Rule #13

Things are different now that Remus knows about the Marauders—Lily catalogs all the changes like an end-of-quarter report, noting each time Remus actively seeks them out, individually and as a group, counting his questions, his words, his sighs. 

Their infamous, ancient friend group has finally settled into something balanced: Lily and Remus the representatives of common sense, James and Sirius the ambassadors of chaos, and Peter, the double agent. 

It’s as familiar as it is bizarre, a sequel to the best-selling novel that was their childhood; sure, the characters are all grown up now, but their devotion remains unmatched. 

Now when they meet in the hammock village or the tree house or even the Lodge late at night, conversation only sometimes derails into mischief, and Remus is there to exchange dry quips with Peter, unintentionally galvanize James’ misplaced sense of heroics, and worship Sirius with the usual steamy stare and the more recent wooing. At least, Lily thinks that’s what Remus is trying to do with all his soft compliments and lingering touches, but it’s entirely likely that it’s automatic. Sirius and Remus flirting is, after all, second nature. 

As for Lily…well, Remus is more her reflection than anything. Stubborn and stoic and, when necessary, sassy. 

That resemblance had been evident since the first night Remus came to Hogwarts, when he barged in on Lily and Pandora, and the night somehow ended in Lily’s office, both of them tipsy, swapping literature recommendations. 

Remus doesn’t need to remember, even to know, in order for him and Lily to work. They just do. 

“Take the Sex Education initiative,” Lily continues, glaring at the stars. “He’s just given me full control over what and how we have the counselors tell the campers. I suggest we order books so the campers have appropriate visuals, and he agrees. I suggest we add an asexuality component, with Peter advising, and he agrees. I even suggest we craft some Star Chats on the topic and guess what, he agrees!”

Remus is quiet beside Lily’s shoulder. Both of their backs are pressed into the damp grass of the North Lawn, the slope into the Black Lake just a couple of yards away. The night sky is a blanket of sparkle and glimmer and flicker, with an extra special gleam thanks to the nearly full moon.  

“So clearly Dumbledore’s changed his approach. But that’s probably just a reaction to you and Mary’s conversations with him, no?” Remus shifts his head to look at Lily. “Maybe it means he’s actually trying to do better.”

Lily still breaks out in goosebumps at the memory of confronting Dumbledore that day, or maybe it’s the memory of what came after that summons the shudder. She promptly kicks away all thoughts of that kiss and Mary, god, Mary. 

No, she tells herself. Stop thinking about her like that. Lily breathes through the ache in her chest and focuses on the conversation at hand. 

“I mean, he’s finally listening to me in a way he never has…” Lily trails off. “But Dumbledore’s almost too acquiescent, it’s like he’s resigned to all the changes I’m making.”

“And you think that’s because he’s about to retire?”

Lily slumps her head to the side, meeting Remus’ gaze. “Maybe.”

“I don’t think his reasons should be something you should have to worry about.”

Lily almost rolls her eyes before Remus cuts in, “But I’m sure you will worry regardless. So I say…well, you talked to him before, so do it again. Make it the new norm.”

“What, calling Dumbledore out on his shit?”

“Yeah.” Remus’ smirk is teasing. “I don’t think you realize just how much power you’ve got here, Lily. He fires you and half the staff will quit in protest. Not to mention that Dumbledore won’t know what the hell to do without you.”

Lily snorts. “I don’t think he would fire me.” At least she hopes that he won’t dismiss her like that—write her off the way her family did all those years ago.

“No, I agree,” Remus says, perhaps just to console her. “Dumbledore might be negligent, but he’s not rash.”

A fluttering sound by Lily’s ear makes her lurch up, hand posed to squish a mosquito between her hands—when she spots it. “Oh.”

“A firefly,” Remus whispers, sitting up too. 

The beetle flies in loops around them, its glowing butt tracing the stars far above. Lily tilts her head in awe, her attention never waving from the glow-in-the-dark shapes its quick flight makes. Fireflies aren’t common this far north, so she savors any chance to watch them. 

“How did you get the nickname?”

“Firefly?” Lily asks, eyes still on the beetle.

“Yeah.” 

Lily loves when Remus asks questions about their shared past but this one, well, this one’s not the most flattering story to tell. 

Of course, that’s when Peter arrives. “Oh don’t worry, I’ll tell you, Remus.” 

Peter sits in the grass slowly so as to not scare off the beetle. “We all managed to get our hideous nicknames our first summer, but Lily was the hardest to think up. Sirius and James wanted to pick something related to her hair, but you and I agreed that we should be more inventive.”

