languid
It was the fourteenth of July as Lily Evans lay on the green-green grass under the willow tree, not so far away from the river that divided their town from the forest.
It was also the first summer since she graduated from school and had very little time for the upcoming important decisions regarding her next few years, yet she found herself ignoring them all, letting the warmth of the sun and the distant hum of the river lull her into a rare moment of peace.
The truth was that Lily had many fields she was good at and also had way too many interests to focus on, so, naturally,the thought of tomorrow made her anxious. Relatively enough, she felt like a mess. A furball of mess.
She broke up with her boyfriend six weeks before the end of school, realizing her feelings for him had never been steady. Mary had spent most of the year closer to other girls, barely paying Lily any attention, and their friendship had cooled—maybe even faded. She saw less and less of Remus too, but, strangely, none of it bothered her anymore.
She realised how careless and tired she became with anything or anyone.
It wasn’t bitterness, nor was it indifference—just a quiet sort of exhaustion that settled deep in her bones. The world kept moving, people kept slipping away, and she no longer had the energy to chase after them. Lying there under the willow tree, she wondered if this was just a phase or if she was slowly becoming someone she wouldn’t recognize.
Of course, she knew she couldn’t spend the rest of her days here in Cokeworth, but everything in the magical world seemed so unpredictably dull. With the political instability, and Dumbledore’s whispers here and there; all was just too much. Not to mention bunch of high class young wizards and witches who despised her kin to the core and wished nothing but complete control over them.
And maybe she was selfish for once not wanting to move from under this tree.
Yes, she did want to avoid and prevent the crazy sociopathic political leader’s possible future reign over the world she wasn’t very sure she belonged to anymore. And she did want to live peacefully, but it was too draining to try and fight for something that could get you killed as well. Once she graduated from Hogwarts, it seemed that it was no longer about to-be-Death-Eaters and future Order members. It was draining to know that any side in this war used the least bit of humanity as a weapon, twisting it into something strategic, something expendable. It wasn’t just about right and wrong anymore—it was about survival, about who could endure the longest without losing themselves completely.
On her way back home, on the very last ride from Hogwarts to the King’s Cross Station, she remembered the last argument she and Severus once had before that, when he’d tried to apologise to her back at the end of their fifth year.
“Lily, the magic is not black and white. It’s not light and dark–”
Severus . How long it had been since she last spoke to him, Lily wondered.
She tried to count the months but stopped herself halfway through—what did it matter now? That chapter was closed. She had slammed it shut herself. And yet, lying beneath the willow, the memory of his voice clung to her, insistent and unshakable.
It had been easy, in the beginning, to let anger fill the spaces where he used to be. But now, with the war looming and the world shifting under her feet, she wasn’t so sure anymore. Maybe he had been right, in some twisted way. Maybe magic wasn’t as simple as she had wanted to believe. Maybe nothing was.
The thought unsettled her.
The wind slowly blew, the water in the river flowed, and not so long after, she felt someone moving towards her.
“Hello, sunshine,” said her father, who wore that awful cap his cousin had brought for him from America.
“Hi, Dad,” Lily brought her arm to her face, to see the man clearly.
He sat next to her, sighing as he stretched his legs out in front of him. “Tuney’s making dinner. Quite excited about this one, she is. It would be nice if you two wouldn’t bicker tonight though.”
“Dad, I am not the one–”
“Yes, yes. You will say you are not the one starting the fight, and she is, but, Lily, be honest, you love railing her up.” He nudged her shoulder lightly. “Tuney’s a lot like your mum. And you are a lot like me. And if I were to be honest, between you and I, back when we were younger, I loved pissing your mum off.”
“It’s not like that,” she sighed. “I don’t want her to be mad or anything. I just want … I want her to say nothing and just let me have my own mess in my own room. Nobody asks her to check if my room is clean, just ‘cause her boyfriend is gonna be by the door.”
Her father chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah, that Oliver lad again?”
