of underachievers suffering from an inferiority complex: having never accomplished anything of consequence, they perceived Hogwarts as their private domain where no one could challenge their authority. Severus, for most part, tolerated their methods, and they displayed a genuine respect for him in return.

As she passed the entrance to the Armoury, she spotted Peeves floating in the direction of the Grand Staircase, a box of Dungbombs in his arms. Lily flattened herself against the wall so he would not see her. She had become good at hiding. In earlier days, she would be the most striking girl among her peers: her flaming hair, Gryffindor colors and cheerful mood rendered her memorable, and she would not mind. This had changed.

After her wedding, she had been grateful to discover that her scarlet clothes had all turned different colors. As a Death Eater's wife, she was no longer required or even allowed to wear the Gryffindor red assigned to the war prisoners. Midnight blue was now her color of preference: it was soothing and neutral and drew little attention to her. When she took a walk, she would also pull the hood of her cloak over her hair. It was a shame she could not do the same during the Death Eater festivities.

"Essence of Dittany," she said to the ugly gargoyle at the foot of the spiral staircase before being lifted to the Headmaster's office.

The circular chamber was dark and deserted except for the two portraits snoring in their frames. She crossed it in a few strides and opened an inconspicuous backdoor to ascend the stairs that led to Severus's private rooms. There, she quickly removed her cloak, impatient to check on her baby she had left with a house-elf.

By the time Severus returned, she was sitting on the carpet of the living room, her eyes fixed on the crackling fire. He was in a menacing mood. She hardly noticed, though; her spirits were lower than she could remember.

"I wish I could have a pet," she confessed thoughtfully.

He responded with dark silence.

"It's not that I would try to plot or send secret letters," she elaborated. "Come to this, there is no one I could write to. An animal would simply… cheer me up."

"You have a husband and a son. I would expect that taking care of a baby is demanding enough to require your full attention."

She sighed and fell quiet. Flames twisted in the hearth, and she imagined the face of Mary or Alice appearing in the fire to talk to her, as they had frequently done two years before.

"Then maybe I could have some music? This constant silence is driving me insane. There used to be an old gramophone in one of the storage—"

"Lily, I brought those books to Black Manor for you. So far, I haven't seen you open a single one."

She turned her head to glance at him. He was seated in an armchair a few feet away, his eyes implacable.

"Books are different. You see, listening to music is much more emotional. And there doesn't seem to be a point reading any more."

Such reflections were the most certain means to kindle his fury, and the dangerous gleam in his gaze confirmed that her words had had a rather unpleasant effect on his temper. But she was too tired to care, too desperate for a small pleasure to pay heed to these warnings.

"You promised to make me happy," she said earnestly. "You said you'd give me everything I wanted."

"_Everything_ doesn't include nonsense."

His tone was so dry that she looked away in discomfort. She could sense his anger swell in the new silence, scorching them both. Then he spoke again.

"Have you thought of writing?"

_Ah, yes. _The story of her life would make such a charming set of memoirs.

"Writing a book?" she asked, struggling to keep the derision from her voice.

"A journal. Anything you wish."

"No, I haven't thought of it."

_Writing a journal!_ If this were not the most ridiculous suggestion she had lately heard, she could not tell what was.

Neither said another word for the rest of the evening, but Lily was mistaken to assume he would let her little insolence go without retribution.

The expression on his face was fierce as he considered her pale, thin body spread on the sheets. Without warning, without even removing his shirt, he swooped down and pinned her hands above her head. An indistinct spell, and she found her wrists tied to the headboard. Her breath hitched. His movements were so swift her eye failed to catch them; she only knew he had produced his wand, which ignited at the tip. He lowered it to her chest, where the drop of fire licked at her skin.

"What are you doing?"

Hair had fallen into his eyes, yet he did not shake it away, did not even raise his gaze. His hand slid lower as though he intended to burn a line across her torso. Although the flame never touched her, it hovered unnervingly close, a fragment of an inch from her skin. Were it not for this subtle threat, she would have bucked and fought her restraints with all her might. The wand was trailing downwards, toward her navel and—

"Severus, _no!_ Stop it! Stop it!"

No reaction. The fire had almost reached her private parts.

"_Severus_!"

The wand continued its path. This time, however, he responded in a gentle tone that sent spirals of fear into her chest. "Yes, Lily?"

"Don't do this!"

He finally looked at her, impassive like a weathered statue. "Why not? This is something your old friends get on a daily basis, you know."

There was a strange, sinister resonance to his voice. It did not sound remotely amused, quite the opposite; the silent anger behind its flatness was much more frightening than the flame at his wand tip. Lily was frozen in apprehension. He had never done this before, not to her.

With an irritable flick of his wrist, he extinguished the ball of fire, but Lily had barely had the time to sigh in relief before he inserted the wand into her. She cried out, her entire body tensing. The slim piece of wood was so hot – almost incandescent – and impossibly long. Tears of shock and pain sprang to her eyes, and while the sensation was not beyond endurance, she instinctively felt terrified of the harm it might cause her. Not a muscle twitched in Severus's face as he watched her writhe in dismay.

Abruptly, he pulled the wand out of her, and then it was thrust in again and again in a macabre parody of an intimate act. The object was cooling quickly, and Lily realized with a nauseated jolt that her desire was returning in force. It was impossible to tell whether he was using magic to exacerbate her arousal, whether her disoriented body even _needed_ magic to excite itself.

In a matter of minutes, she was gasping with need and aching for something thicker than the wand. Her lust was as powerful as it had been upon her withdrawal from the infamous potion; tears of both pain and shame were running from her eyes. Still, Severus did no more than stare at her. She could not believe he was hurting her this cruelly for having expressed a wish for distraction.

In spite of her torment, she was coming very close to the blissful moment of release. She was almost there…_ Almost—_

And then the wand was gone. She arched on her spot, whimpering with frustration.

"Augustus Rookwood used to be very fond of teasing his victim to the point of madness without ever satisfying her," Severus whispered, his voice as smooth as the silk. "Stimulating potions constituted his preferred tool, though he wasn't above experimenting with various Muggle devices. He would usually take his slave from behind, and on rarer occasions, he would favor her by coming down her throat. And believe me, it was the only thing Miss McKinnon was allowed to swallow in days, unless we count his Dark brews and some water. I dare assume she was secretly happy to lose a hand in Macnair's care, as it made her valueless in Augustus's eyes."

Lily was trembling. Even as her loins burned, his words were chilling her to the bone.

"But you already have a notion of the Death Eaters' idea of a good time. What you want to know is the actual fate of your old friends. Let me enlighten you in detail."

She shook her head slightly, her voice having deserted her. He continued nonetheless.

"Miss McKinnon was used for an experiment Augustus was conducting at the Department of Mysteries. She lasted two days before her skin disintegrated like wet parchment. Edgar Bones and his wife were respectively Crucio'd and killed by Rodolphus and Bellatrix. The Prewetts' end proved to be the most entertaining of all: our men craved action, so they let the brothers duel them. As far as I remember, that evening culminated with Lucius and Antonin slaying the pompous redheads at a second's interval. This leaves, among others, Emmeline Vance, who died from her injuries after a particularly wild gang bang…"

"Stop it," she whispered, her eyes awash with tears.

A pause of several seconds ensued, then she felt his lips against her ear. "Do you like it, Lily? Would you enjoy being treated in the same way? I can accommodate you."

"No," she breathed voicelessly.

"They could only dream of being in your place. Torture, hunger and abuse were all they experienced in their masters' hands. Most of them didn't survive a year, and those who did now resemble Inferi. Yet here you are, loved, pampered and indulged in every way a Dark Lord's enemy can possibly imagine, and whining more than all your tortured friends combined."

Lily's eyes opened wide, and her heart gave a throb.

"What is it you want from me?" he went on in his deadliest tone. "I married you at my peril; I put my position at stake to assure you the best care and comfort a war prisoner could hope for; I gave up my chance to have an heir from a pure-blood woman so we could stay together for the rest of our lives. And all you can do in return is cry and lament like a spoiled brat. Let me tell you, Lily, the world won't end because of you."

Having finished his diatribe, he whipped away, and her shackles vanished. She instantly turned onto her side, curling on herself. Her scorched intimate passage hurt badly.

As fierce as his harangue had been, it had left her with a peculiar feeling of amused bitterness. She pressed the crumpled blanket to her chest, a joyless smirk on her tear-stained features. For the first time in months, he had expressed his true emotions. And those emotions were anger at her passivity and impatience with her melancholia.

"Forgive me, Severus," she uttered slowly, "but I don't quite understand your frustration. What is it that _you_ want from me? To be happy? To be grateful? To become a paragon of a satisfied housewife? I wish this were possible; believe it or not, I wish it even more than you do. Except it's a foolish hope. You wanted me to suffer for having rebuffed you, and you succeeded. While I love you, I'm dead in all the senses that matter. You can't build a new life from the ruins of the past or gratify me be giving me a new family after having brought the death of my old one. In fact, _nothing_ you can do will change my mindset, and it's not because of my stubbornness."

Her answer was followed by a silence so absolute it seemed deafening. He did not move, did not speak, did not respond in any manner.

A quarter of an hour must have elapsed when she heard him rise and leave the room. His pace was hard, neither hasty nor slow. At once, she recalled that awful night a year ago when he had massacred a family of house-elves in a fit of fury, and she sat straight on the bed, listening anxiously. No sound met her ear.

Hours were stretching to the length of a lifetime. Lily's fears had receded, and she lay in a listless heap on the disarranged bed, her eyes fixed on the flame of a dying candle. Despite her newfound calm, Severus's hostile unresponsiveness oppressed her. She glanced at the open door to find their living room dark. After a long hesitation, she got to her feet and put on her dressing gown, wincing at the pain in her private parts. The carpet muffled her steps as she walked into the larger chamber.

The last embers in the fireplace had gone cold. The tower windows, however, let in a little moonlight, enough to discern the contours of the room. She spotted him sitting in an armchair, the same one he had occupied earlier that evening.

Slowly, she lowered herself onto one of the armrests, peering at his face. His expression was chilling to behold. Even in the shadows, the stark lines of his profile and the grim set to his jaw were prominent. His eyes were so black, so vacant that they could as well belong to a dummy rather than a living man: this was not their usual protective blankness but a complete absence of thoughts or emotions. Lily wondered if, in the Muggle superstition, demons were believed to have such hollow eyes.

It took all her willpower to hold his glare. Yet as she did so, a most unexpected surge of compassion swept through her heart. He was indescribably lonely, lost in his wretched existence – even more so than herself.

"Let's lie down," she whispered, brushing his hand with her fingers.

He stared at her but did not budge.

"Come along," she insisted.

With a few tugs at his arm, she forced him to stand and walk over to the couch; they were not going to spend the rest of the night in the bedroom if she could help it. She asked him once again to lie down before joining him and covering them both with a quilt she snatched from the top of the backrest. Although narrow, the couch would suffice for the remaining several hours. Lily pressed herself to his chest and wound her arms around his torso, vaguely certain that the world had gone insane and that neither of them would fall asleep.

But she did. When she awoke, the room was bathed in sunlight, and she was alone.

An idea occurred to her later that morning while she watched her baby play with a plush hippogriff. She took a stack of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a quill from Severus's office – not to write, as he had suggested (she still considered the idea ludicrous), but to draw. Sketches of the castle turrets, of tentacular plants crawling across heavy volumes, and of ghosts floating through the hallways were multiplying beneath her hands. It was as good an occupation as any.

Severus entered their chambers after dusk. Cold and curt, he enquired whether she fancied having dinner in Diagon Alley, to which she nodded in puzzlement. For the first time in countless months, she took care to make herself pretty; she went so far as to enhance her features with beauty aids and to tastefully arrange her hair. Not that her appearance meant anything to her; it was Severus she was hoping to please, his bitter loneliness she was attempting to alleviate. She settled for a green robe and a matching witch's hat, and her choice coaxed, indeed, a reluctant smile from him.

When they stepped out of the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron, Lily was surprised to discover how little both the inn and the Alley had changed. Though by no means as busy as before, they still lived to their purpose. The customers could be divided in two distinct groups: the minions of the regime who strutted across the street as though wizarding London belonged to them, and the humble folk who preferred to keep to the shadows at all times.

They took dinner in a quiet eating place that had recently been built next to Flourish and Blotts. The staff was prompt and attentive, trained to serve the needs of a pure-blood clientele. Their conversation was sparse, awkward even, but the looks they exchanged – hers searching, his inscrutable – spoke more eloquently than words. By the end of the night, long after their return and an hour of uncommonly tender lovemaking, she knew their dispute was forgotten.

* * *

Another month slipped by, similar to a cloudy afternoon, or perhaps five years of oblivion. Secluded in the Headmaster's Tower, Lily dedicated her time to her baby, who had progressively learned to crawl, and to the numerous sketches she drew to chase boredom away. This same month, however, brought unexpected changes to the Death Eaters' middle.

Severus spent five nights in a row by the Dark Lord's side. Before the week was over, Lily had had the chance to hear the news which briefly breached her indifference: Andromeda had been captured. According to Severus's recounting, she and her family had fled to France, where they had been hiding under a false name and with magically altered physical appearances. The credit for hunting them down went to Bellatrix, who had literally tortured the information out of her sister's contacts she had mysteriously unearthed. It also was she who had ended the life of Andromeda's Muggle-born husband, Ted Tonks, the day the capture had taken place.

But to Bellatrix's immense fury, no execution had befallen the prisoner; on the contrary, the Dark Lord, indecisive on the young woman's fate, would engage in long, private conversations with her. As Severus told Lily, certain Death Eaters had even wagered bets. Most of them were convinced Andromeda would be killed in an act of intimidation against their master's potential opponents; the others pointed out she had been clever enough to rouse the Dark Lord's interest and that he would sooner kill his most loyal servant than this intriguing new toy.

In the end, he spared her with the condition that she marry one of his pure-blood followers. Tonks's daughter was recognized as an innate Metamorphmagus – a talent so rare it rendered her extremely valuable to the Dark side – and entrusted to Bellatrix and Rodolphus to raise in accordance with Voldemort's ideology. The very idea nauseated Lily. Few misfortunes could compare, in her opinion, to having one's child put in charge of the likes of the Lestranges: a fanatical, cruel, short-tempered couple. Meanwhile, the prospect of Andromeda's hand in marriage sparked off a minor confrontation between Rabastan, Dolohov and Yaxley, from which Dolohov emerged victorious.

"The Black women are not easy to manage," Severus explained to an astonished Lily. "Antonin is very tough. Out of the three, he is the most apt to handle her."

"Narcissa doesn't give the impression of a difficult wife," she objected skeptically.

"Narcissa married Lucius of her own will. Their union is one of love. This isn't quite true for Bellatrix, and it certainly isn't true for Andromeda and Antonin. Besides, from what I've seen these days, the older sisters are somewhat alike. You will see."

Lily received the opportunity to meet the middle daughter of Cygnus Black at the feast that was arranged shortly after the discreet wedding ceremony.

Unlike the wealthiest Death Eaters, Dolohov, a pure-blood wizard of Bulgarian descent, did not own a mansion in the countryside. He lived in a modest house in London, which, at some point, must have been placed under an Extension Charm to accommodate all his guests.

He was glowing with pride and victory as he ushered them in. One glance at Andromeda left Lily to wonder at her strong resemblance to Bellatrix; both sisters were graced with the chiseled features and the haughty, patrician beauty of the Blacks. Andromeda's hair was a light coppery brown, and so were, upon closer inspection, her eyes. These were softer and kinder than Bellatrix's, and as much could be said of the set of her full lips.

That evening, however, her gaze burned with hatred and contempt so powerful that she could easily be mistaken for her dangerous sister poised for attack. She towered on her seat like an irritated cobra, all but piercing the Death Eaters with the intensity of her glares and ignoring both Antonin and Bellatrix, who were lingering a few feet away as if to ensure she could neither escape nor conspire.

An hour into the celebration, the tension among the guests had ebbed away. Lily had not once left Severus's side, and she presently felt it was safe to approach the captive young woman. Severus had become absorbed in a discussion with Avery and had unconsciously withdrawn his arm from around her. When she stole away, he briefly looked up but did not attempt to stop her.

Her heart was pounding. In spite of the pang of pity in her chest, she could not truly fathom why she longed to speak to Andromeda and what she intended to tell her. Perhaps she wished to do it because she knew better than anyone else what the woman was going through.

Quietly, she reached Andromeda's seat and addressed her.

"I've been told what happened," she said. "I can't express how sorry I am for your loss. I met your husband only once, yet he was one of the bravest, kindest people I've ever encountered. I wish there were a way to reverse this terrible misfortune; please know, however, that if you should ever need help, I would be happy to assist you in any way I can."

Even as she formulated her little speech, a peculiar unease was settling in, as though the comfort she was offering had the opposite effect on the captive than she had anticipated. Andromeda was staring at her, her eyes glacial and her expression one of contempt.

Lily wavered. Was she being disrespectful? Had her sympathy come across as offending? Certain people, the pure-bloods in particular, could not suffer being commiserated – in other words, being seen as weak. Sirius had been one of those people.

"Is there anything at all I can do for you?" she asked gently.

A chuckle burst out off to her side.

"No, I don't think so." The woman's enunciation was bitingly precise. "Forgive me if I remark that I'm not the one who needs help. _I_ haven't been stripped of my magic and accepted it, nor have I allowed Death Eater scum to manipulate me. You, on the other hand, have embraced a simulacrum of a life and let them win without a fight. If you had ever tried to flee or resist, you would know there is always a way to 'reverse this terrible misfortune.' So with all respect, I'd advise you to keep your compassion to yourself. Your need is greater than mine."

Lily stayed very still, gaping into the coppery eyes that showed no mercy. There was nothing else to say. She turned and made her way to Severus on unsteady legs. Laughter was trailing behind her, but it could as well be a trick of her senses.

In the course of their conversation, Severus and Avery had got to their feet, and she waited patiently for them to finish. Her face was burning.

_You have embraced a simulacrum of a life and let them win without a fight. _

Andromeda's retort had felt like a blow to her stomach. She had condemned Lily as though she had had the slightest idea what it was like to watch her loved ones die in unbearable conditions or give birth to a child she did not love. She had never spent a year in captivity, enduring never-ending rape and humiliation. She had not been forced to outlive—

Hot tears spilled from Lily's eyes at the memory of her Harry. Andromeda still had her daughter to live and fight for. She, Lily, had nothing and nobody left with the exception of her artificial _simulacrum_ of a family, as the other woman had put it.

Cramp-like pain invaded her, and she clamped her palm to her mouth, the fingers of her other hand digging into Severus's arm until he cast her a distracted glance.

"Are you all—"

His eyebrows rose. She seldom cried unless hurt by _his_ words or actions.

"There, there." He enfolded her, frowning a little, and she found herself losing her entire self-control at the soothing motion of his hand in her hair.

It was then that the laughter resounded again, more distinct this time. It was Bellatrix's shrill, chilling cackle of glee.

"Isn't it _lovely_?" the black-eyed witch jeered. "The sweet little Mudblood feels sorry for my dear sister."

"Shut up!" Andromeda's voice cut in.

"Now, now, dear, where are your manners? Don't you see your rudeness has upset your little defender? I say we send her to the Dark Lord this instant – who knows, maybe she'll negotiate your immediate release. After all, who has more power to helpyou than _she_?"

"I'm warning you – shut your disgusting mouth."

Lily's face was tilted up toward Severus's. His gaze drilled into hers, plunging deeper and deeper into the meanders of her mind. When he withdrew, his eyes were narrowed over her head.

"Bellatrix," he said softly, "what exactly are _you_ laughing at? Or are your histrionics a means to cure your wounded pride? True, it must have been hard for you to lose the Dark Lord to a blood traitor. Ever since she came around, he doesn't seem to find your company intellectually appealing any more."