Lily’s stomach warms at Remus’ laugh. 

“And then one day, Lily had this brilliant idea,” Peter continues. “She was full of ideas even then. Especially then. With the help of Dumbledore’s library, which she visited every other day, mind you, she convinced us all to learn Morse Code so we could speak to each other in secret. Most of the camp knew Pig Latin so that wasn’t going to cut it, and while James could speak Urdu and a bit of Punjabi, and Sirius understood a shit ton of romance languages, you, Lily, and I were lacking in the linguistics department.”

“So we went with Morse Code?” Remus’ smile bleeds into his tone.

“Yep. The first night we tried it in the cabin, when our counselor snuck out to have a meeting or who knows what, Lily used a flashlight to spell out a word to James.”

Lily finally looks away from the firefly and sighs at Peter. “I was trying to say hello.”

“And yet, you spelled dick.”

Peter and Remus laugh together and it’s so much like it was then, and yet so strangely different, that it makes Lily a little dizzy. 

“But what does Morse Code have anything to do with fireflies?” Remus says. 

“Fireflies use flashes as mating signals,” a voice drawls from behind them. “Or so you told us after we all laughed our asses off, teasing Lily for making a move on Prongs—”

“I was not making a move,” Lily interrupts Sirius. 

“Sure, sure.” Sirius grins and sits beside Peter, laying out her legs, and crossing them at the ankles. 

Lily shoves his feet playfully until Remus asks softly, “So I came up with the nickname Firefly?”

Sirius, Peter, and Lily share a look. As much fun as it is to reminisce, there are moments when Remus’ memory loss—all the good, the joy, hell, the childhood that his amnesia stole from him—hit hard. There’s a ruthless rift between what they know and he doesn’t, the nostalgia they claim and he can’t. 

Of course, there are some things Lily is glad Remus will never recall—the uncertain life of an army brat, moving from town to town, not to mention the anger of his father and the silence of his mother. Some of Remus’ past hold secrets that only Lily seems to know, like what spurred that scar on his face. It hadn’t been another drunken fit, no, Remus’ dad was almost sober when he found that letter from Sirius. The one that talked about their first kiss. The one that proved what Lyall Lupin had always feared—Remus was gay.

Lily hasn’t told any of the Marauders that truth, and unless Remus changes his mind, she won’t tell him either. 

“It’s a good nickname,” Remus eventually says. “Firefly.”

“Much better than Phoenix.” Lily shoots Sirius a look. 

Sirius ignores her, admiring his nails recently painted by Luna and Millie. “Whatever, you’re only saying that cause you like Moony better.”

Lily smirks. “True.”

“Mmm. Let me guess, you two came here early to talk without us?” 

“Also true.” She would make no apologies for hogging Remus, not when Sirius could and should hang out with Moony themself—in fact, Lily intends to poke the bear to accomplish just that. “Not my fault Moony likes me better too.”

Sirius’ jaw falls open and they turn to Remus expectantly. “Well, Dr. Moony?”

“I—that’s, I mean, I’m not—” Remus’ rather adorable stammering ends when James runs across the field, hands waving in the air. 

“I’m sorry I’m late!” James pants when he makes it to them, his hands on his knees. 

“You scared off the firefly!” Lily scoffs. 

“What are you talking about, you’re right here?”

“An actual firefly, James.”

“Oh!” He smiles. “That’s so cool. Wait, I scared it off? That’s horrible.”

Sirius grabs James’ hand and pulls him down to the grass beside her. “What took you so long?”

Lily bites back a smile as Sirius curls up beside James, and they settle into a half-hug, half-cuddle, their bodies merging into one chimera of limbs, with pale and bronze skin, messy and sleek hair. 

“I missed you,” Sirius mumbles into James’ shirt. 

“I’m sorry, I was with Reg and I lost track of time because…well, you know. It’s Reggie.”

It’s confusing, the contradictions Lily feels seeing that lovesick smile on James’ face. All she’s ever wanted is for James to be happy, to find a partner that spoils him the way he deserves. But another part of her can’t help but hate that he gets to feel it and she doesn’t. 

That for once, they aren’t miserable together. 

The thought is petty and cruel, and Lily quickly punches it away like she does those involving a certain coworker. She’s happy for James and Regulus. Her friends are thriving, camp is thriving, and she is too, god damn it. 