Lily groaned, pressing her palms into her eyes. “Yes, whatever his name is. I swear, Dad, Whatever Tuney tells him about me,” or to any of the ones before, she wanted to say, but let it slid. “I swear if he looks at me like I have some mental disease diagnosis, I might hex him right there.”
“Well,” he said, amused, “will you?”
She dropped her hands and gave him a flat look. “I wish.”
He laughed, full and warm, before sighing. “Tuney’s always been particular about things, you know that. She wants everything to be just so–”
Lily plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between her fingers. “Her way,” Lily finished his sentence. “Yeah, well. I don’t care if she polishes the whole house for him. I just wish she’d stop acting like I’m some stain on the carpet.” She wanted to say, she was that way for Johnny, Nick and Trevor too .
Her father hummed, thoughtful. “You and Tuney used to be thick as thieves. Even as kids, you’d play in the playground near here. Remember that one kid? The one with long hair–”
“Yes, Dad, of course, I remember.”
“Yeah, the playground where you met him. You and Tuney would play there for hours. Your mum would always go crazy about you possibly jumping into the river.” He chuckled at the memory of his wife constantly worrying about Lily, “Apparently, Tuney was more responsible and less likely to do so.”
“Dunno, Dad. Life was just,” she looked around as if to gather the courage to admit that right now she wasn’t even sure what life for her was, “much easier than now. Even back when we were kids. She always had to say something very ... mean to me, like I deserved it. It was easier to deal with it before though. Before Tuney discovered what boys were,” she chuckled and then looked up at the leaves of the willow tree they were under. “Even if Severus... was around, she didn't care. She'd still be,” Lily tried to find a word to describe but instead said, “her.”
“Severus?” her dad repeated, his brows pulling together slightly, as if the name had yanked him out of the conversation entirely. “Oh, right. The boy from Spinner’s End. Your old friend.” His voice carried something unreadable—not quite disapproval, but not exactly warmth either.
Lily glanced at him, momentarily thrown by the way he latched onto that instead of anything she’d just said about Tuney. “Yeah,” she muttered. “Him.”
Her dad hummed, thoughtful. “Quiet kid, wasn’t he? Always lurking about. You never really told me what happened between you and him. I remember you were quite … affected by it.”
Even if Lily didn’t like to admit the truth, she knew quite well that nothing had been the same since her and Severus stopped talking. She didn’t talk about Severus. She didn’t discuss it nor did she like doing it. Not to anyone. Not even to Mary, when they were still close. Once, Remus had brought it up, but the conversation died just as quickly—he hadn’t pushed, hadn’t pried, because he knew he had no right to. He had stood by and watched, done nothing when it mattered, and they both knew it
Of course, the pain had dulled over time, but there was something raw in dragging old wounds into the light.
“He said something very not nice to me,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “And I decided that was it.”
Her father sighed softly and turned his gaze to the horizon for a moment as if collecting his thoughts. Then, he looked back at Lily, his expression pensive.
“I never spoke to the kid, but I do remember how you two were. You’d always come back as bright as a lightbulb when you were little, speaking for hours over dinner of what you and this ‘Sev’ did. And he seemed to be quite happy with your company too,” he nodded to himself, “yeah, lad was always quiet, but you could tell he appreciated having someone there, someone who listened to him. You two, you were always different from the others, but you always had each other.”
He smiled at the memory of little Lily, then proceeded, “I remember you would come home talking about magic this, magic that and Rosie would think you were just dreaming about stuff.”
Lily’s chest tightened at her father’s words. Old memories rising up like a flood she hadn’t been ready to face. She hadn’t thought about those times in years—how easy it had been to spend hours with Severus, how simple things seemed back then. Before everything had changed.
Her father paused, his gaze far away, as though reminiscing about something long past. “And it was clear, even then, that you both would find a way to make it work, despite how different you were. You two had this... unspoken thing, y'know?” He gave a small shrug, as though dismissing the idea as too complicated to explain. “People change, Lily, but some bonds, they don’t always break so easily.”