The witch's laughter died as if throttled. Lily could not see what happened next, for he was still holding her immobile, but she did hear the collective sigh of tension everyone expelled. Then a brief commotion ensued: Bellatrix had taken out her wand and was preparing to fire a curse.

She was stopped by a lean figure that swooped across the room to position herself in the middle of the altercation.

"Stop it, both of you!" Narcissa – it was her voice – hissed to her sisters. "Are you out of your mind? Since when do the Blacks find it entertaining to bicker over Mudblood whores?"

Her intervention brought the desired result: Bellatrix and Andromeda remained silent, though they continued glowering at each other with mutual loathing.

"Let's get out of here," Severus whispered to Lily. "Come, my doe."

He wrapped an arm around her waist before leading her out of the dining hall. Smirking faces surrounded them – female skirmishes were a distraction the Death Eaters rarely had a chance to witness.

Dolohov abandoned his chatter to show them into a smaller room, painted dark purple. Severus seated Lily on a settee and lowered himself to her side, pulling out a handkerchief, since her tears would not stop. Dolohov stayed at the doorstep, a drink in his hand.

"I apologize for my wife's insolence. I'll see that she never insults you again." The amused smile on his face only accentuated the falseness of his regret.

"We're sure you will," Severus muttered. He began dabbing at Lily's cheeks.

The door closed quietly behind the older Death Eater. For a moment, Severus tended to her without a word, his expression pensive.

"Forget Bellatrix," he uttered finally. "She lives in a different world. You and she have nothing in common, and whatever she says is of no consequence. As for Andromeda," he put his handkerchief back into his pocket and fixed her with a penetrating look, "let me tell you something. According to the information we have obtained through interrogation, she was in hiding for nineteen months, which means she saw us coming and left the country days before our victory over the Order. Now the interesting part is that she took no one with her besides her husband and daughter – not even Sirius, whom she claimed to like. And as much as I've detested Sirius Black, I'm convinced he wouldn't have fled without his friends. Do you see what I'm hinting at?"

She swallowed drily. Why was he telling her this?

"There is no need to torment yourself," he assured her gloomily. "It would have changed nothing. I would have found you no matter where you were hiding; I'd have been fiercer than Bellatrix. But it would have made a difference, wouldn't it? Think about it. Who is _she_ to give you lessons on ethics?"

Her breathing had already resumed its regular rhythm; only her throat still felt constricted.

"She was afraid of putting her family in danger," she replied.

On a certain level, she understood Andromeda's secrecy and had no wish to start an argument about the woman's personality.

"Can we leave?"

"Not right away."

"Then I'd rather wait here. I can't bear to go back just yet."

He nodded and then placed a light kiss on her lips. With a flick of his wand, a plate of food and a goblet of water materialized on the table. Although eating was at the bottom of her list of concerns, she appreciated the gesture.

As soon as he was gone, she lay down on the settee and pressed one alabaster hand against her equally pale forehead. A familiar whistling noise was filling the air and the space: the sound of a spinning Sneakoscope. Except this time, it was coming from her own head.


	2. II

**Note:** Many thanks to blue artemis for the beta and to almanera for her precious advice and her help on genetics!

* * *

There was nothing like the visit of an old _friend_ to end the day. When Lily descended to the Headmaster's office after putting her baby to bed, she repressed a grimace. Rookwood's uncanny amber eyes, pockmarked visage and greasy brown hair repelled her more strongly than the deadly fumes of any poison. A glass of firewhisky and butts of half a dozen smoked cigarettes lay on the table in front of him. Neither he nor Severus spared her a glance, and she trod quietly to her seat by the window, where she had left her parchment, inkbottle and quills.

She used to believe Malfoy was the most despicable of all Severus's fellows she had had the displeasure of meeting. This conviction could not be more unsound. Although spineless and sleazy, Malfoy possessed one redeemable quality: he was devoted to his family. Rookwood, on the other hand, did not seem endowed with any conscience at all. Worse yet, he had the predatory curiosity and the dangerous intellect of a pseudoscientist and was keen on exploiting these characteristics. Hatred consumed Lily every time she recalled the inhumane manner in which he had killed Marlene. He deserved to be submitted to all the horrors the Department of Mysteries could provide.

Woodenly, she lowered herself into the armchair and reached for her unfinished sketch of Cokeworth's central square. Every detail stood out clearly in her memory and her hand never faltered. Not long ago, Severus had watched her work on a particularly elaborate drawing and had expressed appreciation for her skill, promising to buy her a complete painting kit at their first opportunity to go to Hogsmeade. This activity was more than a distraction to Lily, more than a way to fill in her homogeneous days. It was her only means of producing magic. Even though her magic remained restricted, her pictures had a life of their own: the trees would rustle as she sketched them, the water would burble softly, the birds would swing their wings. She knew she was likely to become addicted to this gratifying art before long.

A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. There was a potted plant resting against the wall a few feet away; its mass of flaccid-looking but undeniably strong tendrils was stirring gently. It was Devil's Snare. She wondered who had brought it there and what the two Death Eaters intended to use it for. Her gaze shifted to the Unspeakable's pasty face.

"The sad thing about magic is that it's recessive," he was saying. "It usually recedes before Muggle filth. That's what happens most often in life after all: filth dominates. And Squibs are the most glaring example of this simple fact. Most wizards are still convinced that Squibs are a rare species—even rarer than Mudbloods. Bollocks, cobblers and poppycock. What is a Mudblood? Supposedly, a wizard born into a Muggle family. How does this happen? One of the Mudblood's long-dead ancestors happened to be a wizard who, for one reason or another, produced a Squib. In his turn, this Squib engendered a generation of Muggles—carriers of the magical trait, which lay dormant for decades until it manifested itself in the Mudblood.

"Come to think of it, it's not that surprising that the modern wizarding community has known so few actual Squibs. In the past, many of them were killed at their birth, and even more were disowned, Obliviated and sent into Muggle world. Some were simply kept prisoners in their own houses, and their existence was hushed up. The truth is, there is at least one Squib for every Mudblood. It's difficult to prevent their existence because the copulation with anyone except a true pure-blood puts the magical trait in danger. Salazar, even our old pure-blood families are no longer safe from this risk as they grow more vulnerable with every century. We have two types of ancient pure-blood houses in Britain: inbred families like the Gaunts and the Lestranges, and families who once used to be open to marriages with Muggles, like the Malfoys. You can see the implications."

Rookwood broke off to take a sip of his drink. "The Order liked to call us bigots. None of them had the brains to understand what was happening to our world. Can you imagine what the present-day wizarding community would be like if all those Squibs had never been disposed of? It would be on the brink of extinction, that's what. The pure-bloods would die out, the magical trait would become sparse, and in the end, Mudbloods and their progeny would be the only wizards left."

He leaned forward, his eyes burning with a savage zeal. "However, any disadvantage can be turned on its head. We can find uses for the Muggle filth and make them help _our_ society and serve _our_ needs."

Lily put her perfected sketch onto a pile of used parchment and reached for a blank new sheet. So far as she knew, Rookwood was a half-blood, which, in his own words, made him a threat to the magical trait. She hoped he would remain true to his word and would never seek to have a child. Otherwise—oh, horror—he might father a Squib.

"Have you noticed that most powerful wizards are half-bloods? Look at the Dark Lord; look at Dumbledore—or at yourself. Whenever the descendent of an old, influential family couples with a Muggle or a Mudblood, an abnormally gifted wizard emerges. I know we're not supposed to discuss the Dark Lord's origin, but he himself once admitted his father had been a Muggle while his mother had been born to the house of Gaunt. You can search the world and still not find a family more degenerate than the Gaunts. But they were formidable in the past: like Slytherin, they spoke Parseltongue and were masters of the Dark Arts. Centuries of inbreeding weakened them—hell, they almost annihilated them—but their genes stayed intact. All it took to rejuvenate them was a little Muggle blood. In consequence, the Dark Lord is even more powerful than Salazar himself. As for Dumbledore, his father was a fairly respected pure-blood who married a Native American Mudblood. The Dumbledores had always been rather strong on the intellectual side, but it's only fair to say that Albus put them all to shame. And you are descended from the Princes. Their chief talent consisted in the potion-making, am I right?"

Severus nodded.

"But you are equally proficient in the Dark Arts, Occlumency, Legilimency, and spell creation—your mother's union with your father unlocked a whole new range of talents. And look at Andromeda's brat, Nymphadora or whatever her name is. If her father hadn't been a Mudblood, she wouldn't be a Metamorphmagus. The Blacks must have carried this gene all along. You see what I mean?"

"Interesting theory," Severus said thoughtfully. "However, what about Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Antonin? They are the most lethal Death Eaters alive. So was Evan Rosier."

"In my opinion, they're the last capable generation of their lineages," Rookwood asserted. "I pretty much guarantee their offspring will be a disappointment. It's the same as with the Goyles, who had everything five generations ago: health, magical skill, money, relative good looks. Now, they're falling apart. I've seen Goyle's so-called heir, and while the boy might be too young to be assessed, I can safely tell you he is retarded. If Goyle wants to save his family, he should marry his son off to a Mudblood; it will only do them good. It's not like they can do better anyway."

The Unspeakable lit himself a fresh cigarette with a flick of his finger. "I still miss Evan, can you believe that? He was an arrogant sod, but unlike many, he did have something to be arrogant about. As duellists go, he was Bellatrix's match—the best, really."

"Well, Moody paid the price, didn't he?"

"I suppose he did."

The conversation abated for a few moments. All they could hear was the scratching of Lily's quill.

"What other uses have you found for Muggles and Mudbloods?" Severus asked. "Or is it mainly about letting them rescue the declining pure-blood houses?"

"That's a part of our plan. Now that most Mudbloods are under surveillance, we should start differentiating between them. The average individuals are only suitable for work, but the more competent ones might indeed become eligible for marriage with certain pure-bloods."

"Do you realise that only a fraction of such unions result in the birth of magically gifted wizards? Besides, you said the presence of a Mudblood would increase the risk of bringing more Squibs into the world."

"Oh, I know," Rookwood groaned. "A last resort, that's what it is. I reckon it can help a number of disintegrating families, but I wouldn't make it a common practice, no."

He jabbed his cigarette into the air. "There is something else, though. If Muggles can endanger our community, we can do the same to them, at any rate. All it takes is letting wizards—any wizards—impregnate Muggles. When the time comes, half-bloods will be born. Those can be married to fellow half-bloods, and two generations later, we'll have quite a few brand new pure-bloods, ready to start their own lines. According to the new decrees, one must have magical grandparents—half-bloods at the very least, of course—to be classified as a pure-blood. Do you have any idea how many new pure-blood families can be built this way? It's true that several Squibs will be delivered in the process, but as carriers of the magical trait, they won't be completely useless."

Lily felt close to nausea. The man was a lunatic.

"I would like to see you explain this to the rest of the wizarding population," Severus commented with a smirk.

Rookwood laughed and raised his glass. "And why would I do something as foolish as that? My job is to develop these plans and present them to the Dark Lord for his consideration. If he finds them deserving of a trial, he will give out the necessary orders, and then wizards will mate with Muggles whether they like it or not." He winked slyly. "That includes you, by the way. I only have to mention you to the Dark Lord as a good specimen, and you might get to lay a few Muggles yourself. After all, your son has already showed a sign of magic, hasn't he?"

"My son has a brilliant mother. And you can have those Muggles." Severus smirked again. "I'm sure your genes are far more… dominant than mine."

A pair of curious yellow eyes was boring insolently into the back of her head. Lily kept sketching as though she had heard nothing. On second thoughts, she had better stop listening altogether for the sake of sanity.

Her picture was becoming more and more alive; it revealed a phoenix rising from a billowing flame. If colour were added, it would gain an entirely new dimension. Perhaps she could keep it aside and improve it later; for if truth be told, every evening, she fed to the fire all the drawings she had completed during the day. They meant nothing to her; it was the process that mattered. Moreover, she deemed this little ritual to be oddly symbolic—fitting, even. This particular sketch felt different, though; it comforted her in a way the other pictures did not.

She raised her eyes from the parchment to the dark window as her mind wandered dreamily. The light from the candles floating above her rendered the glass opaque, causing it to reflect the chamber rather than expose Hogwarts grounds. Large and pensive—more so than ever, now that her cheeks had lost their chubbiness—her eyes stared back at her from the gloomy pane while the tip of her purple quill was brushing her lips in a contemplative gesture. Her waist-long hair, gilded with candlelight, spilled over her shoulders and undulated down her arms and back. Mercifully, the window was not long enough to mirror her entire figure, to display her thin limbs covered in mauve robes. She looked sickly and malnourished. Nevertheless, Severus seemed to find her desirable even in her pitiful state—more desirable than ever, in fact, if she were to interpret the way he touched her at night.

Her head throbbed dully as though someone were compressing it with both hands. Somewhere close, there was the sound of whispering. It sometimes came alone, although most of the time, it only served as a background noise for the whistling of the Sneakoscope—quiet yet persistent. She had been unable to identify the quarrelling voices or even decide whether they sounded familiar. It was frightening to pay them any attention.

As she resumed drawing, Severus's shadow flickered on the wall. He was heading upstairs, probably to retrieve one book or another. In the ensuing pause, Rookwood lit a new cigarette.

"How are you doing, Mrs Snape?" he asked suddenly.

Her body went stiff as if afflicted by the Freezing Charm. Slowly, she looked up, wishing she could transfigure the smug bastard into the pestilential cockroach he truly was.

"Better than you, I think."

His eyes glinted.

"That's good." He took a deep drag and then went on as though she had reciprocated his question, a slippery smile on his face. "Busy time in the Department of Mysteries. As you just heard, we are about to conduct a series of experiments in the Ministry. There have been many changes this year, but I expect many more are yet to come."

It could not be more obvious from his intonation and his stretch on the word _experiments_ that he had made this statement to remind her of Marlene's cruel demise. Lily's gaze fell upon his jaundiced hands of a chain-smoking alcoholic, ending in long, dirty nails.

"I hope you will reinvent the Philosopher's Stone in the course of your _experiments_," she retorted sweetly. "You might need it in order to supervise the future generations and make sure they form unions according to your instructions."

He followed the direction of her eye with a smirk, not offended in the least.

"I don't fear death. In my opinion, it's a fascinating experience. I thought you, of all people, would understand."

Having said this, he turned back on his seat and tapped his cigarette into a black ashtray.

Her fingers twitched on the quill they were clutching as red-hot fury flared in her veins. How she itched to perform magic! It would have taken her a heartbeat to reduce him to a puddle of slime. Off to her side, one of Devil's Snare's vines gave a small ripple, and something inside her broke loose. She could not tell how the tiny pot found its way into her grip; all she was aware of was its weight leaving her palm and rocketing towards the Death Eater like a piece of boulder. The deceptively soft tentacles wound themselves at once around his arms and neck, strangling and constricting him more effectively than any ropes could. Rookwood bolted to his feet with a roar of rage; with his arms restrained, however, he was unable to free himself or even pull out his wand.

Before Lily could fully appreciate the sight, she saw Severus appear at the foot of the stairs, and her smile evaporated. He stopped to survey Rookwood's frantic dance, his expression unreadable. After a few seconds of utter stillness, he flicked his wand, conjuring a long, thin stream of fire, which singed the stirring tentacles and prompted them to release their victim. The plant fell onto the floor in a listless mass.

Rookwood's robes were smoking where the flame had seared them. He shook the severed stems off his shoulders and then turned towards Lily with the stance of a charging bull, his fists clenched, his eyes manic. His wrath would have been chilling to behold if it were not for the comical way his clothes leaked fumes, making his menacing posture quite fruitless. Against her better judgment, Lily touched her fingertips to her lips and let out a chuckle, the first one in half a year. Both Death Eaters jerked and tensed.

"Upstairs," Severus ordered in his lowest, deadliest voice.

She tossed her sketch onto the pile of used parchment and stood up to obey. While passing the Unspeakable, she took a chance and flashed him an innocent smile. Severus moved aside to allow her to exit, watching her with orbs as blank as the night.

This had felt so good. Her petty attack hardly constituted the thousandth fraction of what the pockmarked psychopath deserved, yet it was worth any humiliation Severus was certain to inflict on her. Besides, unless she was mistaken, the workday had tired him, and he was unlikely to be inventive with his punishments that night.

The baby was sleeping under the guardianship of an old house-elf. Lily gently shut the door to his bedroom and walked away, her mind still full of excitement.

It was an instant later, while she was fumbling for a nightgown in a chest of drawers, that the whispers struck her again, bringing the unbearable whistling noise in their wake. She straightened up and regarded herself in the nearest mirror. Unbeknownst to her, the dark piece of lingerie she was holding slipped from her grasp and flitted to the floor. There was something glassy about her stare, but this did not trouble her. The room did. A spinning Sneakoscope served to help wizards uncover ill intentions; was it therefore truly odd she could hear this sound? She was surrounded by malice and hostility. If she were patient enough, she would surely see a myriad of minuscule eyes peering at her from the shadows. All of a sudden, she was petrified with fear.

The door to their private quarters flew open. Lily swallowed gingerly, forcing herself to bend down and pick her nightgown. In the next second, Severus entered the room, his features aglow with a peculiar smile. He strode directly towards her and laid his arms around her waist, burrowing his face into the crook of her neck. It was evidence of her distress that she found his embrace soothing like the rays of the evening sun. Little by little, her body moulded into his, and she closed her eyes, struggling to will the noise away.

"Is he gone?" she mumbled through numb lips.

"Oh, yes." Severus nuzzled her ear, the way he liked to do. "He wasn't placated until I promised him to spend the night whipping you."

Her mind felt so sluggish she could barely concentrate. "Are you annoyed at me?"

"For showing spirit? I'm not so foolish any more, my love." A warm hand slid up to her bosom. "You have no idea how much you have pleased me. You have not lost your fire. You are still my proud, fearless Lily."

She repressed a snort. To hear him speak of her, one would have believed her wholly responsible for her predicament. _His proud, fearless Lily,_ indeed.

When his lips claimed hers, it was with an eagerness reminiscent of her first months of captivity. No doubt he perceived her outburst against Rookwood as a manifestation of her former, Gryffindor self and was blinded with hope to see her return to life. Blinded so greatly as to not notice the irrational terror that shook her frame. She had no energy to disabuse him of his fanciful sentiment; not tonight.

Morning came, and though she had obtained no more than two hours of slumber, she awoke lucid. Nothing ailed her besides a muffled ache in her temples. She lay on her side across the mattress with only her flaming hair to cover her nudity and observed Severus tend to the baby. At moments like this, her heart brimmed with tenderness for them both. She had been equally fond of watching the baby sleep on Severus's chest—a familiar picture she craved despite the painful memories it evoked.

She pondered what to do. Something was terribly, dreadfully wrong with her, and if she did not attempt to save her health, it would inevitably decay. Only, she did not know what could be done. In a different world, she would have the possibility to Disapparate to St. Mungo's on that very same day—a luxury she did not possess in reality, for Severus had made it very clear she would never leave his roof, not even for the space of one day or night: it was both his and Voldemort's wish. This was why she had to persuade him she needed help. If she failed to explain herself properly, he would simply ignore her.

"Do you think there are books on Healing at Hogwarts?" she asked.

He briefly glanced up from the baby, whom he was feeding. "There are a few in the library. We have a number of medical volumes at Black Manor, too."

"Are they specifically on Healing?"

"Some of them are. Others are dedicated to the study of the mind. You'll find Muggle treatises among them."

Her heart began pounding. Was it a sign she was heading in the right direction?

"How did they happen to be there? Weren't the Blacks too loyal to the pure-blood ideology to collect any Muggle works?"

This time, the look he gave her was nothing short of scathing. "_I_ brought them there, Lily. _For you_. I found them downstairs, in the Headmaster's office. They've now been a part of our library for a year."

Lily bit her lip, as though ashamed.