Sirius pulls away from James with an exaggerated groan. “I’ve been replaced! My own best friend and my brother! Neither care about me anymore, I’m but a mere pebble in their beach of love, a drop in their ocean of devotion, an ember within their wildfire—”

“Padfoot?” Lily cuts in. 

“Yeah, Firefly?” 

“Shut up.”

Sirius scowls, but when Remus laughs quietly, his face softens. “Hi, Moony.”

“Hi, Sirius.” Remus bites his bottom lip. “You look nice.”

The tye-dye Dolly Parton sweatshirt Sirius has on isn’t anything spectacular in Lily’s opinion, but Remus’ gaze roves over the material with absolute care, his expression a cross between a nurse’s examination and a lover’s interest, only as far as Lily knows, and she knows quite a bit about those two, they’re not lovers. Not since their last kiss, when Sirius…sort of ran away. An unfortunate parallel to Lily’s own behavior, in fact, and one she chooses not to dwell on.

Lily isn’t sure what’s keeping Remus and Sirius apart—maybe Remus’ grief over his ex-husband, or his unremembered past—but when they look at each other like that, the two of them feel inevitable. 

Ironic that Lily can be so romantic about everyone else but herself. Yet another truth she remarkably ignores. 

“You’re only a minute late, James,” Peter sighs, though it’s loving. “Now can we get started?” 

Lily perks up. “Get started? What do you mean?”

It’s rare that Lily’s not aware of her friends’ shenanigans—in fact, she’s notorious both personally and professionally for being in control, the eternal leader, the omniscient figurehead, unofficially elected to boss her friends around, and officially ordained as the Counselor Manager. And yet, even Remus looks guilty, his head bowed.

“What did you all do?” Lily speaks through gritted teeth. 

“This is an intervention!” James blurts. 

Lily squints at James, but he doesn’t back down—perhaps dating Regulus is teaching him the art of holding one’s ground.

“Well, you see, we’ve noticed that you’ve been having a hard time ever since—” James clears his throat. “You and Mary kissed.”

Sirius doesn’t even bother to feign remorse when Lily shoots a glare in their direction. “The past few weeks you’ve been a bitch,” he says simply. “Mainly to yourself, but your general grumpiness is weighing on us all.”

“Sorry to inconvenience you,” Lily spits.

It was not Lily’s intention to incite Sirius, but their eyes glimmer with challenge as if excited for another fight. “The Lily I know would recognize that she’s struggling and be open and honest with her best fucking friends so we can figure it out.”

“I’m not struggling.”

“You and Mary are worse than ever,” Peter interjects in a soft voice, almost gentle enough for Lily to take a breath, to sit with her friends’ words and think about it all. But it’s easier to kick and punch those thoughts away, just as it’s easier to shove their concerns aside. 

“It’s only natural that I’m more stressed given camp is about to end,” she says in a sharp voice. “Things will get better when the campers leave.”

There’s a beat of silence where no one speaks. 

“Do you hear yourself, Firefly?” James whispers. “The campers are everything to you. You’re miserable during the school year because you miss them so much. Everything you do leads up to camp, and yet, you haven’t been happy this summer.”

“I can’t speak on previous summers, “ Remus begins, his tone the most wary of them all. “But I can tell something’s been bothering you recently, Lily. Something more than Dumbledore and the donors and the usual camp stress.”

Lily can’t bear to look Remus in the eye and lie to him, not after all the lies that have kept the Marauders apart this summer. She grounds herself in his brown irises, the shade lighter than tree bark but darker than wood chips—the very eyes that followed her through childhood and haunted her through adulthood, a phantom limb felt sharply in the hardest moments…her family kicking her out, Sirius’ overdose, and then, that July 31 in the hospital. 

Everyone was there, except for Remus. 

Lily squeezes her eyes shut and fights the breath lodged in her throat. 

“Just a little Green Like thе color when the spring is born There'll be crocuses to bring to school tomorrow.”

Joni Mitchell’s voice seems to spin in Lily’s head like a record, the needle scratching in time to her pulse. 

“Just a little Green Like the nights when the Northern lights perform There'll be icicles and birthday clothes And sometimes there'll be sorrow.”

After the first time she heard it, Lily never let herself listen to “Little Green” again. It’s a tale of losing something precious, willingly giving up that which one could not nurture, backed by a slow folk melody, Joni’s voice crackling with pain. Lily listened to it once, fucking once, and she still recalls every single word. 