Then, after a beat, he glanced at her sideways. “This... does it have to do with those politics things your mum banned you from talking about at the dinner table? About Death Goblins and… what was it?” He let out a short chuckle, shaking his head, but there was something knowing in his eyes. He already had his answer.
Lily exhaled slowly. “Something like that,” she murmured, because how could she even begin to explain?
“I saw him twice, you know,” her father added casually, as if it wasn’t such a big deal. "Once, about two weeks ago, when we were bringing you back from London. He was there, standing at the station, heading somewhere. Just as we passed, he looked up. Same old Severus, like he was waiting for something. And then just the other day, I saw him down by the market, walking alone, like he always does.”
Her eyebrows twitched slightly at the mention of his name, though she kept her expression neutral. Her father, ever observant, continued as if he hadn’t noticed.
Her father chuckled lightly and shook his head. “He’s gotten much taller, that one. Last time I saw him, I thought he was going to outgrow his trousers. Needs a new pair, that’s for sure.” He smiled a little, as if the image of Severus in too-small clothes amused him. “Funny, how time changes people.”
Lily stayed silent, her fingers still twisting the blade of grass in her hand, but her mind raced. She had no idea what to say. The thought of Severus, awkward and lanky in ill-fitting trousers, seemed so distant from the man she’d once known. A part of her wanted to know more—how had he changed? What had happened to him in the time they’d been apart? But she couldn’t bring herself to ask.
Instead, she simply nodded, her voice tight when she finally spoke. “Yeah... time changes everyone.”
People change. Maybe he changed. Maybe she changed. She wasn’t sure who started drifting first, but it was quite late to find out too. Or was it? She had buried so much, shoved it into the deepest corners of her mind.
He got up, offering his hand to her. “I think mum and Tuney already made the table ready for us.”
“Right,” Lily nodded; her mind still on the fact that Severus is very much alive and possibly somewhere on the horizon.
Lily took her father’s hand, letting him help her to her feet. She brushed the grass off her jeans, still feeling a strange tightness in her chest as the thought of Severus lingered in her mind. There was so much she didn’t know—so much that had been left unsaid between them, and now, after all this time, it felt too late to turn back.
Did she even know what she wanted to do with her life? Once her N.E.W.T. results would be out, Lily would have to decide what she wanted to do with her life. Not so long ago, when she was asked what she wanted to pursue after her studies, she would confidently say how she planned on becoming an Auror. That was also when she dated Potter. Another chapter she shut right before the end of school, freshly before the exams season.
Now, the idea of becoming an Auror felt distant, like something that had belonged to a version of herself she wasn’t sure existed anymore. Had she truly wanted it, or had it been another expectation she had taken on, another thing that had made sense at the time?
She followed her father toward the house, the familiar creak of the front door echoing as he stepped inside. The warmth of home settled around her, yet she felt oddly detached, as though she were a guest in her own life.
Petunia was already setting plates, her movements precise, efficient. Their mother hummed softly as she adjusted the silverware. It was all so ordinary. So normal. And yet, inside, Lily felt like the world was shifting beneath her feet.
She remembered how she and James would sit together by the Astronomy tower and stare into the dark night sky and talk about the future. Her questions constantly being about the world around and his usually being about just them, their house, their family, their kids–
Maybe that should have been the moment she realized it would never work.
She had loved the idea of a family, of being a mother, ever since she was a child. But that was a dream for a different world, a safer world—not this one, where everything felt like it was teetering on the edge of collapse. How could she think about houses and children when the streets weren’t safe, when names disappeared from the papers when friends left and never came back?
James had spoken about the future like it was something they could carve out for themselves, something they could build together, untouched by everything happening around them. Maybe that was what made him so intoxicating—the way he could make her believe, even for a little while, that love could be enough.