"I'm grateful you've thought of me, Sev. I'd love to read them."

This did not seem to move him, quite the opposite. He turned his attention back to the baby.

"Where does your unexpected interest in the books come from? If I remember correctly, you recently affirmed there was no point to reading any more."

And her attitude had by no means changed. She did not desire to read, only to gather a little knowledge on her affliction. As for Severus, he ought to hear the truth. Even if he had never taken to subjecting her to Legilimency, he was extraordinarily sensitive to deceit.

"I want to understand what the matter with me is. My body has been playing tricks on me for long enough, and now it's like I'm about to lose my mental balance, too. It's so scary I can't describe it."

"And you reckon you'll find your answers in those books?"

She weighed her words carefully. "Well, I have to start somewhere. Since going to St. Mungo's is out of the question, I think I should do as much personal research as I can."

"I see."

The baby was making soft, curious sounds, his hands gripping around him.

"When can we go to Black Manor?" she prodded.

"This weekend, perhaps, if there isn't too much work to do."

He lowered the baby onto the carpet, and the toddler crawled away towards his favourite new toy: a large cuddly Peruvian Vipertooth. It was possible to make this plush animal strut, fly and produce diminished roars when the appropriate spells were cast. With a sigh of fatigue, Severus closed his eyes, propping his head against the back of his armchair. He had spent the night reading scrolls of parchment at the light of his wand.

Lily lifted herself off the bed. Weekend was days away; she could not wait this long. Yet how to sway his decision? After almost two years of cohabitation, she was no wiser than before; he would always follow his choices with no consideration for her requests. Hesitantly, she positioned herself behind him, her hands massaging his bare shoulders. He was clad only in trousers and shoes. Although he did not budge, she could swear she heard a hushed chuckle.

"Come here," he whispered.

Her nude torso rubbed against his as she sat on his lap, and he gazed at her through hooded eyes, lips slightly upturned. Vain had been her attempt at subtlety; he had divined she was going to ask him for a favour, and he visibly intended to enjoy himself.

"Let's go today," she suggested. "Right now."

Feather-light, her fingers circled his nipple, which caused him to suck in a breath and plunge his hands into her hair.

"What are you up to, hmm?"

"Nothing except what I've told you."

A split second later, he entered her mind, and her head gave an agonising throb. She turned away.

"Please, don't. It gives me headaches. I'm afraid I'm really, really unwell."

He none too delicately pulled her chin back to his. "Given your viewpoints, you can't blame me for being wary of your thirst for books, can you, my love?"

"No, but I'm not plotting against you. And didn't you yourself encourage me to read?" She raised her hand to his cheek. "It's a terrible thing to witness yourself falling apart. What if something is seriously wrong with me? You wouldn't want this, would you? Let's Floo home for half an hour; it won't take longer. Won't you do this for me?"

Before she had even finished speaking, he seized her hand and pressed it against his bulging crotch: a hint she could not dismiss. Disheartened, she complied, unfastening his trousers to stroke his length while he kissed her fiercely. How she hated this. Like the lowest of whores, she was forced to pay for his indulgence, to literally _earn_ his acts of kindness. His words of love, genuine or not, were worthless. She bitterly envisaged retracting her plea and letting whatever sickness had awakened in her body take its course and destroy her. Only the certainty that embracing her doom as a form of protest would be idiocy stopped her.

"Get ready," he murmured, finally sated.

A few instants later, they departed for Black Manor. The old library which lay in the confines of the house was imposing: half a dozen bookcases towered in the quiet hall, the volumes arranged in a mysterious pattern that corresponded neither to their subject nor to their age or the alphabet. At the far end, Lily discovered a shelfful of outdated Muggle books Severus had taken from Hogwarts. Nearly all of them, indeed, bore Dumbledore's signature. There was a copy of _Dimensions of Personality _dated 1947, a collection of twenty-year-old scientific essays, _Psychic Energy: Its Source and Its Transformation_,published in 1963, and even _An Outline of Psychoanalysis_ by Sigmund Freud, released in 1940. Although she did not believe it truly relevant for her little research, she also snatched _The Interpretation of Dreams _by the same author.

To her chagrin, the wizarding part of the library proved only somewhat helpful. Sirius had once told her the Blacks had made it their custom to enchant the most valuable and the potentially dangerous books in their possession in a way that would allow only the family members to read them. Any stranger who was granted the permission to peruse a particular publication received the magical password required to open it. Most books from the medical section of the library had been secured with such spells, including the intriguing title _Mystical Insanity and Its Manifestations_ by Altair D. Black, presumably one of Sirius's ancestors. It would have been less disappointing if these works did not carry a rare and sophisticated Charm which made them absorb new discoveries and enrich their pages with the most recent conclusions. Unlike Muggle scientific writings, they did not need reprinting to remain up to date. Lily managed, however, to come across a comprehensive book on Healing with no protective Charms: _D__ēogol of __ā__dl_ or, in modern English, _Secret of Sickness_ by Balthazar Nuttall. Although several centuries old, this voluminous print was filled with modern revelations on diverse diseases.

She dedicated the rest of the day to reading. When dusk fell, Malfoy and Dolohov showed at Hogwarts, and Severus absented himself. As he had explained to her, many Death Eaters deemed their political inertia and lack of opposition detrimental to their morale. Convinced that new enemies could emerge at any time, and fearing to become too comfortable in their power, they had scheduled small regular meetings in order to practice the Dark Arts and polish their fighting techniques. Therefore, once a week, Severus would walk down to the Quidditch pitch with a few of his fellows and return in the dead of night, wounded, dishevelled, yet radiant with contentment.

Lily frowned at the bright streams of light behind the dark window. The Sneakoscope was whistling more vigorously than ever, and for a reason, too. It was not right for Severus to spend so many evenings with the Death Eaters, who poisoned him with their prejudice. Had it not been for them, he might not have turned so indifferent towards her needs. What if they persuaded him one day to get rid of her?

The two voices hissed and chuckled nearby, not dissimilar from those of conspiring Death Eaters. Yes, she was sure those horrible men sounded exactly the same when pressuring Severus to abandon her. Could she see—or hear—the future? Could a Muggle-born be a Seer? She sniggered softly at her sudden idea to ask Rookwood for her genetic analysis, but the laughter died on her lips as soon as she realised Rookwood would be the first one to argue for her removal from Severus's life. He loathed her, like everyone else.

Her books were spread on the table among candles and parchment; some of them, along with her sketch of the phoenix, lay buried beneath the notes she had been taking. She knew she ought to get back to her research, but it no longer seemed to matter. Where was the good of trying to fix her health if it were inevitable that she would lose Severus? And what knowledge did she hope to acquire? Books would hardly help her withstand the Death Eaters' schemes. She leaned her forehead against the wall, wishing the noise would stop. Her head was splitting in halves.

Minutes or hours could have elapsed when a pair of hands pulled her away. The candlelight slapped her across the face despite its dimness. Thanks to the cooling sensation of the stone on her skin, she felt marginally better, though the strident clamour lingered on—she could hardly even distinguish his voice through the whistling. These sounds did not subside until dawn, when she finally fell asleep in his arms.

By the time he returned from the Dark Lord the next day, she had read through all the useful information she had been able to assemble and was determined to take matters into her own hands. She would not endure another evening like the last.

As should have been expected, he was in the midst of spell creation; he always was when she intended to talk to him. Lily clutched _D__ēogol of __ā__dl _more tightly and settled in a chair in front of him. He looked up from his diagrams.

"Hmm?"

"I skimmed through our books, and I think I now have a better notion of what is wrong with me." She glanced at the volume on her lap, bookmarked with her list of the mental diseases known to wizardkind. "It must be a form of psychosis. I can't tell which one precisely; there are many that share symptoms."

His expression was perfectly impassive, as though he did not believe her. "What are your symptoms?"

"Hallucinations." How strange it felt to confess such intimate facts, even though she could never keep anything secret from Severus. "I can hear sounds that aren't, can't be real… We don't own a Sneakoscope, do we?"

"No."

"Well, I often hear a whistling sound that would normally be produced by a Sneakoscope; I hear it as distinctly as I can hear you now. Sometimes I can also hear whispers. And when this happens, I can't help thinking bizarre thoughts or feeling constantly watched and threatened. I did last night; it was beyond words. It began shortly after you went to your meeting and diminished in the morning."

Not a muscle shifted in his face, and she sighed in frustration. "You can use Legilimency; then you'll understand."

He followed her advice without leaving her a second to brace herself. When he withdrew, a scowl had shaded his features.

"According to your books, what kind of illness could this be?"

She took out her little note. Nuttall's work was extensive but confusing; certain mental conditions were alluded to without any specification that would allow her to tell them apart, let alone decide which one best matched her state. _Agitated melancholia, paranoia, exhaustive psychosis, delusional insanity, anergic stupor, chronic delirium_… The combinations were endless, the terms ancient and dreadful.

"Quite a few." She scanned her list. "Namely _circular insanity _and _dementia praecox_. They're described here as extremely rare diseases, at least in the wizarding world—there are indeed more mentions of them in the Muggle tracts. But it's not the only possibility."

Severus picked his quill as if to return to his diagram. "Hallucinations can be eliminated with potions. Delusions are more challenging to dispel, but they are treatable, too. I'll find you an effective combination of draughts."

Lily blinked. Surely she had misheard—he could not have said what she believed he had just said.

"I need a Healer," she affirmed earnestly.

One black eyebrow rose. "A Healer."

"Of course! If I'm dealing with an illness, it must have been developing for months. I've been having sporadic hallucinations for a while. This has to be cured, not dulled with potions. And how can you choose the proper draughts if you don't even know the nature of my disease?"

"What do you expect from Healers?" he retorted dismissively, nodding at her book. "These are chiefly Muggle maladies—I've never heard of a wizard suffering from _circular insanity _or _dementia praecox._ I'll be surprised if there are Healers who have come across actual psychosis; the majority of the disorders they treat result from brain-damaging magic such as the Memory Charm or the Unforgivable Curses. Besides, Muggle-borns are gone from St. Mungo's. They were the only Healers familiar with Muggle medicine."

Her temper was flaring. This was all his fault, yet the most he was willing to do for her was drugging her again. If she had to drink another of his brews, she would retch.

"Then find me a Muggle doctor!"

Both his eyebrows rose at this exclamation. "I beg your pardon?"

"Listen," she breathed in an unsteady tone, "I need help from a professional. I won't accept the sort of medication that leaves side effects and is likely to wreck the rest of my health. Remember how your lust potions upset my hormones? It's necessary that I receive the right diagnosis before we can proceed with a treatment."

"As I already told you," he declared with an air of finality, "I can't let you stay at St. Mungo's. But even if I could, wizards do not heal such diseases. I'll brew potions that will fix your symptoms, and you will be all right."

This reply was so heartless that she did not even attempt to contain her anger.

"I don't _want_ your potions! Don't you see? It's _because _of your potions that I'm going insane! If you hadn't been feeding me this rubbish, we might not have come to this. After all the times you tampered with my memory, it's a miracle I'm not raving mad! Do you think my head is a bloody toy?"

In one sharp, irritable movement, Severus crumpled his piece of parchment into a ball. He snatched his inkbottle and quill and stood up, his robe billowing around him.

"You know where to find me when you quieten down."

Lily fought the urge to fling Nuttall's book at his retreating figure. A petty tantrum would not avail her; it was time to attack the monster's sore points. She should have done so an eternity ago.

"James would never have told me such a thing," she said slowly, and sure enough, his footsteps halted dead. She knew he would make her pay for her daring words, but any retaliation would be worth it if she could break through the layers of his selfishness. "He would have never turned a deaf ear to me or brushed me away like an annoying insect. He loved me and would have done everything in his power to help. My health was much more important to him than his comfort. You, on the other hand, care only for yourself, and you are surprised I'm not in love with you? I'm fortunate James was the first—"

This was as far as she got. There was an ear-splitting crash as the inkbottle shattered against the wall, spattering it with black ink. Then he Disapparated, his face twisted with rage.

* * *

A crack rang through the Headmaster's tower three hours later, its intensity a proof of Severus's persisting fury. To her astonishment, Lily caught the shuffle of two people, not one, in the living room. With the baby in her arms, she peered through the door aperture to glimpse her husband dragging a bruised, middle-aged man behind him. The man had mousy hair and startled blue eyes; his shabby robes revealed his blood status more eloquently than any badge could.

She gently lowered the baby into the cot, her heart racing. Before she could make her way to the door, Severus stalked in and swung it shut. His orbs resembled smoking coals.

"I brought you a Healer, just as you requested," he said without preamble. "He is Muggle-born. Under the old order, he worked at the Department of Spell Damage; he has also been educated in Muggle psychiatry. It's the best I can do, Lily."

"How did you find him?" she inquired, hoping against hope Severus had not vented his anger on the poor man.

"I had the hospital records checked," he answered drily.

"What does he do now?"

"He is an assistant of sorts."

Severus reached out for the door handle, ready to exit.

"Are you…" she started, causing him to shoot her a glare, "are you… going to pay him money?"

He merely rolled his eyes. "Come along."

But that day's outburst had lent her a sense of boldness she had not experienced for a year. There was only so much one could tolerate.

"I insist," she bit out. "In case you didn't notice, I know exactly what it's like to be considered an outcast and scum. Have the decency to at least pay the man for the job."

His patience snapped. Lily was harshly pushed against the wall, gasping in shock and pain.

"Do not toy with me," he hissed. "I let your insolence go this once with regard to your health, but I will permit you no taunts. Never try and defy me."

"Or else what?" she hissed back, steeling herself against more pain.

"Or else innocent people and magical beings will suffer." He released her arm so that she could see blood on his fingers. "Do I make myself clear?"

She closed her eyes and swallowed. Cold sweat had erupted on her brow. "I don't enjoy this, Severus. I'm doing it only because you won't listen to me otherwise. I begged you for help, but you wouldn't pay me any attention. Please understand that I can't lose my health no matter how damaged it already is: it's all I have left."

He said nothing for a moment, and then his grip tightened. "I will pay him if it makes you happy. However, be aware that he will be Obliviated the minute he steps out of these rooms."

"Obliviated? Why?"

"Because it is dangerous to bring Muggle-born Healers to Hogwarts. Should the Dark Lord learn of this arrangement, the repercussions would be most severe."

"But what if something doesn't go well? What if the treatment he prescribes to me doesn't work? He won't be able to examine me a second time."

"It is possible to restore his memory. Come now."

The Healer's name was Jonathan Reed. His precise age was difficult to pinpoint, though he could not be older than forty-five. Ravenclaw keen wit shone in his eyes, and Lily felt feeble with emotion. How long had it been since she had spoken to a person outside of Voldemort's circle? Words could not describe how liberating it was to meet a fellow human being again.

They sat at a carved table while Severus retreated to the couch by the wall, hovering in their field of vision like a Dementor. Lily summoned her courage and called for a house-elf to bring tea and water. She longed to put the Healer at ease, to show him at least an ounce of the kindness he doubtless missed, though she knew it was not sensible to irritate Severus any further.

At first, the Healer prompted her to tell him all about her health. She complied, amazed at how easily the conversation was flowing. It took her nearly a full hour to recount the physiological changes she had gone through since her capture and detail the spells and the potions she had been submitted to. Commenting on the recent deterioration of her health was more disturbing, and she deployed great effort to prevent herself from holding back any useful facts. At the same time, however, it gave her gleeful pleasure to have Severus hear this full account of her misfortunes.

Once she finished, Jonathan proceeded to interrogate her. They discussed everything that could have impacted her condition: her parents' health, her childhood, the symptoms and diseases which used to occur in her family, the substances she had been administered before the new regime. When he began questioning her on her fears and hallucinations, she encouraged him to enter her mind, but he only shook his head. Mind-affecting spells were detrimental to her, he claimed; they ought to be avoided at all costs. She was careful not to meet Severus's eye at this statement.

Afterwards, he asked her to lie down. Severus ceded her the couch and moved towards the chair she had vacated, his expression positively sinister, as though he wished nothing more than curse the Healer for presuming to decide what was best for her.

Wizards did not use the same diagnostic tools as Muggles. Rather than run laboratory tests, they cast complex charms and observed the oscillations of their wands. For the best part of another hour, Lily lay with closed eyes while Jonathan muttered and waved his wand over her. When she was finally told to rise, his face was prudently blank.

Her symptoms, he told her, were those of _dementia praecox_, a disorder that barely existed in the wizarding society but was relatively well-known in the Muggle world under the more recent name of schizophrenia. It gravely distorted its victims' perception of reality. Hallucinations, delusions, paranoia, anxiety, prosecution fantasy, mental fragmentation, the loss of one's motivation to live: these were the most striking signs of this illness.

The word _reality_ touched a chord in Lily's soul. Ever since Severus had subdued her, reality had been slowly and inexorably slipping away from her. Her very first hallucination had taken place several years ago at Spinner's End, where Severus had bewitched her to believe his library was collapsing onto her trapped frame. Later, he took the liberty of _creating _her reality and would examine her thoughts at his leisure and Obliviate her whenever her memories threatened to upset his version of the _truth_. It was as though she had been _meant_ to suffer from this terrible disease. Or perhaps her mind had willingly succumbed to it in order to escape the current reality, which had become too painful to live through.

From a Healer's point of view, the treatments for Muggle afflictions were fundamentally different from those designed for magical maladies. It was within a trained wizard's power to cure most non-magical conditions; even schizophrenia, the result of a major chemical imbalance in the patient's brain, could be defeated with magic. Lily's ailment, however, had not been triggered by the same patterns as Muggle schizophrenia, though she seemed to have inherited a genetic predisposition for this disorder from her grandfather. It had been enkindled by a long-term potion abuse and her constant exposure to mind magic, especially Legilimency and the Memory Charm. It therefore could not be classified as a Muggle illness.

Whether there was hope for her to recover, Jonathan did not know. Lily's impression was that he esteemed it incurable, and her heart sank. Not only she could not die or break free from this Inferno, but she could not even pass the rest of her pathetic life in a coherent mental state unless she became dependent on yet new potions. It was too grotesque to be true.

The brew he recommended had been devised to battle psychosis. Unlike the corresponding Muggle medicine, it was free of side effects, but it still was a heavy sedative. To counter its deadening impact on Lily's emotions, he also prescribed small doses of Elixir to Induce Euphoria, stressing the importance of using it sparsely and making its effects last with the addition of dragon blood.

Severus remained silent for the space of the entire consultation, and when it neared its end, he asked the Healer a single question which made Lily choke on her tea: was this treatment compatible with pregnancy? Jonathan confirmed it was.

Lily had only started to thank him when Severus jabbed his wand into the man's back and led him out. She was left alone to contemplate the piece of parchment with the instructions for preparation of the two potions and an enchanted quill that still dripped ink.

* * *

His rage notwithstanding, Severus followed the Healer's prescription to the letter and brewed the required potions impeccably. As if compensating for her long periods of insomnia, the sedative caused Lily to sleep through the entire week. Whenever she awakened, she would tend to the baby, only to fall asleep once again. The following week, she would still drowse for hours on end—to her amused embarrassment, she even dozed off once in the middle of Severus's ministrations. The third week of treatment brought disorientation and occasional nausea. Then, as a new month unfolded, she felt better.

She could now see why Euphoria was a necessary component of her medication. The remedy for _dementia praecox_ left her numb and devoid of feelings—a state almost as frightening as psychosis itself. This was where the small doses of Euphoria proved so valuable. One morning, she noticed Severus was staring at her with a fixed, piercing eye, which was his way of expressing consternation, and realised she was smiling. It was unbelievable. She could only imagine what the Death Eaters would say the next time they encountered her: that she had gone quite insane. The idea made her giggle.

Although her lack of appetite persisted, she was becoming more lively and alert. Long strolls by the lake now held more appeal to her than drawing, and she frequently took her baby along.