“Child with a child pretending Weary of lies you are sending home So you sign all the papers in the family name You're sad and you're sorry, but you're not ashamed Little Green, have a happy ending.”

Have a happy ending. Happy ending. Happy. 

All Lily can hope is that her kid is happy, wherever they are. 

When Lily opens her eyes again, James and Sirius are on either side of her, holding her hands. She can barely feel their skin against hers, the pressure of James’ grip, the swipe of Sirius’ thumb over her knuckles.

She swallows. “Next week they’ll turn twelve.”

James stiffens beside Lily. 

“This is the year they would have started at Hogwarts,” Lily continues, tears streaming down her face. “We could have shown them the magic of this place, watched them grow with their cabin, discover all the things that we got to.”

James' face wobbles with pain and Lily hates that she said this, hates that she’s now placed her burden on him. She should have carried it alone. Then again, she never has—James misses their baby as much as Lily. 

“I’m sorry, Lils, I thought you were upset about Mary, not—not—” James runs a hand over his face, wiping some tears away. “I’ve been thinking about them too, of course I have.”

“It is about Mary in a way,” Lily admits. She turns to glance at Remus and Peter, then finally at Sirius. “I told you I’m not ready to risk…being with her.”

“That’s not what this is about!” Sirius presses his lips together, then lowers their voice. “Right now you’re trying to shut everyone, Pandora included. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re avoiding your fuckbuddy too.”

The fight in Lily has flickered out, and she doesn’t bother matching Sirius’ fire with any more flames. She resigns herself to the burn. 

James presses Lily’s hand to his lips, his breath warm. “I know we’ve been on you about Mary, but really, if you don’t want to be with her, that’s that. Just don’t punish her or yourself for the feelings you’re not ready for.”

Lily meets James’ sincere but stern gaze and nods once. An acknowledgment that she heard him, but not one that means she will listen. She’s not sure she can. 

Then the walkie-talkie clipped to James’ belt crackles with a familiar voice. “Firefly? Prongs?”

On instinct, Lily yanks the device up and presses the button. “Hi, Harry. Another nightmare, sweetheart?”

“Yeah. Maybe you could finish that story about the snow leopard in Pakistan?”

Lily sniffs, the smile on her tear-streaked face strange but welcome. She and James have been taking turns coming up with stories to help make Harry fall back asleep after a nightmare, and James’ latest invention involves a snow leopard and a parakeet’s unlikely friendship in the Himalayas of Pakistan. 

Without a word, Lily and James stand up, abandoning their friends for their favorite camper. “We’re on our way, Harry.”

It’s on a blanket over wood chips, Harry tucked in between her and James, that Lily stops kicking and punching, and lets the thoughts in. 

It’s in Ravenclaw, lying beside Pandora, their hands clasped together, that the thoughts turn into panic, and she shakes and gasps, her body searching for a resolution that her imagination refuses to provide. 

It’s in the comfort and the emptiness of her office, that Lily comes face to face with her antithetical desires, the ghosts of a sister, a mother, and a father watching her, judging her. 

“You’re a slut, Lily. You threw yourself at a boy and got yourself knocked up, and now what—you’re going to give the kid away to strangers? Your own blood?!” The tirade of Lily’s mother summons the images of Petunia standing in the doorway. 

She didn’t say a word but Lily could still grasp the extent of Petunia’s disgust because they looked so alike; they smiled the same way, cried the same way, and even sneered the same way. So Lily had easily recognized all that Petunia felt, the words of repulsion written over her face.

They never saw each other again. 

There’s a thin thread, tangled in the center, between what Lily feels about her past, the child she gave away, the family she lost, and what Lily felt the moment Mary’s lips touched hers. The knot in her heart is deep and delicate, and she wants to untangle it, but she’s not sure how. 

The very prison she built around herself—the walls full of insults and bickering and orders—has trapped her in a nightmare of her own making. She doesn’t want to be alone, fuck, she wants to be with Mary. She wants that. 

But wanting and loving are two different things, and when it comes to romance, Lily has never learned the latter. 

That horrible truth keeps her in that office chair, staring at nothing throughout the night, until dawn finds its way past her closed blinds, evidence of both insanity and obstinacy. Yet still, Lily can’t bring herself to leave, to step back into reality with the knowledge that everything she wants is right there and she is incapable of having it.

Perhaps it’s fate then that the very person she can’t have turns the knob, unlocking the prison cell.

Mary freezes in the doorway, face shuttering into something blank. “I was just going to print today’s activity schedule.”