She knew that he loved her. He loved her sickeningly. But he loved her as perfectly as he thought she was, not as she actually was. James had always been so in love with her that he never truly saw the cracks, never let himself acknowledge the flaws, the doubts, the pieces of her that didn’t fit neatly into his vision of them. And maybe, at the time, she had wanted to be that girl for him—the one he saw, the one he adored so completely.
But love like that could be suffocating. It left no room for doubt, no space for questions, no acknowledgement that maybe she wasn’t always kind, that maybe she wasn’t always brave, that maybe she wasn’t sure she wanted the life he imagined for them. Maybe she had never been sure.
And maybe that had been the problem all along.
Maybe sometimes Lily did not want a smug, sarcastic and tryna-keep-it-altogether James Potter, maybe sometimes she wanted a guy who was quiet in the right moments, who didn't always have an answer, who didn’t always need to make things seem lighter than they were. Maybe sometimes she wanted someone who let the silence sit between them without rushing to fill it, who didn’t try to convince her that everything would be okay when maybe it wouldn’t.
Maybe sometimes she wanted someone who saw her not as a girl to be worshipped but as a person—flawed, uncertain, messy. Someone who would sit with her in the dark and let her be unsure.
Sure, she wanted a family one day. The idea of motherhood had always been dear to her. As a little girl, she’d always play with her dolls and imagine the warmth of a home full of life and laughter. But maybe, just maybe, she didn’t need to feel like she had to be perfect to make that happen. Maybe she didn’t need to be the ideal version of herself or the person who had it all figured out, especially when it felt like the world was crumbling into chaos around her.
She hadn’t asked for a life filled with grand gestures, heroic speeches, or the constant pressure to smile through everything. Sometimes, the constant act of performing joy, of pretending that things were fine when they weren’t, was more exhausting than she thought a relationship should be.
She wasn’t even sure what she had felt for James before, and whether the feeling was still there. She wasn’t in love with him, but she did care for him, and perhaps sometimes caring for him too much would tire her. She could never place it exactly—whether it had been admiration, guilt, or some naive hope that if she tried hard enough, she could love him the way he wanted her to. But love wasn’t supposed to be something you tried at, was it? It was meant to be simple, easy, undeniable. And James… James had never felt like that.
As soon as Lily and her dad reached the doorsteps, they found a young man waiting by the door with flowers in his hands. Must be that fella Tuney invited, she thought.
“Hello, Oli—Oliver?” She said unsure whether his name was Oliver.
“Hi, you must be Lily,” he said, offering his hand to shake and then directly switching his focus to her dad, “uh … and I presume you are Mr Evans. Pardon me, I’m Vernon. Vernon Dursley.”
Her dad shook his hand in return as well and the tree entered the house. The warmth of the house hit Lily as soon as they stepped inside, the scent of roasted lamb and buttered potatoes hanging in the air. The living room was dimly lit, save for the soft glow of the lamps and the flicker of a candle on the dining table, which her mother had likely placed there in an attempt to make the dinner feel more formal than it actually was.
The warmth of the house hit Lily as soon as they stepped inside, the scent of roasted lamb and buttered potatoes hanging in the air. The living room was dimly lit, save for the soft glow of the lamps and the flicker of a candle on the dining table, which her mother had likely placed there in an attempt to make the dinner feel more formal than it actually was.
“Ah, yes,” her dad suddenly said, clapping a hand against his forehead as they removed their coats. “Right, right. Tuney’s fella. I forgot I told her to bring you around. Well, come on in then, lad, no use standing in the doorway.”
Lily smirked slightly, watching the way her father gave the man a once-over. He was measuring him, she could tell. Vernon seemed a bit stiff, but to his credit, he straightened his posture and cleared his throat.
“Thank you, Mr. Evans. It’s a pleasure to meet you properly.”
