revisiting the netherfield ball
Lily entered the ballroom of Netherfield hurriedly, allowing Mary and Marlene to venture off where they chose and peering in vain around the clusters of soldiers for her brother or Mr. Potter. There were already quite a few in assembly, though the ball had not officially begun; she eventually spotted Mr. Potter animatedly instructing the band on what to play to properly get the party going. Lily could feel the smile creeping onto her face as much as she tried to suppress it, but Mr. Potter was in such fine form she couldn’t hide her pleasure. She’d never seen him give up or exhibit half-effort on any matter at all; He was an ever-moving ball of energy and light bouncing about each room he inhabited. He wouldn’t rest until all in attendance were having as splendid a time as he was, and he nearly always succeeded. Lily caught his eye as soon as she could, offering him a slight wave and modestly tucking her hair behind her ear. He beamed at her, waving back far more energetically. Lily felt a burst of happiness spark in her chest at the attention.
She lifted the hem of her skirts slightly and began to pick her way through the crowd over to him, but was stopped by an unfamiliar soldier before long. “Good evening,” he began, stepping in front of her and blocking her path. Lily tried to peer over his shoulder to catch sight of Mr. Potter again, but her vision was effectively obscured. She tried not to seem too disappointed as she resigned herself to conversation. “Good evening,” she replied politely, bowing her head. He was around her age, tall and lanky, with stringy black hair and a few dark freckles scattered across his cheeks and down his neck. He was somewhat nice-looking, though the slope of his features gave him a perpetual gloomy look that seeped into his dry monotone. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” he commented blandly, looking Lily up and down. “I’m sure I would have remembered.”
Lily blinked. She didn’t get the impression he meant to flatter her, only that he was stating an objective fact, but still she smiled and graciously tipped her head again. “Nor I you! You’re with the garrison stationed here, I presume?” His uniform was evidence enough of that, but Lily wasn’t sure what else to say. He slid his hands into the pockets of his red coat at her words, as if only just remembering he was wearing it. “Yes,” he said. “We’ve only been stationed here a week or so. The name’s Snape, if you were wondering. Severus Snape. And yours?” He studied her carefully. Lily curtsied to him and smiled warmly, the way she always did when forming a new acquaintance. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Snape. I’m Lily Evans of the Lupin family. I’ve lived in Meryton all my life, if you ever need assistance with anything. Please excuse me, I’m afraid I’ve got to—”
“Miss Evans, is it?” he went on rhetorically, trapping her further in the conversation. She didn’t particularly like the way he said her name, like it belonged to him. There was something reverent about the way Mr. Potter said the words, like her name was sweet and feather-light on his tongue, a complete contrast to Mr. Snape’s quiet purr. “Would you care to dance with me?” he asked, more a demand than a question. Lily’s stomach gave an unhappy lurch. “It doesn’t seem like anyone’s doing much dancing right now,” she replied delicately, surveying the crowd for a familiar face. He shifted again to block her view, fixing her with the same stony look as before. “I could come find you once the music starts,” he suggested, maintaining eye contact. Lily sighed internally. She had been hoping to spend most of the night off the dance floor, enjoying the company of her new friends, but it would be undeniably rude to deny this gentleman. “Alright,” she said. “Pardon me, I’ve got to—”
It was at this moment she spotted Marlene, merrily and obliviously making her way over to Miss Meadowes, who was grinning at her like they’d been separated for years, rather than just a few days. Right before the two met, Marlene stumbled over her skirts and crashed into a nearby waiter, sending a tray of drinks toppling to the ground with a loud crash. Lily flinched, watching the mortified flush bloom over Marlene’s cheeks. “Excuse me,” she told the man quickly, side-stepping him and hurrying over to where her sister was scrambling to collect the many shards of glass with her bare hands and babbling at the server, apologising profusely and making no sense at all. “Marlene!” Lily exclaimed when she got close enough. “Do be careful, it’s not—” Too late, Marlene yelped like a wounded dog, dropping a fragment of glass to the floor and clutching her right palm, crimson blood blossoming against her pale skin and trickling down her arm. The waiter looked positively appalled, surely convinced he was to be blamed for the whole debacle, but Miss Meadowes calmly assured him all would be fine and sent him off to the kitchens to fetch a broom for the glass. Next, she carefully took Marlene’s arm, one hand placed at her elbow and one on her lower back to gently lead her away from the mess. She shook her head with fond exasperation and murmured something to Marlene as she led her from the room, appearing to soothe her without taking out much of the sting of embarrassment. Lily tried not to be amused by the situation. Marlene was always getting herself into fixes like this, always moving too fast or thinking too little, but somehow it was endearing each time, charming in its earnestness. She hardly seemed to notice the blood beginning to stain the front of her skirt as she replied to her friend. Lily would have to take great pains scrubbing it out of the pale blue fabric later that evening.