"What is it?" she asked Severus one evening. She had found herself embracing him and was met with nothing but cold reserve.

His cautious black eyes swept over her. "This is not real."

She snorted. "Why should this matter? I can't understand you. You're unhappy when I'm sad, and you're even unhappier when I'm cheerful. What on earth am I supposed to do to please you?"

"Love me genuinely," he whispered in such a low voice that she divined rather than heard the words.

"This is as real as it can be," she asserted. "Just accept it, and we can be fine. Would you rather see me psychotic?"

He glanced at her again and said very quietly, "No."

Soon, however, he appeared to have reconciled himself to her magically-induced mirth. His gaze changed from one of bewilderment to one of wonder.

"You are so beautiful when you smile," he told her during a game of Wizard's Chess they played in their bedroom. She could not help but chuckle at the hint of confusion in his tone.

"Most people are beautiful when they smile." She paused pensively. "Why don't you ensure I keep smiling, then?"

He leaned in and pressed his face against her chest in an uncharacteristic display of affection.

"I didn't think I would ever see you smile again," he confessed. "Your tears were the most I could elicit. And elicit them I would. They were more bearable than no emotion at all."

"I know." At least she assumed she did.

In truth, she did not care for explanations any more. Her pride could be damned; she was ready to give Severus and their child all her love if only she could gain a short reprieve from life.


	3. III

**Note: **A thousand thanks to my beta, blue artemis, for her time and help.

* * *

A crack ripped through the shadows of the Manor as the night grew deep. Severus materialised in the middle of a deserted hall, his billowing cloak suggestive of a Dementor. There was a strange twitch to his step, and his cold features were painfully strained.

The long slumber Lily had indulged in earlier that afternoon had allowed her to stay alert in the late hour of his arrival. She followed him to his study and assisted him in removing his robes, instantly unveiling the reason of his discomfort: his shirt was tainted with blood, and a patch of darkish swollen skin shone from his unbuttoned collar. He had sustained these wounds during his weekly duelling practice, from which he had only returned.

Severus hastened to drink a vial of Strengthening Solution, but it brought him little relief. With his head thrown back and a litany of soundless incantations on his lips, he took out his wand, and his eyes flew open. They stopped on Lily, who was wringing her hands a few feet away. His wand stilled in mid-air.

"Could you please get me some water?" he asked softly.

She cast him a distracted look and had half a mind to remind him it would be quicker to produce water with the Aguamenti Spell, but then she understood. He did not wish her to see his injury.

"Are you sure you want to do this on your own? Maybe it would be safer if you went to St. Mungo's."

While his answer was predictable, she could not help but ask. Anxiety had seized her despite—or perhaps amplified by—the Elixir of Euphoria she had taken earlier that day. She felt tense and very frightened.

"It's a curse like any other."

Sweat was beading his temples; he was in fact shivering as though in fever. She nearly approached him in concern, but he shook his head.

"Please."

Taking care to give him as much time as possible, she headed for the kitchens, her heart pounding to burst. When she returned with a pitcher and a goblet, his tainted shirt lay beside him while he was thoroughly healing himself. The skin of his chest was swollen and irritated, and judging by his expression and the sheen of sweat on his torso, the intervention was causing him agony. Lily wondered why he had not resorted to any painkilling brew. She set the water onto his desk and scurried for his potion supply. Most of his phials were not labelled, but she could tell what they were at a glance. After pouring him a dose of anaesthetic, she snatched a soothing salve to calm the inflammation. For the first time, their roles had been reversed: he was suffering, and she was attempting to treat him. There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, in the arch of his coal eyebrow, but at once they recovered their blankness. He drank some water, splashing the remainder onto his face, and then accepted the potion she held out to him. Little by little, the muscles in his body relaxed.

"Who did it?" she enquired.

"Antonin." He cast a cleaning spell onto his skin, his wand dancing in the air.

"_Dolohov_ did this?"

"Not intentionally. He has been fuming for days. Tonight, he was firing curses without paying attention to anyone around him. When he hit me, he did his best to impede the magic."

Lily eyed numbly his flushed chest, which still appeared to be raw and aching.

"Which spell was it?"

"The Necrotising Curse. It has been designed to make one's skin and muscle tissue die." A hint of appreciation pervaded his voice. "A masterfully performed curse, I might add."

With a snort of disbelief, she reached for the second flagon, spreading a liberal amount of salve on his torso before rubbing it in. The effect was immediate: the skin became smooth and pale again, leaving no trace of the injury but the slowly subsiding fever. He never tore his gaze from her while she tended to him; and when she touched his forehead to assess his temperature, he caught her hand and pressed it against his mouth. In another life, she would have blushed.

"So… what is wrong with Dolohov?" she asked to cover the silence that was stretching between them and which Severus showed no intention of disturbing.

"Andromeda is."

"How is she?"

"She is doing quite well, or so I've gathered." He smirked. "Rumour has it she taunts and provokes him to the point of making him want to desert his own house and that she is singularly skilled at finding his weak spots. Besides, she has been trying to persuade the Dark Lord to take her daughter away from the Lestranges and allow her to stay in Antonin's house."

Lily contemplated the news. How did the most mysterious of the Black sisters escape retaliation for her defiance? How had she succeeded in swaying the Dark Lord in her favour?

"Antonin is not allowed to harm her," Severus elaborated as soon as she voiced her surprise.

"Do you mean he can't touch her?"

"He can touch her all right but not resort to physical or magical violence. Complications are to be instantly reported to the Dark Lord; that's the orders. This being said, if the Dark Lord grants her his permission to use a wand, Antonin's patience isn't likely to last for much longer."

"Why does the Dark Lord favour her, though?"

"No one can tell for sure." He looked away pensively. "For my part, I believe he craves challenge. There is no one who can rival him or dispute his power, and in the long run, such hegemony becomes stagnant and unsettling. Andromeda is the first notable enemy we have captured in a year, and as such, she is exactly what he needs. Some, including Antonin, suspect there is more to the Dark Lord's interest than curiosity and fascination, but I doubt it. He is a fool to believe her jeers—not that he doesn't deserve them."

She raised her eyebrows. His propensity for gossip, which emerged at times, was oddly uncharacteristic. "Didn't you yourself claim he alone was capable of handling her?"

"I claimed he was tougher than Yaxley or Rabastan Lestrange and it was true: those two would have already snapped and got themselves killed if they'd been in his place. But this doesn't change the fact he was foolish to marry her in the first place. From the very start, it was obvious the Dark Lord was interested in Andromeda—she is _his_ toy and no one else's. Antonin's only use is to safeguard her. Now he is paying the price for having failed to realise this in time. There is nothing in it for him, only the humiliations from an unmanageable shrew and the constant risk of displeasing the Dark Lord."

This reflection stirred a wave of hope and delight in Lily: hope that the captive would find a way to influence Voldemort to her and her daughter's advantage. The emotions reverberated inside her, rendering concentration an impossible task for her still agitated and befuddled mind.

"So you wouldn't have volunteered to marry her if you'd been available?" she asked quietly, glancing up through her lashes. Her playful question was spontaneous and had flown from her lips before she had even acknowledged it.

"I can't imagine living without you."

There was something so calm and confident about his voice that she paused, almost uncomfortable in her struggle for a response. How much more painless it would be if she loved him single-mindedly.

"Don't you think placing your happiness in the hands of one person might not be quite prudent?" she ventured.

"How so?"

"Well… it's important to live for your own sake too. If your happiness depends on the disposition of a single person, you can never enjoy the good things life brings your way, can you?"

"Do you follow this principle yourself?" he returned, as she expected he would.

"No. But _you_ should."

She offered him a small, genuine smile and he reciprocated, fingering her hair.

"I understand what you mean," he mused. "I suppose I could live on if I lost what mattered to me most. But there would be no happiness, just like there is none now. Happiness is an illusion, a lure, a lie. For a time, I believed I would achieve a semblance of peace if you were mine; you were so luminous, so serene in your simple worldview that your very nature seemed imbued with happiness. My hopes were absurd, of course—all I did was destroy you, and now we are both lost in this world. But you are all I have. As long as I can have you near me, watch you sleep by my side, see a little love in your eyes, I'm satisfied."

Her hands slackened on his chest. She was not certain how she felt about this peculiar declaration. It was undeniably one of his most sincere confessions, yet this very honesty inspired unease, in particular the phrase 'all I did was destroy you', spoken in a detached and remorseless tone. On the other hand, ever since her health had taken a turn for the better, there had been a silent truce between them. They were polite and gentle to each other, avoiding argument whenever it could be avoided. Lily had promised herself she would not be the one to break it, however short it turned out to be.

She therefore smiled and brushed hair out of his face. "I have more than a little love for you."

"Do you?" The resignation contained in those two words was like a knife to her heart.

"I do."

"Thank you."

Once again, he grasped her fingers and pressed them against his cheek. The tenderness of his gestures was beginning to feel solemn, overwhelming. It was not that they annoyed her; rather, she was acutely aware that they were not going to last. Whatever magical moment they were sharing was ephemeral, and the awakening would be oh-so-harsh. It was time to alleviate the sombreness of the situation.

"I would like a haircut," she declared lightly, as though her display of affection had only been a prelude to this request.

He laughed. "Your hair is perfect the way it is."

"Oh, yes?" She selected a strand of her hair and exposed its tip. "There is nothing perfect about split ends. When it grows too long and heavy, it loses—"

He kissed her, his mouth cutting off both her remark and her thoughts.

"Well, I guess this shuts me up," she joked feebly, eliciting another chuckle from him.

"I do have something for you."

With a flick of his wand, a large covered object floated forward, lending on the nearest table. The veil slid off to reveal a magnificent cylinder phonograph. Another whisper of magic, and a sweet instrumental air Lily had been fond of in her youth filled the room.

Enchanted, she let herself be pulled onto the couch and rested her head on his lap. Against his refusal not so long ago, he had resolved to fulfil her longing and to let her listen to music. Never before had she been this deeply conscious of the permanent, maddening silence she was surrounded with; the only pieces of music she had the chance to hear were the ones the Death Eaters chose for their social events. Now she could finally let the mellow tunes carry her away and help her forget the world, if only for an instant.

She closed her eyes while his fingers roamed through her hair. His left hand was below her cheek, and she was holding it tight, feeling the urge to kiss it over and over again.

"We didn't dance at our wedding, you know," she murmured dreamily.

A snicker. "I'm half-expecting you to ask for a pet Heliopath while you're at it."

"I wouldn't say no," she purred.

* * *

Golden light was streaming onto the nocturnal colours of her painting, where a handsome centaur was surveying the stars in a moonlit clearing. This artwork was but one segment in the _Cycle of Magical Beasts_ she had set her mind on creating. Large magical pictures of a unicorn, a Sphinx, a mermaid, a winged horse, a dragon and a Leprechaun were already complete, and only a few creatures remained to be portrayed before she arranged them in the baby's room. The painting kit Severus had bought for her worked wonders. If lit with the charmed little flames he had designed specifically for this purpose, the pictures looked truly alive, not unlike magnified extracts from a wizarding children's book. She was looking forward to decorating the baby's room in those cheerful shades.

Her reflections, however, were dreary that afternoon. She was craving Euphoria, though another dose was not to be administered for hours. But when she compelled herself to forget about the potion, the news of Andromeda's subtle stratagems came to haunt her. She burned with shame as she compared the woman's attitude to her own.

Andromeda's tragedy had not broken her—if anything, it had woken the volcano in her veins. Incensed at her husband's murder and her forced separation from her daughter, she had cleverly defied Voldemort and captured his attention. While determined to reason him into letting Nymphadora leave the Lestranges, she nevertheless lost no opportunity to torment her self-declared husband. There was no predicting how this precarious game was going to end; still, the truth was she alone had accomplished in several weeks what the Order had not achieved in years: she had gained power over Voldemort's will and brought discord into the Death Eaters' middle.

Meanwhile, Lily was crumbling under the weight of her woes. She was pregnant yet again. Why Severus had embraced this route, she could not fathom. As far as she was concerned, no child deserved to be born into their household. In addition to being diseased, she was emotionally sterile, and so was Severus. She was failing to be an adequate mother even to their first-born.

In her battle against her illness and melancholy, she had missed so much of her baby's growth. It was Severus who had cared for him during the period of teething, Severus who had witnessed his first words. Even the house-elves had given this child more solicitude than she had. And this was unacceptable. There was no justification for ignoring her son or bearing him ill will.

Her misfortunes were neither his fault nor his concern. She had no right to neglect him. She had no right to resent him for not being Harry. She had no right to deprive him of the love he needed. If he grew up disturbed, she and not Severus would be to blame, for however cruel he had been towards her, he attended to his fatherly duties to the best of his ability. And she dared believe she was better than him?

From all the individuals her son was likely to encounter in his childhood, she was possibly the only one who could teach him the principles her own parents had instilled in her and which the Order had fought to preserve. It was her responsibility to guide both him and her unborn baby into a happy, satisfying life. There would therefore be no more self-pity, and certainly no more apathy.

As for Severus, he would surely be content to see her become livelier and more engaged. It did not matter whether he merited her change of heart: if there were any justice in the world, he would answer for his actions one day; and if there were none, then she could hardly cure the universe on her own. It was herself she had to reform, for withdrawing inside her wrecked mind was ravaging her. After all, Severus was now her world, and she had to learn to live with it—not merely survive, as she had been doing this far.

The brush faltered in her hand, derailed by her erratic breathing. She was about to ruin the painting. One by one, she relaxed her fingers and walked over to a chair, sitting down to stare at the imposing centaur. She could but hope Severus would not oppose her endeavour from the fear of losing his hold on her existence.

* * *

Her apprehension was soon appeased. Severus observed her zeal without a word, smiling once when she helped their son take his first tentative steps. She played with the baby, taught him to say simple words and took him for a stroll every day.

It frustrated her to no end to stay robbed of her magic, for she could neither resort to the comforts having it provided nor make the child accustomed to it, but Severus would not hear of it.

"I cannot let you, Lily. Your wand is gone, and even if it weren't, we must conform to the Dark Lord's orders. He was categorical on the Order members' fate: none of you will ever be permitted to use magic again."

She lowered her gaze and fiddled with the fabric of her robe, hesitating to express the idea that had been circling in her consciousness for a long time. "I wonder where those who have rebelled against the Dark Lord found refuge. Could it be France?"

The book he was leafing through froze where it hovered. She felt him fix her with a focused, calculating look and was cautious not to meet his eye.

"This," he said in his most distinct manner, "is none of your business. And trust me, there would be no rebels left if we did know where they hide."

But her desire to shake his convictions was stronger than ever.

"Don't you think we all would be much safer if—"

Before she could elaborate, a finger landed on her lips. "One more word, Lily, and I'll be forced to Obliviate you. This is no joking matter."

"That's exactly what I'm talking ab—"

His hand descended onto the handle of his wand, and she fell quiet. The air about him had changed.

"I will say it once and no more," he uttered. "Toying with such notions puts us in danger. If the Dark Lord enters your mind and finds you pondering on resistance, you, our children and I will be killed. It's a danger I'm not willing to undergo."

Half an hour later, she did not remember having had this conversation with him. All she had was a headache accompanied by a strange mental image of Heliopaths in the castle's dungeons.

Autumn crept upon the castle, yielding all too soon to glittering frosts, and when the year drew to its close, Severus left the supervision of Hogwarts to the Carrows in order to take the pregnant Lily and his son home for the holidays. From her window, Lily watched the wide, dazzling countryside around the Manor bathe in the sun and shivered under a woollen cloak. Her eighteen-months-old baby meanwhile seemed to be enjoying himself on his father's arm on their short walk by the lake.

For once, she stood up to Severus and demanded a Christmas tree. It instantly became plain he was a novice to family festivities. With a Severing Charm, he cut down the nearest conifer to their residence, which happened to be one of the tallest and strongest firs in their vicinity. Lily gaped as the handsome tree swam horizontally into the Manor, dripping with snow and dirt and supported only by a Levitation Charm; a tree that should have never been felled and which, to all appearances, was much too tall to fit inside their rooms, however vast those were. The grotesquery of the situation all but increased at Severus's attempts to shrink its size. As regretful as Lily felt about the fir, though, it was Severus's struggle that caused her most sadness: he had never had the chance to enjoy Christmas the way other people did.

The Malfoys were asked for help in ordering decorations. While Lily would have gladly assumed the task, she could not leave the grounds without Severus, who deemed it was more convenient to have the matter taken care of by the experienced Narcissa. In the end, they were delivered two boxes of ornaments—lavish and tasteful ones, yes, but insufficient in number to cover their enormous tree. Irritably, Severus shrank the fir another five feet before multiplying the decorations with a Doubling Charm. Lily never said a word of blame against him, and she had the impression he was keenly aware of this small favour. As if grateful for her indulgence, he did his utmost to correct his blunders.

She commenced adorning the tree in the late afternoon with the child curiously inspecting the shiny balls, the glimmering stars, the tiny lanterns that never went out and the twittering yet inanimate birds she had laid out on the carpet. Her favourite part was a flock of multi-coloured fairies, which positioned themselves symmetrically on the branches. The sight of her baby chasing a purple fairy in his miniature wizarding robe warmed her heart, and she could not repress a smile in the direction of the couch, where Severus was feigning reading; in truth, he had barely taken his eyes off them.

When finally the everlasting icicles and mistletoe were arranged in the room, time had come to give the baby his last milk of the evening. She bathed him and read him a short story from a children's book— another gift from Narcissa—before putting him to bed.

Severus was sitting exactly as he had been before she had absented herself. His Death Eater attire looked incongruous in the middle of the merry room, exposed to the manifold lights and the gleam of the magical icicles. Yet there was a peculiar beauty to his imperfect features and the way his black robes embraced him; elegance to his straight posture; dignity in his composure. It was as though this unusual atmosphere accentuated his traits for her to discover for the first time. A deep, stabbing sentiment of admiration and sadness inundated her. She caught herself wishing she had offered him all her love when he had needed it most, that she had been there for him when he had been exploring the demeaning longings of his nature, like a blossom of darkness opening up to temptations. How much of the past could she have changed, and which portion of the present was her fault?

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she forced them back. No more self-pity.

She nestled beside him, nuzzling his cheek, which she covered in feather-light kisses.

"Thank you," she whispered.

With a peck on his ear, she turned his head towards her to seek out his lips.

"You're welcome."

Without reciprocating her attention, he returned to his book. Lily observed him, confused. Why, why did he always close her off when she was brimming with genuine tenderness? Why did he always rain affection on her when she was too desolate to give him what he needed?

"Is something troubling you?" she murmured, running her fingers through his hair.

"No." His voice was not hostile—it was not even cold—but it sounded as flat and impenetrable as the surface of a dark oil pool.

She peered at the pages he was reading—a treatise on poisons—but the text was by no means complex enough to require his full concentration.

"You would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?" she prodded gently.

There was no reply.

"Your silence scares me. Won't you tell me what is on your mind? I can't read you."

He turned a page. "There is nothing to read, Lily."

An even longer silence ensued. She sensed all her questions would only bounce off the intangible wall between them, so she pressed herself against him and laid her head on his arm without another remark. Was it his revenge for her aloofness or an actual indisposition?

"Do not stifle your emotions," he said dispassionately. "You are fortunate to still have them, however much you wish you didn't. They are what make you different from some. Better than some."

"I'm no better than anyone else."

She was rewarded with a furtive glance.

* * *

Early spring approached, and only a month remained before her second baby's birth when uproar erupted among the Dark Lord's followers. Nymphadora Tonks had vanished. Antonin Dolohov had walked into his house one morning—for his errands were numerous on those nights—to be greeted by Andromeda's smirk of triumph; the ten-year-old girl was gone. The witch was brought at once before the Dark Lord while the Death Eaters were dispatched to search London and the surrounding country for her daughter. Severus, the Carrows and the Notts, for their part, were commanded to make a swift inspection of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, which produced no result, as expected.