Vernon Dursley was younger than Lily had expected—only twenty-one—but there was something about him that made him seem older, like he was already rehearsing for middle age. He had chubby cheeks, though he wasn’t exactly fat, and his face was perpetually red, as if he had just come in from the cold. His light brown hair curled in a funny way at the edges, resisting any attempt to be properly slicked back. Oh, and he had a ridiculous moustache that would fit a prepubescent boy more than it would suit him.
Her mother, meanwhile, was bustling around the dining room, adjusting cutlery that didn’t need adjusting and fussing with a centrepiece of roses. She was a slender woman with tired yet kind eyes, her auburn hair streaked with early silver. There was a perpetual nervous energy about her as if she were always anticipating something to go wrong.
And Petunia was the same. Constantly, fixing her blonde locks that took her an entire night time make; to be fair, she was always organized and very taken-care of, unlike Lily, who much preferred to cut her bangs herself and let her hair dry on its own in summer.
She looked at Petunia, studying her facial expressions. She wanted to understand if her sister was in love, or whether this was just a gateway to a life Tuney desired at some point. It wasn’t just about impressing him, though that was certainly part of it. No, there was something else, something softer . The way Petunia’s fingers grazed Vernon’s sleeve absentmindedly, the way her face warmed whenever he spoke, the way she laughed—not her usual sharp, practiced laugh, but something real.
“Oh, there you are, dear,” she said, noticing them in the hallway. “Dinner’s ready. Vernon, I do hope you like lamb. Petunia didn’t mention any dietary restrictions.”
“No, no, lamb is perfectly fine,” he said, offering her a polite, if somewhat stiff, smile.
“Good, good. Well, sit, everyone, before it gets cold.”
The table was set neatly, the dishes placed with care. It wasn’t a grand affair, but there was an effort behind it—one that made Lily feel both touched and slightly uncomfortable. Her family wasn’t used to formal guests. They were used to messy weekday dinners, her dad reading the newspaper while eating, her mum fussing over everyone’s portions, and Tuney making disapproving noises when Lily put her elbows on the table.
They settled in, the scrape of chairs against the floor punctuating the brief silence.
“So, Vernon,” her dad started, carving into the lamb. “What do you do?”
Vernon straightened, puffing up a little, as if he had been waiting for this question all night. “I work at Grunnings,” he said. “It’s a drill company. I’m in the junior management program right now, but I have good prospects. Steady work, good people.”
“Drills,” her father echoed, recognising the company's name. “Not the most thrilling business, I imagine.”
“Well,” Vernon chuckled—an awkward, clipped sound. “It’s a stable industry. And there’s room for growth. I plan to climb the ranks, of course.”
Lily glanced at Petunia, who was sitting beside him, hands folded primly in her lap. She looked pleased—more than pleased, actually. There was an almost smug satisfaction on her face, as if she expected their parents to be impressed.
“And what about you, Petunia?” their mother asked, passing the potatoes while trying to include everyone in the conversation. “How’s your work at the office?”
“Oh, quite good,” Tuney said, smoothing down her skirt. “Mr. Thackeray says I’m one of the most efficient employees. He’s considering me for an assistant role.”
“That’s wonderful, dear,” their mum said warmly.
Lily reached for the wine her dad had set on the table, pouring herself a small glass before looking at Vernon again. He was watching Petunia as she spoke, a small, approving nod accompanying her words.
She wasn’t prepared to listen to this unfold soberly.
Lily had expected Petunia to be anxious about Vernon’s opinion, but strangely enough, it seemed to go both ways. There was something oddly tender in the way she looked at him, as if she actually adored him—an expression Lily had never quite seen on her before.
She hadn’t been like this with any of the guys before, and maybe that was why it felt strange to her. Maybe, after all, the thought of her sister leaving her life for … forever unsettled her for a bit. She had spent years assuming Petunia only wanted a life that was neat, orderly, and respectable, that she would marry someone proper and stable simply because it was the right thing to do. But now, watching her sister glance at Vernon like he had hung the moon, Lily wasn’t sure what to think.