Mr. Potter quickly approached, drawn by the sound of the crash, and was soon joined by a frazzled-looking Mr. Black, whose hair was wild and tie slung low in a manner uncharacteristic of the ordinarily well-put-together aristocrat. “What’s happened?” Mr. Potter asked worriedly, face drawn in concern. “Is Miss McKinnon alright?” Lily nodded, patting him on the arm soothingly. “Yes, she’s quite alright,” she assured. “Just a little clumsy is all. I believe Miss Meadowes will see to her wound?” She gestured in the direction the two hurried off in. Mr. Black bobbed his head dumbly, too preoccupied to even fully register the mess on the floor. “Right,” he said. “Right. She’s excellent with that sort of thing. Well. All’s, er… All’s fine here? No other fires to put out?” He looked at Lily hopefully, as if wishing she would burst into tears and proclaim there was some disaster afoot in need of his solving. Lily smiled at his rounded eyes. He could actually be rather cute at times. Lily supposed she saw what Remus liked about him. “All’s fine here, Mr. Black,” she replied, trying not to laugh at the comical way his shoulders slumped at the news.
“Oh!” Lily exclaimed the next moment, just remembering. “There is something you can help me with after all. Have you happened to see my brother, by any chance?” Mr. Black reddened considerably. He mumbled something incoherent, scuffing his shoe a little on the ballroom tile. “Pardon?” Lily could see Mr. Potter hiding a laugh behind a hand.
“He’s, uh…” Mr. Black’s voice cracked, and he made a consequent show of clearing his throat. “He’s on the back porch, actually. He’s not feeling the best. I just came in because I heard a commotion, but I— Um. I guess I’ll just go join him out there again, shall I?” he replied apprehensively, shifting from foot to foot. Mr. Potter clapped him on the back heartily, dripping with good cheer. “Right on, mate! Have fun!” No one said anything after that, but Mr. Black lingered for a while longer, as if hoping someone were planning on stalling him or urging him not to return. When neither Lily nor Mr. Potter did such a thing, he sighed and strode away, downing a glass of wine before slipping out the back door again.
Mr. Potter signalled encouragingly at the band and they started up right away, immediately indulging in an upbeat number not a single person in attendance could avoid at least tapping their foot to. Mr. Potter grinned at her and held out a hand, but Lily unhappily shook her head, remembering her engagement. “I’m afraid I promised my first dance to some soldier fellow who stopped me on the way over here.” She laughed, finding the situation really quite humorous and inconsequential now that she was by Mr. Potter’s side once again. He laughed too, pretending to press a devastated hand over his heart. “Ah, foolish me! I should never have invited such a man! I meant for your attention to be lavished upon myself alone!”
“Alas,” indulged Lily, “Whatever shall you do now?”
“Soldier on in your absence, I suppose,” Mr. Potter replied dramatically, shaking his head. “The only way I know how.”
Lily laughed and reached out a hand to pat her friend on the cheek. “Find me after?”
He smiled right back at her. “Will do.”
—
“You must learn to be careful,” Dorcas chided gently after settling Marlene down at a small wooden table in the corner of the side-room off the main hall. Dorcas set about bustling through the cabinets in search of bandages, as Marlene continued on her nervous chatter. “It’s not— I mean, you don’t think those glasses were expensive, do you? It was only an accident, but still I’m not sure if I could afford—” Dorcas merely laughed, returning to the table with the proper supplies in hand. “Have you met James?” she teased. “I’m sure he feels awful that you injured yourself at all! I promise you, the broken cups are the last thing on his mind.” Marlene let out a breath it seemed she’d been holding, but she still appeared agitated, not holding still enough for Dorcas to dab the antiseptic onto her cut. “And do— Well, do you think I messed up the party?” she went on, bouncing her leg. “Is everyone just trying to dance around a pile of blood-covered glass shards? Do you think it’s putting a damper on the mood? Is there anything—”
“Marlene,” Dorcas interrupted firmly. Marlene finally met her eye, still looking frightened. Dorcas gestured for her to take a deep breath, which she complied. “Marlene,” she said again. “Everything’s fine. I’m sure they’re cleaning it up right now, you haven’t ruined anything, only you need to let me clean and dress your wound right now, alright? That’s what’s most important.”
Marlene still looked apprehensive, but she nevertheless stretched out her palm to reveal the damage. Dorcas set about cleaning it immediately, carefully soaking up the blood with an old rag and applying the antiseptic. Marlene flinched when it touched her skin and Dorcas paused, smiling sympathetically. “Just a little more,” she said softly, and Marlene nodded for her to continue. The cut was long but shallow; Dorcas had no doubt it would heal smoothly, though Marlene might bear a slight scar. She carefully wrapped bandages around the palm, and Marlene offered her a grateful smile as she finished, flexing her fingers under the white gauze. “There you go,” Dorcas said, clasping Marlene’s wrist and giving the delicate skin there a tender little kiss. “All better.” The surprised little gasp Marlene let out was encouragement enough.
Dorcas peppered kisses all the way up Marlene’s arm to her shoulder, where the sleeve of her gown had slipped off in the commotion. Marlene readjusted the strap with one hand while the other reached up to cup Dorcas’s cheek so she could properly kiss her, angled in just the right way to elicit a soft sigh.