Lily nods. “I’ll do it.”

“Okay,” Mary says flatly. “And I need to figure out where the Junior Counselors should help out today—”

“I’ll do it,” Lily repeats. 

It’s a dismissal, reason enough for Mary to make a swift exit, to avoid any more time trapped in a room with her greatest enemy and least favorite person. 

But Mary doesn’t leave.

It’s that stubbornness, a sign that maybe, if Lily is being optimistic, Mary still cares, that prompts Lily to speak again. “We need to talk.”

Mary looks down at her Tevas, shaking her head. “Took you long enough, Red.”

Lily doesn’t respond, waiting for Mary to close the door and sit in the chair across from her. As she moves, her pile of friendship bracelets slinks down her wrists—Lily doesn’t bother counting them, she already knows Mary won their unspoken competition to earn the most bracelets from campers. Mary deserves the win after all the shit Lily’s put her through. 

She sees that now. 

“Before you start, let me ask you something.” Mary seems to glance Lily over as if judging whether or not she’s worth the question. “Did you kiss me just to fuck with my head?”

Lily blinks, stunned. 

“Cause if you’re vying for Dumbledore’s position and trying to sabotage my chances—”

“What do you mean?”

Mary raises her brows and leans back in her chair. She speaks again after a few moments, “I thought you—I shouldn’t have assumed. It’s just a theory, Lily, don’t freak out, but I’m betting that Albus will retire after this summer. That’s why he’s acting so strangely.”

Of course, Dumbledore’s retirement isn’t what stuns Lily, she had guessed the same herself, but she stiffens at the implication that she had been…that she kissed Mary just to—what? Throw her off her game? 

Lily realizes all at once why Mary would think that, because, of course, she hasn’t given her any reason to think otherwise. She had dismissed Mary personally and professionally, not only opposing her in most things camp-related but also discounting her struggle as an addict.

God, how did their stupid rivalry turn so toxic? When did Lily become so seemingly cruel? 

“But like I said, it’s just a theory.” Mary shook her head. “I thought that you had the same impression and were…well, it sounds fucking ridiculous when I say it out loud, but playing games.”

Lily's hands slip beneath her legs, blocking off the blood flow to her fingers as she collects her thoughts. “I wouldn’t do that, Mary. But I can understand why you thought that.”

Mary levels Lily with an unimpressed look. “Then care to explain why the hell you kissed me and then ignored me after? We’re not fucking campers, Lily, we’re supposed to be mature about this shit.”

Lily grimaces, surveying the past few weeks with a new perspective—in her head, she was pushing aside something that would only hurt them both, but in reality, it looked immature and heartless. Ironic how much Lily hates when people walk away from a fight when that’s exactly what she did. 

She wasn’t trying to be unkind. She was just being a coward. 

But here and now, Lily summons the courage to say, “I’ve only dated one person seriously in my life, and it ended in a way that has made it hard for me to commit to people romantically.” 

Though Lily’s tone is even and clinical, as if reciting lines, her words are real, are true, and are, for once, entirely raw. 

“I told you about the kid I gave up for adoption? Well, I had them with James, and we broke up because of it, or, well, maybe we would have broken up regardless…” Lily pulls her hands to her face, rubbing her eyes. “And I’m happy to be James’ friend, we work much better that way.”

“But you haven’t dated anyone seriously since?” Mary guesses. 

“No,” Lily says. “Just casual sex. Pandora’s the first time I’ve managed to be friends with a sexual partner.”

Mary opens her mouth as if to ask another question, then pauses. “No, I’m sorry, I’ll let you finish.”

“You’re letting me speak?” Lily can’t help but tease. “How rare.”

“Shut up and get on with it,” Mary quips. 

Lily savors the warmth between them, then, when the moment fizzles back into something solemn, she continues: “I know this may come as a surprise, but I’ve come to the conclusion, uhm, that I like you. I’ve liked you for quite a while, actually, and maybe—maybe all my bitterness was a pretense for something…more.”

It’s hard not to cringe at herself—why is she being so awkward? Arguing with Mary is so much simpler than this sappy crap, when they’re bickering, Lily feels alive and wild and, honestly, herself. Perhaps her more deranged, less composed self, but still. 

“You sound thrilled,” Mary deadpans. 

“I’ll be honest, you’re not the person I expected I’d fall—” Lily stops herself from saying something too honest. “I didn’t think I’d want to throttle the person I—” she stops again. “It would be easier if I didn’t hate you as much as I—”

Mary’s eyes glimmer with curiosity. “Are you ashamed of it?”