Lily found it unsettling.
”And where are you from originally?” Mr Evans asked, sipping the wine.
“Southampton”
How boring, Lily thought.
“But I studied at the University of Birmingham, and I figured—well, it’s easier to have a start in a smaller, not-so-overcrowded city, isn’t it?”
Lily was already halfway through her glass.
Lily’s mum, ever the gracious host, placed a generous spoonful of potatoes on Vernon’s plate, smiling warmly. “You must try these—Petunia makes them with butter and a bit of rosemary.”
Vernon glanced at the food, then forced a polite smile. “Ah, thank you, Mrs. Evans, but I shouldn’t eat too much.”
Petunia’s back straightened, and she shot him a sharp look. “You don’t like it?”
“No, no, it’s not that,” Vernon said quickly. “It’s just—well, I’m, uh, watching what I eat.”
Lily could see the way Tuney’s hands tensed in her lap, her jaw tightening slightly. She’d spent the whole day making sure the house was spotless, fussing over dinner, making sure everything was just right. And now Vernon wasn’t eating much.
Her father, oblivious to the shift in mood, turned to Vernon again. “And what about your family? What do they do?”
Vernon straightened his posture, clearly eager to make a good impression. “My father works in shipping, and my mother runs a small business—home décor, that sort of thing.”
Her mother nodded approvingly. “That sounds lovely.”
The conversation carried on, a mix of polite small talk and Vernon’s enthusiastic—if slightly dull—explanations about his job. Then, as Lily was quietly finishing her meal, Vernon turned his attention to her.
“I also, like Petunia, have a sister,” he turned to look at Lily, who was ready to be buried alive. “Although, she is older than me,” he chuckled nervously, then continued, “Petunia told me you went to a boarding school. Where will you be going this September?”
Lily opened her mouth, but before she could answer, Petunia spoke for her.
“She is taking a gap year.”
Lily took a big sip of her wine glass before setting it down a little too hard.
Vernon nodded, looking interested. “Ah, I see. Some prefer that, I know. I mean it’s fine to do that, especially for a young girl such as you. I, myself, did not want to waste a minute. Time is a precious thing for a man, right?” He looked over at Mr Evans, hoping for a chuckle, but the man just smiled and nodded, unaware of what to say.
Lily wanted to say that time was just as important for a young girl such as her but preferred to not. Wasn’t worth it, she thought.
Then he asked again. “What did you study for your A-levels? I mean Petunia told me once but I forgot, you see.”
Again, Petunia cut in before Lily could even form a response. “Sciences, mostly. But she’s still figuring things out.”
Lily, this time, put her fork down and added to her sister’s response, “I took chemistry, biology and mathematics.”
Which was not a lie, technically.
She had been fine with sitting there, smiling politely, letting the dinner drag on. But there was something about Petunia speaking for her—as if Lily wasn’t present in her own life, as if she was just a quiet little accessory to Petunia’s carefully curated evening—that made her patience snap.
“Lily went to a special boarding school,” her mother added, then realized it might have sounded like something for kids with disabilities. “She was quite bright for her age, so they accepted her on full scholarship.”
Lily hated when her parents spoke about her school like it was some grand accomplishment, as if she had fought tooth and nail for a scholarship rather than simply being born with the ability to do things no one else in this room could. It always sounded like they were trying to translate something untranslatable like they were dressing it up to be more palatable for people like Vernon. But even then, it always came out wrong—like she was some prodigy instead of just different.
And Petunia hated it too.
“That’s nice,” Petunia said quickly, plastering on a tight smile. “But enough about school, let’s not bore Vernon with all that.”
Lily took another sip of wine, letting the taste settle on her tongue as she watched her sister effortlessly steer the conversation elsewhere. It was impressive, really—how smoothly she could redirect attention, how easily she could erase parts of Lily’s life that didn’t fit into whatever neat little world she was trying to build.