The girl's age rendered her eligible to start her education at Hogwarts the following September, and although she appeared to have been steadily taught magic before her capture, she did not possess a wand. No unauthorised Portkey had been registered by Voldemort's Ministry, and the possibility the girl had resorted to Apparition was insubstantial unless someone had aided her. No intruder seemed, however, to have breached Dolohov's wards that night. With no means to perform magic and a formidable ability to change appearance at will, Nymphadora was nearly impossible to locate in a Muggle crowd.

As immediately became clear, Andromeda had expected to be interrogated. To prevent the Dark Lord from wrenching the information from her mind, she had given her daughter only general advice, exhorting her to select a route of escape on her own and to never share it. The questioning nevertheless went on for hours. Bellatrix alone was permitted to assist Voldemort—Dolohov, it transpired, was in disgrace for having failed to keep his charges under control; that the orders to never harm his untameable spouse had left him with few options to hold sway over her was of little concern to the Dark Lord. After long hours of pain and Legilimency attacks, Andromeda had still not yielded a single hint that would explain how and where the girl had fled.

Something had flashed in her mind, though, only to be gone in a trice; something of importance. No sooner had it happened than Bellatrix was expelled from the room. It was after nightfall that the Death Eaters, gathered in front of the soundproof door, felt a violent vibration run through the walls—an unequivocal sign of the Killing Curse. Their master emerged in a towering rage, but it was one of frustration. In his avid folly, he had broken Andromeda's mind before it could have disclosed its last secret. Those who went in to dispose of her body found it contorted, her eyes huge and insane.

The Dark Lord was prompt to transfer his fury onto Dolohov, and only the Death Eater's loyalty and prowess in the Dark Arts saved him from a similar fate. Lily glimpsed him at Hogwarts shortly afterwards. On his way to visit Severus, he threw the door to the Headmaster's Tower open so forcefully that he almost swept her aside, muttering a string of Slavic swearwords under his breath.

The news of Andromeda's inhumane demise had devastated Lily. She felt reverence and humility for the other woman's heroism. For months had the clever witch manoeuvred to free her daughter from the Death Eaters' claws, ready to sacrifice herself to give the little girl a chance for a life outside of Voldemort's chaos; defiant at the prospect of torture and death; obstinate until the very end. No one regretted her death, and no one admired the depth of her commitment. Lily refused to even imagine what the separation had cost to both the mother and the daughter and wished with all her heart that Nymphadora would make her way to safety in spite of her fear, solitude and distress.

Severus watched his wife dissolve in tears with a slight frown.

"If it makes you feel any better," he said, "the Dark Lord has forbidden Bellatrix from hunting the girl."

She looked up through watering eyes. "They won't be looking for her?"

"Oh, they will be looking for her. The Dark Lord is furious; I won't deny it. But the truth is, the girl is not _this_ important to him. He needs Bellatrix here; someone else will lead the search."

Her hope set alight, she wiped at her cheeks. "All preconceptions aside, do you reckon she has a chance to get away?"

A thin smile curved his mouth. "A Metamorphmagus without a wand? If she is clever; yes, perhaps. But she is still a child, Lily. Do not forget this."

It was with some surprise that she comprehended a while later she was not the only one to mourn Andromeda. At the Death Eaters' proximate gathering, Narcissa's stony countenance and her chilly glance in Bellatrix's direction stole her attention. Did the youngest Black grieve for her sister when alone and safe from prying eyes? Did she deplore the decline of the House of Black?

A true cause for amazement came with the revelation that the recent events had affected even the population of house-elves. On the evening after the gathering, Lily overheard her elves, Taffy and Mincy, discuss Nymphadora's flight while changing linen for her son's bed.

She halted their exchange. "What are you saying?"

The small creatures faced her, their ears flapping. Taffy's immense blue orbs shone with excitement.

"Taffy is just telling Mincy how much the house in London has changed since Miss Tonks leaves, mistress."

"What house in London?" She furrowed her brow, picturing Dolohov's residence.

"The house of the Black family, mistress," Mincy, a brown-eyed elf with a perfectly round nose, explained just as eagerly. "The one where Madam Bellatrix stays. They calls it Grimmauld Place, mistress. Miss Tonks spent there a few months."

"I see." Lily rocked the sleeping child in her arms and mused on this assertion. "In what way has it changed?"

The elves let out a frightened squeak.

"It is difficult for a wizard to perceive, mistress," Taffy said nervously, "but we, house-elves, feels it. It is like an evil presence was in the house, makes it difficult to breathe—"

"And now that Miss Tonks has escaped," Mincy interrupted, "it is gone!"

Lily could not help but laugh. "Are you telling me Miss Tonks had an evil presence about her?"

The creatures' ears flapped again as they vigorously shook their heads.

"No, mistress, it wasn't coming from Miss Tonks. The evil presence was there before Miss Tonks comes to stay in the house. It disappears when she runs off!"

Tucking her baby in, Lily leaned against the cot's edge thoughtfully. An evil presence.

"It is Dark magic, mistress," Taffy affirmed in a fierce voice. "Bad, bad magic! It gave Taffy shivers!"

"Hmm." Her painting of the unicorn neighed soundlessly, and Lily stared at it in contemplation. "If there really was Dark magic involved and if it faded once Miss Tonks escaped, it might have been a Dark artefact—something she could have taken with her. I doubt it was a curse: she didn't have the skill to undo one as powerful as you describe."

"That is what Taffy thinks, mistress!" the elf exclaimed with a nod.

Her fellow disagreed. "Mincy asked Kreacher what he thinks it is, but Kreacher says he doesn't know! Kreacher says he didn't notice any evil presence. He is sure there isn't a Dark object in the house."

"Who is Kreacher?" Lily enquired.

"He is the house-elf of the Black family, mistress. He has lived in Grimmauld Place since before Mincy was born."

"Taffy suspects Kreacher isn't telling the truth!" Taffy claimed. "House-elves feels such bad magic."

Mincy shook his head. "Kreacher is very old, Taffy. Maybe he isn't feeling magic any more. Or maybe he is used to the evil presence."

Footsteps resounded within Lily's earshot: Severus was coming to fetch her. And suddenly, quick as lightning, a jolt of fear ran though her core.

Andromeda had died protecting a valuable secret from Voldemort. Nymphadora had possibly stolen a Dark object before her departure. And the Black family's house-elf pretended he had no clue about a certain evil presence that had inhabited Grimmauld Place while any other elf could have easily detected it. Was there a connection between those facts? Had Andromeda been trying to conceal her knowledge of the mysterious artefact? Could Kreacher the house-elf have lent the girl a hand in her flight? The magic of the elves was ancient and potent; it could transport people anywhere they wished, wards and enchantments notwithstanding. Wandless or not, with Kreacher's help, Nymphadora could have Apparated out of the country in the space of a heartbeat. If this conjecture were correct, however, Kreacher had betrayed his rightful mistress, Bellatrix, for a disowned heiress and a child who was not a pure Black. Why would he do this, and what did it have in common with the hypothetical Dark object? Was he supporting the Dark Lord's opponents?

The door slid wide open under Severus's touch. Frozen in panic, Lily willed Taffy and Mincy to fall quiet, yet they were absorbed in their dispute as though their surroundings had ceased to exist. If Severus heard their suggestions, he would reach the same conclusions as Lily and would inform his master; it was both his duty as a Death Eater and a method of reinforcing his Lord's trust. All they would then have to do would be to interrogate Bellatrix's house-elf. The little girl would be doomed, and Andromeda's sacrifice would be futile.

Oh, why had this conversation unfolded in the first place? She should have never encouraged it.

Sensing him draw near, she had recourse to the first ruse that occurred to her: she feigned abdominal pains and collapsed as if fainting. Her distraction worked, for he rushed towards her while the elves finally abandoned their chatter. She could only pray he would not counter the Healer's instructions and invade her mind, not until Nymphadora was far away and safe. It was crucial to avoid offering him any pretext for Legilimency.

She made good on her resolution in the subsequent weeks. Whether Andromeda's secret had surfaced despite all precautions, she could not tell. Severus was her only source of news, and he hardly mentioned the martyr witch or her daughter any more. No new commotion had flared up in the Death Eaters' circle, though. This comforted her.

Her one unordinary incident took place half a month later when she was watering magical plants in their Hogwarts quarters. Raising her head from the greenery, she saw Andromeda standing in the doorway. The brunette shot her an inscrutable look before walking away. Absently, Lily resumed watering, although the pots were brimming over.

* * *

The baby was born in late March. Once more, Madam Pomfrey was summoned from the hospital wing to assist Lily in her prolonged labour, and her presence proved to be far more reassuring than that of a dozen mediwitches would have.

The new-born was strong: the moment he saw the light, he caused the matron's potion bottles rattle in a small eruption of magic.

Exhausted, dispirited and aching, Lily lay still, her eyelids half-closed. She did not hear a word Madam Pomfrey was saying, nor did she care.

Only when the matron lowered the wrapped up baby into her arms did she muster the force to tear her gaze off the void and glance at the child's face. Her heart all but stopped. Soft black hair was sticking out on his head, and his eyes… his eyes were not blue, as most new-borns' were, yet they were not dark either. They were a rare, brilliant green, like her own.

"_Harry!_"

The baby peered back. Lily could feel neither the tears spilling in thick streamlets down her cheeks nor the laughter gushing from the depths of her chest. Her wits were prey to an elation as she had never experienced in her life. Her Harry was back. Nothing was of the remotest importance any more; nothing would ever be again. By a miracle, an inexplicable mercy, she had her baby back. He had been granted a second chance.

Wiping at her face so that no tears would fall onto her treasure, she pressed her lips to his tiny forehead. The world had diminished to negligible proportions, the size of a flea, and the voices of Madam Pomfrey and the house-elves carried about as much meaning as the buzzing of pixies. For an infinite time, which might have lasted but several minutes, she rocked and kissed the baby, crying and laughing and singing to him all at once. Then, before she knew it, Severus was sitting by her side. He smiled at her beaming expression and gave the baby a fond look.

"She is perfect, isn't she?"

Lily nodded enthusiastically… and her fervour died in its wake. Surely she had misheard.

_She_?

"What do you mean?" All of a sudden, every word she formulated seemed to cost her a herculean effort.

"Hmm?"

"Is…" Her mouth was dry, so dry. "Is… it… a girl?"

"Why, yes. Didn't Madam Pomfrey tell you?"

He reached for the child. Lily's grip slackened as all the energy fled her limbs; she had the vague impression her feet were falling through the bed, through the earth, heavier than lead. _A girl. A girl! _

Visibly content, Severus was studying his daughter. Now that Lily regarded her carefully, she could see he was right. The baby was endowed with soft black hair and bright green eyes, but she was not Harry—any similarity she was sharing with him would soon fade. Harry had possessed James's features. This baby girl would most certainly not.

It was all she could do to sink into her pillows like a bleeding animal. Her joy had dissipated as abruptly as it had surged in, leaving a throbbing nothingness in her breast. Had she truly allowed herself to believe she deserved anything besides the loss and pain?

"Do you have any preferences for a name?" he asked, quite oblivious to her unpredicted misery.

She shook her head. More tears slipped out, and she did not bother drying them.

"I like the tradition of flower names in your family," he confessed.

This custom had endured on her maternal side for no less than three generations. Her grandmother's name had been Hortensia, her mother's Iris. She wondered if Petunia would comply with this usage if she had a daughter.

After a silent deliberation, he settled on Dahlia. For her part, Lily saw no association between the baby girl and the kaleidoscope-like flower. Maybe it was better this way, though: no associations and no expectancy of any kind.

"It's time we introduced her to our son, don't you think?" he whispered.

She forced out a nod and burst into sobs.


	4. IV

**Note:** Many, many thanks to my beta, blue artemis, and to my friend, almanera, for their help and advice.

I would also love to offer my sincerest thanks to (in chronological order) whitealmond, Zireael07, Amar 2, anotherboarduser, Guest, InvisibleSky0 and Saint Snape for their wonderful reviews.

* * *

Lily stared down at her sleeping new-born. The contours of an idea too ghastly to formulate were emerging in her mind in spite of her reluctance to even consider it. Severus had done it again; there was no other explanation. Yet she had been _certain_ he would not have dared this time.

Without a backward glance at the crib, she stormed out, her hair flying behind her. He was there, rummaging through a bookcase when she flung open the door to his office, and he did not acknowledge her until her trembling voice pierced the silence.

"Did you feed me the potion while I was pregnant?"

At the sound of her accusing tone, he slowly straightened up and gave her a cold look. "What potion?"

"You know very well what potion!" As she walked forward, she could feel horror and fury well up in inside her, choking her. "You have tampered with her appearance, just like you did with our son's, haven't you? This is why she was born with such bright eyes. My Harry wasn't, and nor was I—our eyes changed colour during infancy. The reason her eyes already look exactly like mine is because you made it so!"

The more agitated she grew, the calmer he seemed to become. He slid the book he had been perusing back onto its shelf and gazed at her without a word.

"Well?" she insisted, her voice rising with every word. "Do you deny it? You know, when you didn't ask me to take that rubbish, I was foolish enough to believe you had decided to be decent for once in your life. But instead, you tricked me into drinking it without my knowledge. _Why_? Why was it necessary to give her Harry's appearance? Haven't you hurt me enough? Why do you do this to your own children?"

She was very close to physically attacking him, which he sensed. With a flick of his wand, she was propelled into the nearest armchair and instantly bound with invisible ropes. A Silencing Charm followed when she would not stop calling him names. Tight-lipped, Severus Summoned a chair and sat down in front of her.

"Now that you have calmed down," he said icily, "let me be quite open with you. In the end, you might conclude that keeping certain facts in the dark might have been preferable after all. Yes, I slipped you the potion that affected the child's appearance, and yes, I was determined to never tell you. I should think the reason is obvious: you couldn't and still don't understand the merits of this magic. Besides, I didn't wish to upset you when it wasn't imperative. Despite your claims, I didn't do it to hurt you, nor have I hurt our children." He took in her incensed expression and went on, "As for imitating your son's looks, I could have hardly done it on purpose as I have no idea what he looked like."

If it had not been for the bonds, she would have lunged at him with her fists raised; her glare made this much clear.

"It's the truth," he snapped. "I've never seen him."

Which was only another lie, had to be—he had been there on the night her baby had been murdered, had he not?

"But I didn't see him." He sat back. "If you must know, the entire… affair took ten minutes at the most. Once the Dark Lord had completed the purpose of his visit, he cast the Dark Mark above your house, and the rest of us came in. I found you Stunned and carried you downstairs while Walden and Rodolphus grabbed an unconscious Potter. After this—and after setting the house on fire—we Disapparated to Malfoy Manor."

Her limbs went slack with shock.

"I presume your son was upstairs with you," he continued, "but I admit I paid no attention. My focus was entirely on you when I came to collect you, and I'm sincere when I say that Dahlia has your eyes because I find them beautiful, not because I wish you to associate her with Potter's son."

_After setting the house on fire_… with the murdered baby inside.

Tears were rolling in abundance down her cheeks.

With an irritated sigh, Severus lifted the spells that were holding her voiceless and immobile. "This is precisely why I didn't tell you. Why do you ask questions if you can't handle the answers? Do you enjoy tormenting yourself?"

She made no attempt to wipe at her eyes; it was almost impossible to even bring her lips to move. "I need to know. It's not my fault all the answers are devastating."

Nothing could dispel the image of James's house going up in flames; she was positive it would never cease haunting her in either her dreams or waking moments.

"So this is the only reason you gave her my features?" she muttered. "So that she would be pretty?"

"Yes. Although I also hoped this resemblance would make it easier for you to love her."

She stifled a bitter snort of laughter. He had learned nothing, nothing at all.

"You assume I love myself. Well, I don't. In fact, I would be more disposed to love her if she had your face."

"Not a chance."

This did not surprise her. If his self-esteem were more than pretence, she was willing to proclaim Rookwood the greatest mastermind of the wizarding community.

"You're right: I can't and never will understand why you seek to influence your children's looks," she declared. "Don't you see? There is no need to alter nature and its work; it's perfect the way it is. What you've done is just… impure. And beauty isn't all that matters; it's rather a nuisance unless you were born fortunate too."

His expression darkened as though a shadow had settled upon him. "Forgive me, Lily, but you are in no position to judge. Nature is a bitch, you know. Unlike many, you were born beautiful; you wouldn't know what it feels like to be ashamed of your body, to detest it with passion."

"Oh, wouldn't I?" Did he truly believe she had never been consumed with shame and self-disgust, let alone experience them for endless months?

"Either way," he carried on, "our children are not pure-bloods, which places them below the heirs of my fellow Death Eaters. Since I can't give them a respectable ancestry, I will at least ensure that they have an excellent education, a solid fortune, and good looks. These assets can easily outweigh the blood status if used to their full advantage. You have no idea how powerful beauty is."

"Indeed?" Lily's voice was rising in pitch. "My so-called beauty is the reason I'm doomed. Is this what you want for our children?"

He gaped at her as though she had struck him. Fury was raw in his dangerously soft tone. "What is this supposed to mean?"

"That's why you wanted me in the first place," she claimed just as angrily. "I would have meant nothing to you without my looks. You consider me nothing more than an object that can be exploited and broken for your amusement. And as if this wasn't enough, you have passed this… curse on our children."

It was evident she was going too far. He leaned forward, and she saw his eyes flash in a rage such as she had never seen, not even on the night of their most obscure dispute, during which he had assaulted her with a red-hot wand.

"Why, you ungrateful brat," he whispered, "your dead friends would have a lot to teach you about being treated like an object. What is it that is so terrible about your existence, hmm? You have a superb house, a faithful husband, and two perfect children; you are exempt from any work, and all that is asked of you is that you are a good wife to me and a good mother to our children. What else do you want?"

"I _used_ to have a superb house," she protested vehemently, "_and_ a loving husband, _and_ a wonderful child _before_ you set out to destroy them and replaced them with a parody of a family. Yet you expect me to be happy. This will never happen—get it inside your head!"

The long fingers on both his hands twitched in a throttling motion, and for a heartbeat, she was certain his patience had been pushed to the breaking point. Even his expression screamed for blood. Yet before he could move more than a few inches, he halted and fixed his eyes on the ceiling, his breathes deep and focused. Several seconds later, he sprang up in a twirl of his robes and stormed out.

Lily pressed her shaking hands against her temples, struggling for self-control. Just like him, she was enraged beyond description. When the time came, what would he tell his children to justify his immoral experiment? Would he tell them at all? And had he told her the truth while asserting he had never set his eyes upon Harry?

This thought felt like a burst of air on dying embers. She charged out of the room and did not stop until she had put the castle's entrance behind her. Clouds were zipping across the sky while wind whipped her hair and robes about her, but she perceived nothing. Out of habit rather than a sense of purpose, she directed her steps towards the lake, her pace as swift as she could render it on the first day after childbirth; for as powerful as the matron's Healing Charms and potions had been, they had not completely lifted her pain and exhaustion.

By the time she returned, her anger had somewhat abated, but her mind was by no means clear. All she could see in her imagination was a massive fire devouring her house in Godric's Hollow with her murdered baby inside, and she knew the vision would never go away.

The hallways were deserted as most students were attending afternoon classes. Tiredness finally overwhelmed her on the numerous spiral staircases, and she slowly progressed upwards, gasping from pain. At the entrance to the Trophy Room, she unconsciously leaned against a suit of armour, causing it to collapse before magically rearranging itself. The noise reached the ears of Argus Filch and his cat, who instantly surfaced from a concealed corridor, convinced they were about to corner Peeves. Upon realising his mistake, Filch muttered a few indistinct words and shuffled away, the cat on his heels. Lily had the impression he would rather confront a deadly Inferius than engage her in a conversation.