“No,” Lily stresses. “I’m overwhelmed.”

Neither says exactly what they’re speaking about, those four little letters that make up one terrifying truth. Lily’s not ready to speak it into existence, not because Mary doesn’t deserve to know, but because Mary doesn’t deserve to be disappointed. 

“I worry that I won’t be able to.”

“To love me?” 

Lily sucks in a breath. Why did she have to say it—why did she have to be so goddamn blunt?

“You know me, Red, I’m always outspoken, it’s one of the things you despise the most about me.”

“And one of the things I—” Lily struggles, and ends up conceding to another word, “like about you too.”

“You can’t even say it, huh?”

“It’s a reflection of my own shortcomings.”

Mary leans forward, her elbow resting on her knees. The V of her tee dips slightly, but Lily, admirably, doesn’t let her eyes stray, her focus is pinned to Mary’s dark brown eyes. 

“You asked me on the first day of staff training why I came back,” Mary says, her lips curving into an almost smile. “I told myself it was because I liked to get on your nerves.”

Lily sputters, “Are you serious—”

Mary holds up a hand, eyes shining. “My turn to speak, Red. I know you don’t like staying quiet, but won’t you try just for me?”

Lily’s mouth goes dry as she presses her lips and legs together. “Mmhm,” she manages to respond. 

“Ever since my brother passed I’ve moved around, flipping through jobs and countries and even lovers.” Mary tsks. “And yet I came back to Hogwarts just to piss you off.”

True to her word, Lily doesn’t speak, even though she really really wants to tell Mary off for that.

“Whatever my reasons, and honestly, I’m still trying to work them out, I came back for you. I’m obsessed with you too, Evans.” Mary’s laugh is absolutely evil and Lily adores it, she fucking adores it. “So I guess what I’m saying is…the feeling’s mutual.”

Lily’s brows shoot up in question. 

“I hate you as much as I—” Mary pauses and winks. “Don’t want to scare you off now, do I?”

Though something in Lily’s chest preens and purrs at Mary’s honesty, at her teasing smile that somehow annoys as much as it arouses, Lily’s not ready. She’s still not ready. 

Maybe she never will be.

She runs a hand through her tangled hair, finding the right words to let Mary down, when Mary grabs Lily’s desk chair and pulls her closer. Their faces land inches apart, and Lily’s breath and attention waver in time, her eyes honing in on Mary’s pink, plump lips. 

“You said you’re overwhelmed?” Mary asks. 

Lily doesn’t dare speak, she knows her voice will betray her desire, so she nods like an understuffed rag doll. 

“Yes, well, I am a lot to handle. And you’ve spent so long loathing me this must be quite a shock.” Mary’s pointer finger brushes Lily’s thigh, and all she can think and feel is that light pressure, no more than a tickle, crawling up and up and—

“Lily?”

“What?”

Mary pulls her hand back. “I’m overwhelmed too.”

Lily sucks in a breath, remembering that her lungs, her body needs oxygen. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh stop with the apologies,” Mary scolds, though her tone is fond. She takes both of Lily’s hands in hers and looks up with all the assurance Lily lacks. “Let’s go slow. One day at a time.”

“I can’t—I don’t want to date you just to—”

“I have no expectations,” Mary interrupts. “Well, besides you not running away after you kiss me.”

Lily smiles sheepishly. “I…I think I can do that.”

“Yeah?”

To prove it, Lily leans forward and gives Mary a light peck. Entirely innocent, and much too quick, but she finds the will to pull away and look into Mary’s eye with a daring smile. “See: I’m still here.”

Mary throws her head back and laughs. “Yeah, Red. That you are.”

******

It’s in the glow of a rare agreement between Lily and Mary, a vow to kiss, to date, to try something real but slow, that Lily returns to her overflowing to-do list. 

She ought to go to bed and catch a couple of hours of sleep, and she eventually will appease her blood sugar, but for now, something in her gut glues her to her desk, telling her to tackle the most pressing issue at hand. 

Harry. 

Lily will not send him to an unsafe home come the end of summer. She will protect him the way that she should have been protected all those years ago. 

She opens Harry’s file on her computer, intending to look up his parents’ names with a good old-fashioned Google search and see what information is out there, but her fingers freeze over the keyboard.

There, listed as Harry’s mom, is a familiar name. 

Petunia.