Instead, Petunia launched into some story about her office, about how one of the secretaries had worn the wrong color stockings and how improper it had looked, and Vernon nodded along, chuckling at all the right moments. He was clearly enjoying himself now, fitting in perfectly with the version of Petunia that she had crafted for him—efficient, put-together, no-nonsense.
Lily leaned back in her chair, twirling the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from tonight, but watching her sister fall into this role so seamlessly—watching her tuck away all the parts of herself that didn’t fit—left an uneasy feeling in her stomach.
And maybe that’s what unsettled her the most. Not that Petunia had brought Vernon home. Not that she clearly adored him. But that she had done what Lily never could—she had chosen a version of herself and committed to it, wholeheartedly, without hesitation.
Lily didn’t know if she envied her for it or pitied her.
Lily set down her glass with a soft clink against the table and cleared her throat.
“May I be excused?” she asked, already pushing her chair back slightly.
Her mother blinked at her. “You’ve hardly finished your plate, dear.”
“I’m not very hungry.”
Petunia shot her a look, but before she could say anything, their father waved a hand dismissively. “Let her go if she wants. The girl’s got legs might as well use them.”
Lily took that as her cue to leave, grabbing a coat from the rack by the door and slipping into it in one fluid motion. As she buttoned it up, she felt Petunia’s gaze on her back—watchful, disapproving.
“Don’t be out too long,” her mother called after her.
Lily didn’t respond. She simply stepped outside while wearing her father’s Barbour jacket, pulled the door shut behind her, and inhaled deeply. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp leaves and distant chimney smoke. It was a stark contrast to the warmth of the house, to the weight of that dinner table conversation pressing against her chest.
She set off down the pavement, hands tucked into her pockets, her breath unfurling in soft clouds. The streetlights hummed faintly above her, casting long, golden streaks across the empty sidewalk. She didn’t have a destination in mind—she just needed to move. To be away from all of it, from Vernon’s pompous little comments, from Petunia’s careful curation of her life, from the unspoken things that had sat between them all like an extra guest at the table.
Lily exhaled sharply, shaking her head. Maybe she was being dramatic. Maybe she should’ve just sat there and played along, let Petunia have her perfect evening. But she couldn’t. She never could.
She reached the edge of the neighbourhood, where the houses thinned out and the sky stretched wider above her. A cigarette would’ve been nice right now, but she hadn’t thought to bring one. Instead, she just stood there for a moment, staring up at the dark expanse above, letting the quiet settle around her like a second skin.
She wondered if she’d ever be able to sit through one of those dinners without feeling like an outsider in her own home.
The night was chill, and Lily dreaded how she did not take her Walkman with herself. It was a perfect moment for a Walkman, a cigarette, and maybe some more wine, hence she walked down to the city centre.
Since her childhood, she never liked the town she lived in. It felt too diminishing, too draining, too empty. Her best memories in this city were only outside in nature. Those had been the days she spent with him—Severus. Back when he was her only real friend before everything got complicated. They’d found solace in the space between them, between the world and their thoughts. Now, even his presence felt distant, like a ghost of what they used to be.
Her steps were slow as she made her way toward the city centre. The glow of the streetlamps seemed too sharp tonight, the shadows too dark. Since her childhood, she never liked the town she lived in. It felt too diminishing, too draining, too empty. She’d never quite fit in with its rhythm, and as much as she tried to pretend she was just like everyone else, she always felt separate from it all.
She pulled her knuckles tighter inside the pockets of the beige coat. Surely, once the sun went down, everywhere would be much colder than expected, even if it was the middle of summer. It was one of those nights where everything felt oddly still, as though time itself had paused.
The city centre was always different at night. Quieter in some ways, but not in a peaceful way—just emptied out, waiting for something to happen. The few people left were mostly men, some alone, some in groups, lingering outside pubs or sitting on benches with bottles in their hands. Their voices carried through the streets, slurred and careless, laughter cutting through the silence like a jagged blade.