Meanwhile, in her bedroom, the house-elves were attempting to comfort the crying new-born. She took the baby girl in her arms with a slight frown. A girl with Harry's eyes. That these eyes were also hers, Lily's, did not matter to her. As the day progressed, she grew more tranquil, though Severus's sudden presence shattered her composure in a wink. He was impersonal and forbidding, his resemblance to a Dementor more pronounced than ever.

"The Dark Lord is leading a raid to fight a group of insurgents," he said to her back, since she would not face him. "I am going with my colleagues. In my absence, the Carrows will direct the school. Your potions are stored in the two cauldrons by my work desk; there is more than enough to last until my return. In the unlikely event they are used up earlier, you can ask Slughorn to brew you more. The elves should be able to fulfil any other request you may have."

So this was his way of handling their differences. He was going to vent his fury on a Death Eater killing trip, leaving his family—an ill wife, a new-born daughter and a two-year-old son—alone. How remarkably selfless and responsible of him.

_In the unlikely event they are used up earlier._

She twisted on her seat to meet his glare. "For how long are you leaving?"

"I don't know. Several days, I should think; perhaps longer. It depends on the situation."

He walked into the adjacent room, where the children were sleeping. An instant later, with a dry _Goodbye_ on his lips, he was gone. She was too incensed to reply.

She spent the rest of the day and a considerable portion of the night attending to the babies and fuming at Severus's departure, although, given her disposition, his absence was all but welcome. Two more days passed in a similar manner, and little by little, her resentment faded away. She was beginning to understand why he had chosen to participate in the raid and supposed it could prove beneficial for them both: time could be indeed what he needed most to ease his mind and deal with his worries. Nothing, however, could excuse his decision to leave her and their children alone mere days after the delivery.

On the third day of his absence, she anxiously prowled in the corridors, searching for a Death Eater whom she could interrogate. To her relief, Alecto Carrow emerged from the staff room and headed down the staircase. She was slightly less detestable than her brother, though this was small comfort.

Lily quickened her pace to catch up.

"Alecto!"

The woman turned around. She had a round, plump face, and her reddish hair was tied back in a small and rather unflattering knot. Thick black lines had been drawn around her eyes of an unidentifiable colour which came across as a blend of brown, green and yellow. Whoever ventured to call those eyes hazel, however, had decidedly never seen James's alluring eyes.

"Yes?"

"Do you know how long the raid is supposed to take?"

"What raid?"

The Death Eater's tone was one of impatient confusion.

"The one Severus left for."

"How should I know?"

What mattered most was keeping composure, Lily reminded herself angrily. Those people wanted her to lose control; they adored toying with Gryffindors' temper.

"Because you are a Death Eater?"

Alecto sighed as though she were dealing with an obtuse child. "It depends. These raids can take a few hours, and they can also take a few weeks. Such things as location, adversary and strategy play a part. No one can foresee how long a conquest will take, not even the Dark Lord. Either way, I wouldn't know—I have teaching duties and can't participate in the fights any more."

Notwithstanding her resolution, Lily could feel once again her vision cloud with long-repressed fury. Only because the Death Eaters were not worth her distress did not mean she had to tolerate their insults like a good little girl.

"Is this why you chose this profession? To have an excuse to stay out of danger?"

"I chose this profession because I like teaching," Carrow declared with a superior smirk. "Teaching those who _deserve_ to be taught, that is."

"Oh, then it must be quite a chore for you, now that Muggle-borns are back at Hogwarts," Lily riposted. "Perhaps it's not too late for you yet to join your friends on the raid."

She marched off without a backward glance.

In other words, nobody could predict the date of Severus's return. Had it not occurred to him he could be away for weeks? Had this been his intention all along, or did he not care?

That evening, she felt lonelier than ever before. Her children were asleep, and she found herself entering the Headmaster's office, a candelabrum in hand. The room was silent and golden in the shivering light; even the two portraits had deserted their frames. Lily could not imagine where they had wandered off, which other portrait could possibly care for their company. She sat at Severus's desk and stared at the books, parchment, quills and magical tools he had left behind. Ever since they had moved to Hogwarts, he had transported a number of his belongings to his office, imposing some of Spinner's End's dark atmosphere onto this airy room. With her head lowered on his papers, she thought about him.

As a child, she had believed she knew him. If nothing else, she had retained a distinct memory of his parents and of his oath to never become like his father. It was patent he had never forgotten this promise. He had an ocean of violence in him, but he was channelling it in a very specific manner, having selected the Dark Lord over his father to be his guide. Even the abuse he inflicted upon her was characteristic of the Death Eaters and had nothing in common with the mistreatment of Tobias Snape's wife. Eileen… The name merged with the image of a grim, deeply introverted woman—bright, no doubt, but too intimidated to make use of her knowledge and magical skill; loving, perhaps, but never brave enough to prove it. Had Severus unconsciously turned her, Lily, into his mother? She, too, was deprived of her magic and forced to repress her feelings. Like Eileen, she was helpless before her husband and unable to give her children any love.

She stood up so brusquely she nearly overturned the heavy chair. _No more of those thoughts_. Instead, she walked towards the cauldrons filled with her potions. The first brew, designed to ease the symptoms of _dementia praecox_, was dark green and bitter to taste. The second cauldron was smaller and contained a sunshine-yellow Euphoria. The draughts shimmered as she uncovered them, and her breath hitched at the savoury scent of the cheering potion. The office was eerily silent. All of a sudden, it occurred to her that unless a house-elf was closely watching her, she could take as much potion as she pleased. She could even drink the entire contents of the two cauldrons, and then she would be beyond help. Given the ingredients of the green brew, an overdose would surely be fatal, and Euphoria was perfidious in itself. Her elves, Taffy and Mincy, were young, and it should not be difficult to trick them even if they were observing her. Her slim fingers trembled on the ladle she had seized. The deed was done: nothing would eradicate the sinister scheme from her mind, not when she had fully formulated it. The end she had been fantasising about for more than two years was now within her reach: she could finally take control of her life and end her suffering. On the other hand, she had given birth to children, and they needed her. Unlike Severus, who was currently enjoying his holiday from family, it was out of the question that she should turn her back on her two babies: the new-born girl and the little boy, who was learning new words so quickly and was so fond of the word _mama_. No, it was too late.

Shivering, her hand dipped the ladle into the green potion and brought up her usual daily amount. She then poured herself, not without hesitation, a slightly larger dose of Euphoria than prescribed. Merlin knew she needed it to stop musing on death and decay. The result was instantaneous: the draught spread warmth in her chest and dissolved her sadness in a wave of mirth. She replaced the lids on the cauldrons with a smile; now that joy had taken hold of her, it was difficult to comprehend why she had drunk the green brew in the first place. A spring to her step, she proceeded up the stairs to her quarters. The overdose was causing her energy to overflow, and she felt the urge to release it, lest she explode. Promptly, she summoned Mincy and asked him to soundproof the door to the children's room, heading for the gramophone Severus had once gifted her with. She twirled to the music, her head thrown back, contemplating the shadows that danced on the ceiling in the dying light of floating candles.

This evening of bliss earned her a splitting headache and fatigue comparable to a hangover. It did not discourage her from consuming an equal dose of Euphoria again. On the next afternoon, she dragged herself across Hogwarts corridors, one hand pressed against her temple. She felt a hundred years old, and this was an insult to all the long-lived wizards. It took her a while to realise she had reached the dungeons, but she felt too weak to set off back. She propped herself against a wall and closed her eyes; it did not dispel the disorienting sensation of floating.

"Miss Evans, are you all right?"

The sound of her old name, uttered by a gentle voice, startled her. A concerned Slughorn was standing by her side. All these months, she had seen him so rarely that she did not quite consider him a part of the school any more.

"Hello, Professor."

She dared not picture the dark circles beneath her eyes or the greyish tint to her complexion he was now seeing.

"If I may ask, what did you take?"

"Euphoria."

He frowned. "A lot of it?"

"About nine ounces for two days in a row. Four more than usual."

Slughorn pondered this. She could practically hear his natural caution clash with his compassion. At last, he said, "If I may be of help, I could give you a potion that would ease your discomfort."

"Thank you," she replied, touched beyond words. "But to tell the truth, I'm afraid to drink yet another potion. My body reacts to them in unpredictable ways."

He did not insist, but the idea of abandoning her in her feeble state visibly went against his sense of duty and conscience. "Then let me offer you some tea. I promise it has no magical effects."

With a small smile, she followed him to his office, where he seated her at his table and, after pushing all of his fruits and biscuits in front of her, busied himself with the kettle. Nibbling at a piece of crystallised pineapple, Lily glanced around her in a hazy wonder. Tears of emotion were rising to the surface—she hated how sentimental she had become—but she had no intention of spilling them. Weeping in an elderly man's office after he had shown her kindness would have been a very poor way to repay him, not to mention a self-centred one.

"What are the current Potions lessons like?" she inquired. "Has the course structure changed in a significant way?"

"No, not really," he confessed, his back still turned. "At least the course structure devised for the pure-blood and half-blood students hasn't. The spectrum of the lessons for Muggle-borns, however, has been… narrowed to a bare minimum. The two student bodies have separate classes."

"I see." Lily finished her piece of sweet and let her gaze roam towards the bookcase at the other end of the office. Slughorn's familiar green hourglass caught her eye. Sand was whispering inside it in its slither.

"And the students? What are they like?"

He put a full cup and a teapot in front of her and sat down. "They are decent. Nearly all of them." Sighing, he shook his head; it seemed as though his eyes held as much melancholy as hers. "But they are not curious, not the way they used to be in your school days. I would have given anything for one new student like you: a student who would learn for the sake of learning, and who would be hungry to explore and analyse the world. Very few of our latest students do any of these things. Who can blame them? No one leads them to value knowledge any more; all that matters is to be on good terms with the right people and to covet power. If anything, only certain Muggle-borns are still genuinely interested in their subjects—and they are the only ones who have no chance of fulfilling their talents."

Lily could find nothing to say that would make a difference, and she could tell he was not expecting otherwise. Their silence was comfortable.

"Can you use wandless magic?" he asked a minute later.

"No." She held up her left hand. "I used to wear a cursed necklace that trapped my magic inside me. On our wedding day, Severus replaced it with this ring. I wasn't aware of its properties, and it came as a shock to be still unable to perform the simplest spells. It also bears the Tracking Charm and can't be taken off without his assistance. He said he had acted on the Dark Lord's orders."

To her grateful relief, he did not comment on this news.

After a little small talk, Lily was about to depart. She was certain Slughorn risked no retribution for comforting her, yet she preferred not to cause him anxiety of any sort. Despite his courage and compassion, he remained a Slytherin and worked for Voldemort. His allegiance did not lie with her no matter how much he missed her in his class. This did not prevent her, though, from inviting him to visit her in the Headmaster's Tower whenever he pleased. As he escorted her to his door, his voice turned grave.

"It is not my place to speak, Miss Evans, and the last thing I would want to do is offend you. If you allow me to tell my opinion, however, then taking Euphoria for long periods of time is dangerous, especially in large doses. Not only will you crave it for the rest of your life, but it will also leave traces on every part of your personality. You know that too much of a good thing is worse than none at all."

And he was right. Lily literally stalked into Severus's office and emptied the cauldron full of Euphoria, ignoring its delicious fumes. She knew perfectly well that before the day was over, she would be desperate for it—maybe even desperate enough to seek out Slughorn and beg him for more of the potion. But this was not going to happen while she was alive and coherent.

As she had foreseen, craving struck her with a vengeance; to distract her mind, she had to stay constantly focused on her children. Two days later, she was restless and erratic. With Euphoria gone, her contemplation had shifted to the green brew in the Headmaster's office, tempting and ready to be drunk in its entirety. As the second week of Severus's absence drew to a close, she wavered, half-intent on poisoning herself. A recollection of Slughorn's supportive words was what stopped her at the last moment, and before she could change her mind, Lily disposed of the brew, just like she had done with the cheering potion. So what if she had to listen to a whistling Sneakoscope until his return? As long as she took precautions, a few hallucinations would cause no damage to either her or the children. She had gone through much worse than this.

At her orders, the perplexed house-elves removed all the harmful objects from the smallest room in the quarters and locked her inside. They were to bring her children in when it was time to feed them, provided she had enough presence of spirit to not hurt them. They would also let her use the bathroom when the need arose and bring her food. She doubted her health would spiral to such a critical condition, for she had yet never been delirious or aggressive, but taking risks with her children was inconceivable.

At least no straightjacket was called for, she thought, sunrays from the magically secured window playing on her lashes while she sat on the couch.

She did not hear the Sneakoscope, which reassured her. Every several hours, Taffy and Mincy would bring the babies into her room so that she could attend to them. Little by little, however, she started losing track of the time. Hours morphed into afternoons, which strung themselves into days. Even the sun could not help her fathom out the time. Bizarrely, her solitude never felt overwhelming; after all, she was already used to loneliness, or perhaps it was the fact that her children and the elves were only feet away, behind the door. When the familiar voices crept into her awareness, she was not frightened. She let them lull her into drowsiness, rocking slightly to their sound. More than once, they were replaced with a strange, taciturn yet solid entity.

It gained a full shape and identity not a long while later. She could tell who she had business to before she even met the witch's eye. Lifting her head from her knees, she locked gazes with Andromeda, who was seated opposite her, elegant and imposing. Lily could not repress her mild curiosity; it was no news to anyone that the woman did not like her—why would she come? Sure enough, the newcomer's first words were coated in scorn.

"Look what we have here. Is this what you have become?" Her sneer stressed her resemblance to Bellatrix to an amazing extent. "And you had the aplomb to offer me help? You can't even help yourself."

Was mockery this woman's favourite pastime? Perhaps Severus's assessment had been accurate after all: Andromeda shared many traits with her sister.

"Why are you here, then?" Lily asked wearily, leaning her chin on her folded hands. "Why have you come?"

The brunette's features gave way to a mysterious smile. "Don't you see? It's all about power."

_Power. _What power? Andromeda's power over the Dark Lord? The power of one's will over fate? Snape's power over Lily and vice versa?

"What power do you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious? Your power over yourself. A power you don't seem to possess, I might add."

Lily struggled to find sense in this statement. Her head gave a throb, and she pressed a hand against it.

"I'm listening."

But the woman only smiled, not dissimilar to a Sphinx. Resolving to be sincere, Lily sighed.

"I've never felt less powerful. Even my body is out of control."

Andromeda replied with a snort of derision. "You poor thing. You reckon that sitting here and feeling sorry for yourself will help, don't you?"

"I cannot use magic," Lily affirmed, hating the note of self-justification in her voice, "I cannot hurt myself, and I cannot escape. My health is as good as gone, and I have small children, who need my love. What _can_ I do?"

"Nothing is impossible when you set your mind to it. Your situation isn't more precarious than mine used to be."

"I do admire your strength and determination. You have achieved more than I could even hope for." Lily took a shaky breath. "But… I have no one to fight for any more. If anything, I should stay compliant for the sake of my children."

"Is that so?" Andromeda threw a dismissive glance at the door, which separated Lily's lay cell from the living room. "You can't bring yourself to love them. Whenever you see the little girl, you cry over your lost son. Do you believe they will appreciate the way you torture yourself to squeeze out an ounce of affection for them? Are you quite convinced your half-hearted care will satisfy their emotional needs?"

Lily winced. "I'll do whatever it takes to give them all the necessary attention."

The brunette's grim smile did not falter. "The Death Eaters have won. Don't you see? You granted them full control over your mind, let them twist and manipulate you, and now, he has shaped you into an entity like himself: hollow, miserable, incapable of happiness, and unable to love anyone including yourself. If you couldn't stop him at the very beginning, what are your chances now?"

There was no answer Lily could produce. She plunged her hands into her hair, praying for a relief from her headache. "Tell me."

"Flee." The sharp syllable came out like the crack of a whip.

Lily froze, her eyebrows raised.

Considering the presence of the Dementors and the numerous magical wards surrounding the school, it was unfeasible to leave the grounds of Hogwarts without magical aid. Not only had she no wand at her disposal, but her magic was also restrained, rendering her powerless against those obstacles. Could she copy Andromeda's example and ask a house-elf for assistance? Perhaps one of them could be persuaded to help her Disapparate. However, all the elves in the castle obeyed the Headmaster. It would be only too easy for Severus to call the deserter to order; and then, whether the elf wished to or not, he would be obliged to bring her back.

Besides, she could not deprive her children of her care. For a minute, she imagined taking them with her and all but cringed as an image of Severus's wrath came to her. Even supposing he never located them, her children would lose whatever status and protection they now possessed and would become a convenient target for Voldemort's followers. Why, Severus himself would most likely fall in disgrace, just like Dolohov. After all, he had received clear instructions to never let her regain freedom. And this entire scenario did not make a single mention of her illness or the fact that, without her potions, she could not tell a friend from a foe.

"He would find us," she muttered, unaware of the plural she had used. "He wouldn't rest until we were caught."

Andromeda's eyes gleamed. "Then _force_ him to let you go. Bully him if you must. He is only a man, and every man has his limit."

She was doubtless hinting at the way she would humiliate Dolohov on every available occasion. Lily could not embrace this advice, though—never mind that she was more than able to do so. While Severus certainly had his limits, he was not a man to jeopardise his position. Should she push him this far, he would rather kill her than let her run off. There was also the matter of his own suffering. She could not forget the rage in his eyes whenever they argued—the sort of rage that only came along with pain. It was still questionable as to how her feelings towards him should be described, but she knew this much: hurting him wounded her in return. She would never attack him on purpose again. There might have been times when his distress caused her satisfaction, but this deceitful emotion would always recede before shame and guilt.

"I will not," she declared. She half-expected the other woman to protest but waited in vain. "Offending him isn't right."

"So you would rather spend the rest of your life battling insanity, raising children you don't love and destroying the last shreds of health you have left than find a solution to your situation, all because _offending_ the scum who transformed you into an object is too much sorrow for your sensitive heart?"

Why did she say such things? They were all the more mortifying because they were true.

"I would flee if I felt it was justified," Lily said finally. "But I don't, not under these circumstances."

For an instant, Andromeda merely observed her, her gaze as stony as it was contemptuous.

"Do you know what the most tragic part of this is?" she asked at last. "You genuinely believe yourself better than others—precisely because of your passive attitude." She shook her head. "The truth is, people like you are much more dangerous than the Dark Lord or his Death Eaters. You can see the evil but will do nothing; instead of fighting, you play the victim. In the end, what are you but the Dark side's accomplice? If you hadn't been so indifferent, so weak, perhaps your children could have hoped for a chance at a decent future. But no, they will grow up to be just like their father, and make no mistake: they will wreck you in the same way as he does. It can't be overstated how pathetic your fake care for humanity is."

Lily stared at her. Never, never had she heard a less just accusation. Admittedly, she had done nothing to sway Voldemort's reign after her capture; her grief had consumed her entire soul. However, when her family had still been alive, she had opposed the Dark Lord's side as one of the most dedicated Order members. It was she and James who had thrice defied Voldemort. While her husband and son's deaths had snatched her will to live, did her misery and her reluctance to selfishly injure the man who craved her love make her the antagonist Andromeda had depicted?

"And you stood up against Dolohov for the sake of humanity, did you now?" she countered. "As admirable as your actions were, they were taken in the name of your daughter and yourself. It's not the rest of us you accepted the torture for. And if you hadn't had a daughter, you would have fought for yourself alone."

"It is my duty as a human to resist those who want to reduce me into a shell of a being," Andromeda asserted proudly. "People owe themselves this much self-respect."

"What about your respect for the others? Or are you so much better than everyone else?"

One coppery eyebrow arched. "Meaning?"

"When you fled the new regime," Lily went on fiercely, recalling Severus's earlier words, "you only took your husband and daughter with you. You could have at least tried to save Sirius; in fact, you could have guided many people to safety. In the end, he died an inhumane death while you lived on without remorse. Don't you dare call me selfish."