The first time it happened, they’d been hungry and frenzied and desperate; crashing into one another, running fingers over skin and up skirts, doing whatever it took to feel the other against them. It was as though a fiery yearning had suddenly consumed them entirely, an ache that could only be satisfied by the other’s touch.
Every time since then had been less desperate, less greedy, but just as passionate. They didn’t mind being slower, more thorough, because there was something almost better about the tenderness, about taking the time to get familiar with every inch of skin, every sweet hushed noise. Dorcas was nearly in Marlene’s lap by this point, fingers slipping into golden hair, when Marlene pulled away, rosy-cheeked and laughing.
“Dorcas!” she cried. “Was patching up my hand just a clever ruse to get me alone in here?” Dorcas trailed kisses down her neck. “Why? Would you have not done the same?” she murmured against her skin.
Marlene shook her head, still laughing. “Heavens, no. Of course I would have. I just wanted to hear you admit you fancy me.”
Dorcas met her gaze again, grinning unabashedly. “I fancy you, Marlene,” she declared, and Marlene beamed and kissed her once more. “I fancy you, too.”
It was Dorcas who broke their contact this time, finally standing and beginning to clear the tools she’d used on Marlene’s hand back to the cupboard she retrieved them from. “We’d better get back to the party,” Dorcas began, rinsing her hands in the sink. “No doubt they’ll be missing us before—” She paused, distracted by a sight a little ways outside the window, a scene made blurry by the purpling dusk. “Is that—?” She cut herself off again, too astonished by what she saw to continue. Marlene walked over to peer out the window as well, mouth falling open in shock. There Mr. Lupin sat, demeanour melancholic, hardly seeming to notice the fireflies beginning to flutter around him. Further behind him stood Sirius, face illuminated by the light of the insects, studying the other man like it physically hurt to look at him; like his heart could nearly burst for longing. Mr. Lupin absentmindedly touched two fingers to his lips and Sirius mirrored him; Dorcas felt realisation click into place in her mind with a jolt. When Sirius finally moved to sit beside him, breathing deeply in and out, Marlene shut the curtains forcefully and spun to face Dorcas, both coming out of their shock and beginning to voice their amazement at the same moment.
“So, Mr. Black—”
“Well, it seems so!”
“And Remus?”
“He’s your brother!”
“But I never knew!”
“Well, we still don’t know now, do we?”
“But Mr. Black certainly—”
“Oh yes, without a doubt!”
“Did you know?”
“Not in the least, but that look’s undeniable, isn’t it?”
“Surely so! Do you think—”
“—Sirius tried it on and now Mr. Lupin’s upset with him? It’s possible!”
“Remus wouldn’t! That can’t be what they’re fighting about, but Remus has been so depressed lately—”
“So has Sirius! Always sighing wistfully, and—”
“—and always so unhappily distracted! Yes! Well, now I think of it, Remus seemed very taken with him when they first met, always keen to see him—”
“And Sirius as well! Always cheering up every time he came ’round no matter how dismal he was for the rest of us—”
The two broke off then, each constructing the events of the past weeks in her own mind with this new added layer. Marlene clapped a hand over her mouth, dumbfounded. Then she began to laugh. “Saints, what a family!” she declared, shaking her head in bewilderment. “Christ Almighty.”
Dorcas laughed too, more pleased than she cared to admit that there were more people like her out there, that it wasn’t just her and Marlene and the faceless people you heard discussed in hushed voices by nosy neighbours. Sirius, one of her very dearest friends. Sirius, who was so hard on himself and so conditioned to believe anything other than tradition was wrong, who had such pressure on him at home and such self-doubt. It would not be easy for him, but if anyone were to understand a fraction of what he was going through, it was her. None of them were nearly as alone as they’d always feared.
—
James was tidying up Netherfield’s ballroom, still riding the high of the night’s festivities, when he saw Sirius once more. He realised now that Sirius was absent for the majority of the ball, though James had been too preoccupied to notice. Perhaps he’d caught whatever Remus had? He looked far more ashen-faced than usual, and seemed almost to be in a daze. “You alright, mate?” James asked, righting an upset vase of flowers. James’s concern grew when his friend remained silent, and he surveyed Sirius carefully for the usual signs of distress. It made all too much sense when James glimpsed what was clenched tightly in Sirius’s right hand: the tell-tale stationary used by members of the Noble and Most Anciente House of Black. Sirius’s hand was shaking. It took him quite a while to get any words out.
“We have to go home,” he uttered finally, speaking with the difficulty of a mouth stuffed full of cotton. “It’s my father.”
James felt his stomach drop. “Christ,” he muttered, suddenly wracked with anxiety. “It’s— It’s not Regulus, is it? Is he alright?”
Sirius shook his head dully. “No, it’s not that,” he said. “Regulus is fine.”
James felt the tension loosen in his shoulders, but still he was confused. “Then what’s the problem? Why must we go back to Derbyshire?”
Sirius uncrumpled the paper in his fist and tossed it disinterestedly to James, who scrambled to catch it. “It’s my father,” he repeated. “My father is dead.”