Lily walked past them without a second thought, her gaze fixed ahead. She was used to it. The way men took up space without thinking, how their presence made her aware of her own. But she was too tired to care tonight.
She turned onto a narrower street, one she knew well. The cobblestones were uneven, worn down by time, and the dim orange glow of the streetlamps barely reached the ground. The smell of beer and cigarettes lingered in the air, blending into the dampness of the night.
A sharp whistle cut through the quiet.
"Oi, sweetheart!"
Lily ignored it. Kept walking.
"Where you off to in such a rush?" Another voice, deeper, laughing.
Her shoulders tensed, but she didn’t slow down.
The footsteps behind her did.
"Bit rude, that," one of them slurred. "We’re just being friendly."
She could hear them now, closer than before. Two, maybe three of them.
“Like your boots on those legs of yours.”
She stopped because she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, not from fear, but madness. Yet there she stood, annoyed at everyone and everything. She turned slightly, enough to see them in her periphery. Three of them swayed slightly, eyes glazed over with a drink.
“Piss off, will ya?”
Silence for a beat. Then, laughter—low, mean.
“That’s not very nice,” one of them drawled, and he took a step closer, his weight shifting forward—
The laughter didn’t stop until it did.
Not because Lily said anything—she knew better than to waste her breath. Not because she moved, because moving would mean they’d follow.
It stopped because the air changed.
Not the way it does when a storm is coming, not the way it does when the wind shifts. This was quieter, something only the body understood before the mind could catch up. A pressure drop. A shiver up the spine.
One of them—broad shoulders, piss-drunk, and grinning like he owned the street—reached for her. Fingers brushing the sleeve of her coat.
And then he lurched back, cursing, shaking out his arm—because his coat was on fire.
A thin, wicked blue flame curled up the fabric before snuffing out just as fast as it had appeared, leaving behind a blackened streak. It hadn’t touched his skin, but he sure as hell felt it.
There he stood. Severus.
He grabbed the man by the half-burned collar, yanking him forward with surprising ease—because pain made people weak, and Severus knew how to use that. His fist cracked against the man’s cheekbone, a solid hit, sending him staggering into the alley wall.
The second one lunged, but Severus was faster. He shifted, side-stepping just enough, and drove his knee straight into the man’s ribs. Something cracked—whether it was bone or just the air being forced from his lungs, Lily didn’t know.
The third hesitated, like his brain was catching up to the fact that things weren’t going as planned.
Severus pulled him back by his collar, and, methodically enough, stepped onto his knee cap as he yanked him down, twisting just enough for the pressure to land where it hurt the most. The man crumpled with a sharp, broken sound—half a scream, half a gasp—his knee buckling under Severus’ weight.
Lily flinched. Not at the sound, but at the sheer precision of it.
It wasn’t like some messy pub brawl, fists thrown just to throw them. It wasn’t even like a fight. It was something quieter, colder. Every move meant something. Every move did exactly what it needed to do.
The man writhed on the pavement, clutching his leg, cursing between ragged breaths.
Severus didn’t even spare him a glance.
Instead, he wiped his bloody knuckles against his coat—calmly, like he’d just taken out the trash—before finally looking at her.
Then he took a pack out of his pocket and started smoking.
Lily exhaled sharply, shaking her head as she took in the scene—the groaning men on the pavement, the smell of burnt fabric still lingering in the air, and Severus, standing there as none of it had happened, lighting a cigarette with steady hands.
“For fuck’s sake, Severus,” she muttered, half to herself. “Couldn’t just tell them to piss off like a normal person?”
Severus took a slow drag, the ember at the tip glowing in the dim light. His expression didn’t change, but there was something in his eyes—something unreadable, something that made her stomach twist in a way she wasn’t sure she liked.
He exhaled, smoke curling around his face. “Didn’t feel like talking.”