Andromeda listened unblinkingly, her impassive answer ready on her lips. "My conscience is my responsibility. Yours, on the other hand, is not at peace, is it now? Ask yourself why... You gave up."

To Lily, this appeared to be convenient blame avoidance.

"Either way," she insisted, "you despise me because I've submitted to my fate and decided to love someone who has never received love in his life. I can think of a few worse crimes."

"In that case," the other woman said, her tone subtly sarcastic, "enjoy your honourable life with the Death Eater and his progeny. The next time it becomes too much, remind yourself how selfless and generous you are."

And she was gone, leaving an empty, gaping chair where she had been sitting. Lily was content to see her vanish despite the solitude that enveloped her at once. She lay down and relaxed against the throbbing headache.

Not all the sensations she endured were unpleasant. At times, she pictured herself being rocked on the waves of an infinite ocean, under a searing sun, which burned through her eyelids and intensified the pain in her temples. Then the sunlight ebbed away, and she was in the dark with nothing but the susurrating and increasingly malevolent voices for company.

To her brief delight, Severus returned one evening and sat by her side. She was so starved for his touch that she let him make love to her, only to be pushed away with the claim that he had preferred her while she had still resisted him. After this miserable night, she woke up in the same locked room and was forced to conclude it had been a dream, however vivid. She longed for Euphoria. As if this were not enough, she was certain it had been days since the elves had last entered her room. An eternity must have passed since Andromeda's visit alone. She knocked at the door to capture the little creatures' attention before attempting to summon them, and when this did not work, she yelled for someone to let her out, pounding her hands on the wood. There was no reaction. At this point, she was positive the elves were conspiring to make her die from starvation. It was all she could do to spend the best part of the day pacing across her prison; when exhaustion took its toll, she collapsed on the floor, wishing Severus would come and see her one more time before life left her for good.

Upon hearing footsteps, she smothered her excitement in its wake. She dared not believe her desire was coming true if she were meant to withstand another disappointment. Someone crouched by her limp form, pulling hair away from her face. Then, incredibly, she was hoisted up in the air and carried into a bedroom full of candlelight and fresh air. She clung to the arms that held her, breathing in the scent of his clothes—for it was _his_ scent, and she did not want to lose it, not now of all times. He had to resort to a spell to break her hold on his sleeve and plunge her into slumber. She sank into a dreamless gloom, from which he woke her once to administer a cup of the green potion and—_oh, yes, yes, at last!_— a few drops of Euphoria, which cleared her mind within seconds.

Her second awakening that night revealed an endearing sight. Through bleary eyes, she spotted him sitting a few feet away, their new-born in his arms. In spite of her elation, her eyelids fluttered, and she burrowed deeper into the blankets. At dawn, she woke up for the third time, feeling stronger and more alert than she had done in a month. With a sleepy sigh, she peered at the chair next to the bed. Severus was still there, though now he was alone. His posture was weary and casual with the sleeves of his black shirt rolled to his elbows, his head tilted to one side, and his face half-hidden by his hair. Neither moved as their eyes met.

"When did you return?" she inquired softly.

"A few hours ago."

This affirmation matched her memories; he truly had come home during the night.

"Didn't you go to sleep?"

He shook his head.

"What did you do then?"

"I brought you here," he recited dully, "brewed your potions anew, made you drink them, and stayed with the children for a short while."

At least this had not been a hallucination either.

"They grow fast, don't they?"

He kept watching her but did not answer.

"I missed you," she added. "I'm glad you're back."

"So am I." He paused, his eyes becoming wary. "We need to talk, though."

"Yes," she uttered with a faint smile.

He leaned forward. "What is it with throwing away the potions? What was your voluntary seclusion about?"

"It was a necessary means to stay alive. I longed to drink all the potion at once… couldn't stop thinking about it. If I had not got rid of them, I would have succumbed to the temptation, perhaps even sooner rather than later. But for the sake of the children and for yours, I couldn't let it happen."

"You should have asked the elves to hide and ration them. I'm sure even Slughorn would have been happy to help."

She let out a bitter chuckle. "Absolutely not. Slughorn will not get involved in this if I can help it. As for the elves… they are gullible. I would have found a way to trick them into giving me an excess of potion one way or another. No, it was safer to stay locked up—demeaning, yes, but much safer. Besides… I wasn't always alone."

"So I've heard." He sat back. "You have been conversing with imaginary friends."

Lily frowned. "I only spoke to a ghost once."

"House-elves can see ghosts, Lily. They didn't spot one in your room. They saw you talking to thin air."

Dismissing his remark with a snort, she shifted into a more comfortable position. "As I said, they're gullible."

A shadow flickered across his features, rendering them even colder, even more dangerous. "I'll kill him."

"Whom?"

"The prat who got you addicted to this shite in the first place."

_The Healer?_ She blinked, somewhat startled. As far as she was concerned, in no way was her condition Jonathan Reed's fault. He had told her straight away her _dementia praecox_ was incurable. Severus, on the other hand, should not have left her to her devices.

"Leave him alone," she grumbled. "Just… don't disappear like this any more. Don't go unless it's really necessary."

This time, true emotion reflected in his gaze. "I didn't run away from you, Lily, I assure you. I went because I had been summoned. The Dark Lord has every right to call us when he needs us, and I'm likely to participate in more missions in the future."

The apologetic hint in his tone did not fool Lily; she remembered his rage all too well. Further argument, would do them no good, though.

"Well, I hope the raid went well. I'm pleased to see you're not hurt."

He nodded, although he was as little duped as she was. "I'm fine. And don't fret about the potions. I'll help you overcome your craving, but we have to do so gradually."

Another, longer pause set in until he gave in to the worry that was manifestly tormenting him.

"We cannot quarrel any more, Lily. It destroys you. It destroys me. It will destroy our children, too."

How right he was. And yet, if only it had been this simple.

"No, we cannot," she echoed. "But how can we not quarrel? We are so different that we can hardly agree on the best ways to spend leisure time, let alone on philosophy."

"We got on well when we were children," he objected. "We couldn't have changed all that much, could we?"

_Did he need to ask at all?_

"Our relationship was of a different nature, and we were children. Everything changed, Severus."

He said nothing. His nails were digging into his palms as he stared into distance. She knew him well enough to realise he was burning with an unspoken question.

"What is it?" she prodded.

His eyes had assumed an oddly vacant, dummy-like look she had already glimpsed in them once. It disturbed her more than she could express.

"Did you mean what you said before my departure?" he muttered.

"What are you talking about?"

But she could guess what he was referring to, what had stung him more than any insult on her part.

"You declared you would never be happy with me… or love me, for that matter. Were you telling the truth?"

Her heart clenched at the distress in his voice. "I'm… not sure."

"I need to know."

Lifting herself from the bed, she closed the distance between them and settled on the carpeted floor to prop her arms on his knees.

"I really can't tell, Severus," she confessed. "There are times when I feel nothing but love for you, but there are also moments when I'm certain I will never recover from our past, and I wish to be dead so badly I want to scream. I honestly have no idea whether I will ever feel happiness again, let alone become capable of giving it to someone else. And my poor children…"

With a sigh, he pulled her onto his lap and burrowed his face in her hair. He did not speak, yet she had the impression his breathing was becoming laborious. She gently disengaged herself to peer into his face; sure enough, his eyes were glistening. For a few seconds, she merely gaped at him. This was, unless she was mistaken, the very first time he was crying in her presence… except, perhaps, for a single instance in their childhood—the day when she had found him at their usual meeting place under the willow after he had escaped another one of his drunken father's tantrums. In her memory, there had been tear streaks on his face, and he had wiped at them as soon as she had approached him. Her instincts now told her his tears were not genuine, but she stumped on the idea at once. Candid or not, he needed her.

"Severus," she whispered, stroking his cheek, "Severus…"

"I wish there were a way to help you love me," he admitted. "I can't tamper with your memory any more because it would damage your mind. I can't compensate for our past, either. But there has to be _something_ I can do. You are all I have, Lily; I missed you awfully when I was away. I need your love, at least a little of it. Please, tell me what I have to do, and I will get it for you no matter what it takes. You are… I…"

Her throat constricted with grief at the sight of his misery. Not that she had the luxury of indulging in her emotions: it was his turn to receive comfort.

"Severus, listen; we can get through this." She thought of their preschool days, and the words came to her spontaneously. "I'll tell you what exactly has changed between us. It's true, the nature of our relationship used to be different. We weren't intimate back then, but we were closer. We would study together, explore the town together, meet to do our homework. Nowadays, we don't share anything much; all we do together is eat and sleep, and that's hardly enough to make us a strong couple, isn't it? You spend most of your day in your office, and then you work some more on magic spells, but we never talk about it. I, for my part, care for the children and draw. If we could find something to do, just the two of us, we would inevitably become closer."

"What do you want to do?"

"Anything that we both enjoy. We can read, draw maps, learn something new, go for a walk. Why, even talking to each other every day would help. I understand you can't tell me anything of importance about what's going on in the Dark Lord's circle, but we can share all the rest. We have to, or we'll be little more than strangers."

He observed her through moist eyes, visibly lost for words. She went on.

"And there is another thing. Take any happy couple—like… like the Malfoys—and compare them to ourselves. In their case, both partners are equal—neither dominates the other. I believe this equality and mutual respect are imperative for a full, healthy relationship."

"But you are—"

"A war prisoner, yes. You are not allowed to treat me decently in public or let me perform magic. I… can live with that. But we can still be respectful towards each other in privacy, and that's all I ask." She took his hand in hers. "You are right, erasing the past is impossible, and so is compensating for it. But let me promise you something. I'll never talk about the past again or hold it against you. You will hear no more accusations from me. In return, could you please do me a favour? If you would listen to me when I speak without ignoring my requests or forcing me to make love when I'm in no shape for it, it would make a world of difference, and I'd be so grateful, you can't imagine. Can we agree on this?"

He contemplated her and then acquiesced. "All right, Lily. I'll do my best to fulfil your request and will think of a convenient way to spend time together. Will you love me if I do?"

She bit her lip. How could she explain that she could not guarantee love? Marriage required a reciprocal commitment and a constant effort; it was not a trade. Only, his Slytherin mind seemed to know nothing beyond the concept of bargain.

"I… can't swear to it, Severus; feelings can't be commanded. All I can promise is that these rules would secure our relationship and trust… which is something I do need to be able to embrace your love."

Resting her head on his shoulder, she kissed and nuzzled his neck. "It's easier than it sounds, you know. For someone who loves the way you do, it will be natural to follow these few conditions. Why, you can even cast a Patronus, which means you have purity in you that perhaps even you aren't aware of."

His hand stilled in her hair. "I'll bear it in mind."

It had been a while since she had last recalled his Patronus—her memory was strangely blurred when it came to her wedding night—yet this could be what he needed to remember the strength of his affection. Pressing her forehead to his, she conjured a tender smile.

"Please cast it for me."


	5. V

**Note: **After a delay this huge, there are no adequate words to convey my apology. I'm so very sorry for having been quiet for this long, and I promise it won't happen again. This story is far from being abandoned, and I am determined to finish it. If I should ever allow myself such idleness again, feel free to send me a juicy PM. :)

Many thanks to my dear beta, blue artemis, and also to my amazing reviewers (listed in chronological order): whitealmond, jomomayheart, IonicAmalgam, Saint Snape, Ravenni, Amar 2, anotherboarduser, CC, dragoon 109 and Kaitlyn (it's a pleasure to meet you!).

I would also like to answer the lovely review from Alienbookers on the Redemption: Thank you very much! It is an interesting question. I do believe it was Lily's magic that attracted Severus's attention at first. And yet... I think friendship between him and a Muggle Lily would not be impossible. The dynamics would be different, though. If you like, I could send you a detailed answer in a PM.

* * *

Slowly, Severus resumed his caresses, letting his fingers slide into her hair. When he reached for his wand, it was not without a peculiar look of calculation upon his face, though his body appeared to be perfectly relaxed.

"You know the words," Lily encouraged him. If anything could secure his self-confidence, the Patronus was bound to be the right spell. "Think of Dahlia, of little Sev, of me. Families are foundations, and the stronger they are, the more they can endure. Now your Patronus is the same as mine, which means you consider me to be your source of happiness. There is no greater proof of love. When you try to conjure it again, you will realise how easily we could make this work. When there is love, nothing is impossible."

He was listening closely. The hand clutching his wand tensed, and he focused his gaze on Lily as if drawing comfort from her presence. Yet all too soon, before a single wisp of silvery vapour could materialise in the air, his arm dropped.

"I cannot."

"Why not?"

His smile was tinged with bitterness. "It was a miracle that I succeeded the first time. The truth is, I was happy that evening. Despite our arguments and misunderstandings and pain, it was our wedding night, and I had tied myself to you forever. There was hope—if anything, our quarrel had rendered my emotions more powerful. But now… now you are mine, and you have never been farther away. What hope can there still be? Your love is a lure meant to drive me insane. Sometimes I wonder if there is a point to… life."

Lily promptly wiped away the last of his tears, her throat constricted with sorrow. He had never confessed anything of the sort. And she had just told him she was uncertain she could ever bring herself to love him no matter how much effort he put forth.

"Of course there is. We can get through this together. I promise to do my best, to let my resentment go and embrace you as my husband."

Although disappointed by his less than lukewarm attempt at the Patronus Charm, she knew it would be heartless of her to insist, particularly now that he had revealed his despair. After all, this bout of magic required one's most positive thoughts, and he had admitted having none. It was always possible to reiterate her request.

Her eyes caught his alert expression. As if to conceal it and, by the same gesture, express his gratitude for her promise, he produced a ghost of a smile and kissed her temple. Then he shifted on his seat, gently dislodging her.

"I have to find our feckless Healer. This mess has to stop; you need different potions and a safe way of switching them. Give me an hour, and I will bring him back."

And before she could reply, he had risen and stalked out of the room, leaving her gaping at his swings of mood.

* * *

Jonathan Reed's state was truly wretched. Thinner and shabbier than he had been the first time Severus had forcefully brought him to Hogwarts, he was glancing around with bemusement. Lily knew how disorienting the reversal of an extensive Memory Charm felt and put him at ease to the best of her ability. Despite the mind magic inflicted on him, he had retained a subconscious fear of Severus and kept shying away from him and rubbing at his arm, which had been severely bruised during their first encounter. Severus, however, showed no intention of giving them space or even letting Lily express herself. Determined to question all of the Healer's suggestions and point out their possible ill effects, he barely permitted her to utter a word. Lily privately deemed it was rich of him to demand a cure for the ailments he himself had imposed on her, and she soon started to fear Jonathan might collapse in a nervous breakdown.

After a new magical check of her condition, the wizard could nevertheless refine his analysis and propose an alternative treatment. He provided instructions for the preparation of a Healing potion which did not require Euphoria for a complement and specified how she should proceed to switch her medication. The piece of advice he offered next called for a significant amount of courage, but he still voiced it, stressing the importance of treating Lily respectfully and granting her wishes—a recommendation Severus accepted in silence and with the most lethal glare Lily had ever seen. At long last, Jonathan was dismissed, not before receiving a torrent of threats and the Death Eater's promise to not Obliviate him, provided he kept Lily's disease secret.

Against the odds, the new treatment gave Lily no relief. The following months were rather overwhelming both for her family and the Healer, who was now compelled to regularly return to Hogwarts. Obliged to change potions every five or six weeks while suffering their diverse and often unpleasant effects, Lily developed high blood pressure, regained her former fatigue and had her female cycle entirely disorganised yet again. To Severus's displeasure, one of the brews killed what little remained of her carnal desire; since she was no novice to this discomfort, however, she would suppress it whenever intimacy occurred. The only after-effect that rather played to her advantage was the little weight she gained from her treatment, for she had become so thin that this slight amount of plumpness only added to her attraction.

But none of the instances were more frightening than the ones which occurred when she failed to respond to a potion. More than once, the malevolent voices would come back to whisper in her mind, and if she looked carefully enough, she could discern mask-like faces peeking out of the dark. And then there were her fears.

An unnerving sight captured her attention at a Death Eater gathering. Alecto Carrow was _flirting_ with Severus, her speech interspersed with batting eyelashes and coquettish smiles. Every now and then, her stubby fingers would brush him in a seemingly unconscious manner while she giggled. To Lily's disbelief, he was not repelled: if anything, he laughed at the woman's jokes and even reciprocated her pleasantries. When confronted by a horrified and hurt Lily back at Hogwarts, he gaped at her, too bewildered to even appreciate that this was her first outburst of jealousy and possessiveness.

As he assured her, he had spoken to Alecto for no longer than five minutes, and the only joke she had shared with him concerned one of her students. After this short exchange, he had left her in Rowle's company and had approached Dolohov and Yaxley instead. His blank, quiet voice betrayed alarm as he swore to Lily that the flirtation which had offended her so much had been no more than a hallucination.

"Lily," he whispered, grasping her arms as though afraid she was about to float away, "why would I want Alecto Carrow? You are the love of my life; I have never coveted another woman, nor will I ever do so. As long as I have you—your beauty, your mind, your spirit, your elusive yet indestructible innocence—I have everything. Why, in Salazar's name, would I even consider to court a paragon of inbred and brainless ugliness such as Carrow?"

She stared back, not appeased in the slightest. Why should she trust him more than her own eyes? Those had never lied to her while he… Besides, she deserved to be discarded in disgust.

This episode was almost mild, compared to the turmoil Augustus Rookwood elicited in her several evenings later. His sharp yellow eyes assessed her with more interest than he had ever granted her, and when he leaned over to address Malfoy, his sibilant remark carried to the last nook of the room.

"I'd say she's quite done for."

The two Death Eaters' feral smiles lent her the impression they knew something she did not. She spent the entire night shivering at the idea that Voldemort might have resolved to take her away from Severus and their children.

Strangely, the most sinister moment she faced during those months only lasted for the space of a flash of lightning. She opened the door to one of the bathrooms at Black Manor and was petrified to find Severus washing blood off his hands and forearms. The Dark Mark undulated on his tainted skin. The door slammed shut on him under her frantic hand, and she was running away, seeing nothing but gore before her. He did not follow her. Later that night, he denied her vision, dismissing it as another hallucination. Lily did not believe him, though.

Given her unstable disposition, she was reluctant to approach her two babies, although they needed her care more than ever. It was not until three months later that Jonathan and Severus designed a brew that dealt with her symptoms without causing her any traceable harm. Her relapses became more sporadic. While constantly monitored by either her husband or their house-elves, Lily found herself breathing more freely than she had done under Euphoria's reign. Perhaps she could yet hope to learn to live with her _dementia praecox _without having the last of her life squeezed out of her.

* * *

It was a bright morning. The semi-circular bedroom was bathing in sunlight, which poured in through numerous windows. Lily was lounging on the covered bed, a cup of tea and a book on the magical techniques of painting her only companions. Through the open door to the children's room, she had a clear view of Dahlia's crib, enchanted to rock at a gentle, peaceful pace. Suddenly the opposite door, which led to the living room, was pushed open by a tiny hand to let in a smiling child's face.

Almost four years old, Severus Junior would have been a spitting image of his mother, were it not for his eyes as dark as the coal and his jet black locks. He was an extraordinarily beautiful little boy: Severus had consciously lent him the best features he and Lily possessed. And yet there was a hint of something unnatural about the impeccable symmetry in his face, the perfect proportion of his growing body, the glint in his large eyes. It disturbed Lily more than she could express, for whether it was the truth or her prejudice, the only word that came to her mind when she contemplated his beauty was _designed_. And if he left such an impression at such a young age, would it not become more pronounced once he turned into an adult? In Severus's opinion, though, this difference was much too subtle to be even noticed by the majority of people and vague unease was the most his looks would ever inspire to the most astute wizards. Not heartened in the slightest, Lily had shifted her focus to helping her boy learn.

As if answering Severus's unspoken wish, his son proved to be gifted and versatile, and his magical core had already provoked several eruptions of magic. It took him little time to master reading, and with his mother's help, he was also getting better at counting and writing, which won him the affectionate nickname of Raven, both in acknowledgment of his dark eyes and hair and as a tribute to the once-famous House of Ravenclaw. Severus had swiftly conceived a plan to teach him about magic even though the boy would not be attending school before six more years were over. For her part, Lily had no intention of neglecting the elementary Muggle education she herself had received as a child and which she thought to be crucial no matter how much pure-bloods scoffed at it.

At present, Raven was holding a goblet full of purple brew in both hands—the brew she had been recommended to drink every other day as a part of her treatment. It was likely Severus had been showing him the art of potion-making. With a joyful exclamation, he ran towards her, barely keeping the liquid from spilling over. She carefully lifted him on the bed and took the goblet, kissing his beaming face.

"Oh, thank you very much! Did you help daddy brew it?"

He nodded, and she embraced him. Severus entered the room, smiling slightly at the exchange. _Trust Severus to teach a four-year-old a potion too complicated for the O.W.L. students_, she thought to herself.

"The Death Eaters are the Dark Lord's elite," he had once told her. "As any elite, we are a ruthless and competitive society, appearances notwithstanding. If my son is to survive and secure himself a respectable position, he has to be strong—stronger than the others. One or two more years, and I will start training him. He will excel at everything I know."

Lily had been kneading restlessly a paintbrush. "What about our daughter? Will you train her as well?"

"Twice as intensely," he had vowed.

A walk in Hogsmeade awaited them in the early afternoon. Resorting to the Floo network, they emerged in one of the establishments of the village and walked down its summery streets. Numerous witches and wizards lingered in the shops and alleys, taking advantage of the holiday season. Not without amazement, Lily realised how closely she, Severus and their children resembled a regular, happy family. The black-clad Death Eater was carrying a giggling Dahlia while Lily, dressed in emerald green robes and looking every ounce like a healthy young mother—until, that is, one saw her eyes—led Raven by the hand.

After a detour to Honeydukes, they reached the fence that enclosed the Shrieking Shack. Lily hastily turned away, her memories still vivid and painful. At the other end of the small clearing, another fence, a circular one, had been erected next to a stall. It contained a baby hippogriff. Lily encouraged Raven to approach; he had never seen those majestic creatures.

"We always bow to a hippogriff," she explained. "If he bows back, we can come closer and pat him. They are very proud animals, and very strong and quick. You have to be careful and move slowly around them; never try to hurt or insult them. If you are nice to them, they will like you."

The baby hippogriff watched them bow before returning the gesture with an endearing youthful awkwardness. As advised, Raven came forth to touch the magical beast's neck, gingerly at first, then more boldly when he met no resistance. Lily winked at Severus and Dahlia, who were waiting a few feet away. When she turned back to her son, however, her breath hitched in shock: he was tugging at the creature's feathers—not by accident but deliberately, experimentally.

She lunged forward and pulled him back as the animal squeaked, battling his wings in agitation. A large feather stayed in the boy's hand.

"Raven, you can't do this; it hurts the little hippogriff. What did I tell you?"

The almond-shaped black eyes looked up, pouting. "Why not?"

To some, this question might have seemed valid, yet it made her heart sink. Raven was only about to celebrate his fourth birthday, and he was already objecting to her instructions not to hurt a magical beast. It was as though he were curious about inflicting pain and testing how far he could go. She lowered herself to his level, her tone gentle and clear.

"There are things we should never do because they are wrong. Hurting any living creature, be it a person or an animal, is very wrong. When we hurt someone, we cause them pain, and this makes them sad and unhappy. We should never do to others what we don't want done to us. Do you understand?" She stroked his silky hair while he gazed back, a scowl on his tiny features. "But if we are nice to others, they will be nice to us too. If you look at this hippogriff," she pointed at the young animal, who had quietened down and was ripping strips of meat from a dead ferret, "he's still a baby. He's been taken away from his mummy and is alone and scared. I'm sure he would love to have a friend like you. Animals can be the best friends in the world if you offer them love."

With one last glance at the creature, they resumed their walk, an impassive Severus with a sleepy Dahlia on their heels.

"Love and friendship are the most precious gifts we can receive," Lily continued. "It's our duty to give them back. In the end, not everyone might want to be our friend, but it's important to extend a hand of help whenever you meet someone who needs it. And it's not only humans who deserve it; all the living beings—house-elves, goblins, centaurs, animals—want to live and be happy. You will see in the course of your life that many of them are treated cruelly and are permanently in pain. You have to be kind to them. Unfair pain and suffering make creatures become angry, harsh, broken. It destroys their lives—lives that could have been wonderful otherwise. Sometimes such beings will pass their hurt on others; they can become incapable of affection. No one is _born_ evil, you see. Cruelty forces us to freeze our hearts to protect ourselves. But if you try to find something nice in each person or creature, you will make everyone—including yourself—happier. All right?"

She smiled at him, and he nodded in visible puzzlement. When she straightened up, Severus's uncanny expression came into her view. A shadow of a smile played around his lips, but he was staring straight ahead as though too polite to voice his disagreement.

"What?" she whispered.

The corners of his mouth twitched. "Nothing."

"You don't share my opinion, do you? Of course you don't."

"I hate to contradict you, Lily, but whether people can be born hard-hearted is a matter open to debate. As for your outlook on love and cruelty, the truth is, pain constitutes an extremely effective means of getting someone to do your bidding. Wrong or not, it is the most common method used in taming beasts, and it works equally well against humans and magical beings. I don't see it changing in the near future—it is much too practical and also simpler than the option you propose. Besides, it can be applied to anyone without exception. Love cannot be. Some will never feel it; others will be unwilling to accept it."

"I'm not teaching this to my children," she protested.

His eyes sought out hers, gleaming with amusement. "Would you rather they learned it the hard way? Ultimately, we all do, my love. Especially those who live under the Dark Lord's rule."

"Is this the future you wanted for them?"

Her murmur was soft, though, allowing him to pretend he had not heard. Ever since she had pledged to not hold the past against him any more, she had been cautious to suppress all of her accusations. He ignored her words indeed and hastened his pace, his cloak swinging in the wind.

* * *

The chamber blushed with tints of gold and burgundy diffused by a declining sun. The end of July was uncommonly warm, and the lonely greenery around Black Manor could have been pulled out of an idyllic poem, it was so peaceful and pleasing to the senses. Lily enjoyed strolling along the lake, tranquil, for once, in her solitude. Now that her potion had been refined to the point of subduing her disease—or most of its manifestations at the very least—she could take her children with her as frequently as they wished. The trees no longer beckoned to her, promising sanctuary from a world where all the Death Eaters plotted her demise; they no longer cajoled her into running away with her babies, as she had briefly envisaged doing during her scathing yet enlightening conversation with Andromeda.

She listened to the birds' songs the breeze carried in through the open window as she arranged fruit, nuts and pumpkin juice on a tray. Raven and Dahlia had been put to nap, and Severus was working in his study despite the holiday. He had hardly touched food at breakfast, and she had decided to bring him refreshments. If there were time, they might practise calligraphy in the evening. It was their latest pet hobby. To her surprise, he had taken her suggestion to heart and had agreed to spend more time together. Ever since, they would converse for a while every day. The effect had been unbelievable. Not a single major argument had sparked between them, and they had succeeded in smoothing out all their confrontations. As she had soon discovered, yielding to him during their conflicts would prompt him to compose himself and relent his claims. And although there was no telling for how long their new truce would endure, she felt confident that as long as they persisted in their mutual effort, their life would remain tolerable.

His abundance of leather books rendered the wood-panelled walls of his study quite black, lending it a grim air in spite of the blooming summer. He was absorbed in a scroll of parchment at least forty inches long, and many more documents, letters and notes were strewn across his desk. He glanced up through strands of dark hair.

"How is it progressing?" she asked, slipping inside with the tray.

"Slowly." His eyes took in his untidy workplace. "I'm not nearly done with the new course structure. And it's high time I selected the fifth year prefects."

The Ministry of Magic had decreed that the education at Hogwarts, which thus far had been split in two to accommodate both Muggle-borns and the children from wizarding families, would be united once again. While authorised to attend the same lessons as pure-bloods and half-bloods, Muggle-borns were to sit at the very back of the classrooms and participate only in the strict minimum of spell work exercices. In addition, the teachers were required to keep a close eye on the most gifted, zealous and rebellious of these students. Slughorn, whose keen intuition had long since been renowned, was particularly urged to comply, but Lily trusted him to cooperate as little as he could afford. He was not devoid of compassion.

In fact, the seating plan of the Great Hall alone was revolting to behold. Isolated from the rest of the students even at meals, the small group of Muggle-borns were always seated at a separate table, strained and downcast. Their red ties were more symbolic than any mark could have been, for it was the colour of prisoners. The Sorting Hat having been destroyed shortly after Voldemort's victory, all the pure-bloods and half-bloods had been rallied under Slytherin's banner regardless of their personalities or family histories. Still, a flicker of hope ignited in Lily's breast whenever she crossed paths with a student sporting a green tie. True Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were still there behind the disguise.

Reconstructing the course system had befallen Severus, who was expected to present his work to the Ministry and, by extension, the Dark Lord.

"How many candidates are there?" she asked, clearing a part of his desk to make room for the platter.

"Well," he muttered without pausing in his writing, "as far as the female prefect is concerned, the choice is unequivocal; Berenice Knox is a fine student by all accounts. For the male part, the teachers are torn. Three of them are in favour of William Weasley, and three others would prefer to see the badge in the hands of Dorian Pyrite."

Lily's head snapped up. _Weasley_? Did the Weasleys' children attend Hogwarts? Now that she pondered on it, it made sense as their eldest currently ought to be teenagers. She remembered meeting Fabian and Gideon's younger sister, Molly, who had married Arthur Weasley—an equally red-headed and good-natured pure-blood. To their sister's annoyance, the twins, proud to have become uncles, had sworn to teach their nephews and nieces all the pranks they knew. And she had lived in the castle for several years without once noticing William Weasley. Swiftly, she performed a mental calculation to ascertain the boy's date of birth. He had to have finished his fourth year in order to be elected as a prefect and was therefore likely to be Molly and Arthur's firstborn. Lily found it difficult to estimate the time with accuracy, for days, months and years blurred together into a single hallucination of greyness and misery in her memory. She eventually concluded, though, that William was bound to have begun his education either in the fatal year 1981—if so, had he been Sorted into Gryffindor?—or in 1982. The Prewetts and the Weasleys being Gryffindors to boot, it was odd, even _wrong _to imagine their children wearing green ties.

"Oh," she breathed, her tone as neutral as she could manage, "what are these boys like?"

Severus picked a blank piece of parchment and dipped his quill in ink. "As you know, Pyrite is related to Roswell Pyrite, the political champion of the Dark pure-blood families from a few decades ago. A self-assertive and ambitious student with decent marks, eager to build himself a career at the Ministry. Weasley is described as a popular boy with slightly higher marks and impeccable behaviour."

Lily's eyes widened. "How are the Weasleys regarded? As a family, I mean."

"Completely and utterly apolitical." Severus arched a sardonic eyebrow. "Neither supportive of the Dark Lord's reign nor opposed to it. My understanding is that the father holds a lowly job at the Ministry while his wife stays home with their children. Quite a few children, I might add—their names have been inscribed on the Hogwarts register since their births."

He nodded at the heap of creased letters off to his side. Lily seized them with trembling fingers.

"May I?"

He gave another nod, and she proceeded to unfurl them, but the burning question in her mind caused her to still.

"Do you already have a preference for one of the candidates?"

"I was going to ask for your opinion on the matter," he returned with a faint smile.

She chose her words carefully. "Well, if it's true that William Weasley is a better student and is well-respected by his peers, I would give the badge to him. I can see why other teachers would favour Pyrite, but if you think about it, recompensing a student whose family isn't among your allies would be… more beneficial to you. As you said, Weasley has shown excellent results and exemplary behaviour. It is important to make it clear that you recognise and reward such achievements regardless of the student's background. If you single out the children of pure-blood elitists, it will demotivate the rest. After all, what is the point of trying if no one appreciates it?"

His smile broadened before he turned his attention back to his notes. "I like your reasoning. We should indeed stimulate our unauthentic Slytherins."

Disconcerted but hopeful about his vague approval, she started sorting the letters in her lap. Each of them was dedicated to a different year and consisted of an alphabetical list of present or future Hogwarts students. The more remote the year, the shorter the lists were, presumably because some of the younger wizards had displayed no signs of magic as of yet. The sheets bore the seal of the Ministry of Magic and Igor Karkaroff's signature, but despite this air of officiality, their nature had to be merely informative, for Severus had liberally scribbled over the lists.

"Do the crossed-out names belong to the students who... can't or won't attend any more?" she asked quietly.

"Hmmm."

She posed no more questions, examining the letters. A handful of new Slytherin students every year and two or three Muggle-borns, that was all. So few, so tragically few compared to the times when she had enrolled in magical education. This was one of the most sinister consequences of the war.

But this distressing reflection was followed by a jolt of excitement. Apart from William, the names of Charles and Percival Weasley stood out proudly on their respective lists. Charles was entering his second year while Percival would be joining them in 1987. And then her eyes spotted two juxtaposed names on the sheet entitled _The First Years of 1989_, andshe gaped at them in delighted disbelief. Fred and George Weasley. _Twins, named in Fabian and Gideon's honour_.

The bouquet of emotions that suddenly came into bloom in her chest was overwhelming, and at its core were elation, comfort, and hope. History was repeating itself. The Prewett brothers had been murdered, and yet, as if to defy the Dark side and attest that no one could put out the Light, two children's hearts were now beating with the same blood and dreams. Did Fred and George have the red hair and the freckled features of their uncles? Were their personalities just as flamboyant and daring?

"What are you so happy about?" The sound of Severus's voice tore her out of her joyful trance.

"I…" She swallowed, deciding it was more secure to tell the truth. "I… just think it's nice that Fred and George Weasley were named after the Prewett brothers. The same initials."

He rolled his eyes. Lily keenly scanned the remaining letters. The sheet detailing the 1991 first years revealed the name of Ronald Weasley, placed several lines below that of Draco Malfoy. Ginevra, listed at the bottom of the letter designated for 1992, appeared to be the youngest of the Weasley children. She would currently be four or five years old, close to Raven's age.

The Weasleys' apolitical stance thus made perfect sense: raising their children in accordance with their moral standards without failing to keep the family safe would be their first priority and challenge.

A crossed-out name just an inch above Ginevra's came into Lily's focus, eliciting a frown: _Luna Lovegood._ She knew this surname. The Lovegoods used to run a tabloid, _The Quibbler_.

"Severus?" she said, unable to resist. "What happened to the Lovegoods?"

"I have no idea." The wizard jerked open a drawer, fumbling for a spare inkbottle. "Although rumour has it they have gone to Africa."

"Africa?" Realisation dawned upon her. "So they escaped."

"They and some others."

With a worn out sigh, Severus abandoned his search and reached for a piece of fruit.

Lily's spirits soared at once—at least some of the wizarding families were still safe, shielded from Voldemort's terror. The 1991 list contained two crossed out names: Fay Dunbar and Blaise Zabini.

"Did the Dunbars and the Zabinis escape as well?"

He nodded, nibbling at a slice of apple.

Robert Dunbar used to be an Auror and a close friend of the Longbottoms; the news of his family's flight greatly pleased her. The other name puzzled her.

"Who are the Zabinis?"

A queer smirk lit his face. "Don't you know? They are famous in their own way. Mrs Zabini is, that is. The last time anyone has seen her, she was a widow—again_—_with a son. Her name is Vittoria," he went on at her confused expression. "She was famed for her looks… and her husbands' ill fortune. All six or seven of them died mysteriously, naming her their only heir, you see."

"Oh." Lily grimaced. "Is she a poisoner?"

"Yes." He stretched. "A fairly capable one. Her father worked at the Ministry, and we have been told by Augustus that he would secretly buy a new house-elf every several weeks. What a better way to practise?"

She shuddered. "But why would she run off? Is she not a pure-blood?"

"She is, and from a Dark family." Severus's sneer faded. "I'll tell you why. She knew her talents would not go unnoticed by the Dark Lord—skilled Potioneers are rare and very valuable. He would have demanded her services. Apparently, she enjoyed her freedom and lifestyle too much. I wouldn't be surprised if, in the future, her son attended Beauxbatons or Durmstrang under a false name."

Lily mused on this, stroking the creased parchment with unwitting fingers. It was true: how many British wizards would now frequent one of the foreign wizarding schools? Conversely, how many witches and wizards had declined coming into this country and condemning their families to totalitarian oppression?

She retrieved the letter on the 1989 first years and flicked through it again. Another crossed-out name read _Angelina Johnson_.

"Did the Johnsons escape around the same time?" she asked.

To her alarm, his eyes turned inscrutable and he ate another slice of fruit before conceding a reply.

"They didn't escape."

Her grip slackened, allowing the letters to slip onto the desk. All at once, she knew he was recalling the same instance as she was: the ominous night when she had walked in on him washing blood off his hands.

"But… they were… pure-bloods, were they not?"

"Yes."

"Then… why…"

"Because studies at Hogwarts are compulsory for all the young wizards in the country," he retorted. "Attempting to hide your child from us means Azkaban, and putting up a fight while arrested is treated as high treason." His tone was frosty and stern. "Don't fret, though; they sent the girl away using an unauthorised Portkey before the Dementors surrounded them. She vanished, just like Andromeda's daughter."

She inhaled, but he cut off her answer, pulling her into his lap. "No more questions, Lily. Do you remember what the Healer said? No political discussions, no disappointment, no arguments." He brushed a lock of her hair away from her cheek and kissed the tip of her nose.

Lily complied with a sigh, lowering her head on his shoulder and contemplating his words. A familiar knot of anxiety was swelling within her. And yet, Healer or no Healer, she had remained ignorant for much too long, and her getaways from the implacable reality had to stop. Her wrecked health was of no consequence where children's fates were at stake.

"You said you were looking for a new Charms teacher," she whispered.

"Yes."

"I could do it." She straightened up. "I could cover for your teachers or even teach that class myself. Charms have always been my favourite subject, and now that I have better medicine, there is no danger of—"

But she was interrupted once again. "It's a charming idea, and I appreciate it. Unfortunately, though, it's not an option."

"Severus—"

A finger landed on her lips. "There are the Dark Lord's orders, and then there is your health. No, Lily. Taking care of our children is more than enough."

Their gazes clashed in silence, her vibrant green meeting his velvety black.

"I know you are competent," he assured her. "I would have encouraged you to do so if my will were my own. But we are all the Dark Lord's servants."

"He wouldn't have to know," she objected.

"There is no concealing such facts—certainly not at Hogwarts, where the Carrows sniff at every corner and the pure-bloods' offspring write to their parents on a daily basis. And I should remind you," he gave her a wry smile, "that true friendship—whatever that is—does not exist within our world. Only alliances."

Sadly, this was not a lie. As much respect as the Carrows and most of the other Death Eaters accorded Severus, their true allegiance was not to him or even Voldemort but to themselves.

His hand descended onto her shoulder and trailed down, fondling her skin through the fabric. When the pale yellow robe she was wearing slid off her arms, she settled more comfortably in his embrace. After nearly five years of torturous intimacy, there had been a moment when the act of lovemaking had simply ceased to matter. She now possessed such a complete knowledge of his body and its sensitive spots that she could have pleased him in her sleep and with her eyes shut, as the saying went. It was no longer a source of the bliss she had experienced with James nor the promise of potion-induced frenzy and agony it had morphed into during her first years of captivity. It was a meaningless habit, not unlike sleeping or combing her hair in the morning. Speaking of her hair, she still needed a haircut, she noted pensively, leaning into his kiss.


End file.
