This dedication goes to Maddy, for being the adoptive mother of Eliot Solis in my Instagram AU, being the cool older cousin of the RBDS and generally being awesome! I respect and love the hell out of you! ♥️♥️♥️
TheAmazingMaddy

(December 21st)

It was unholily early in the morning when Lily heard taps on her window; too loud to be snow but not so loud that it would wake up the entire Evans household.

It took more willpower than she cared to admit for her to drag herself out of the warmth and security of her bed and over to the window to investigate.
At first she peered through the gap in the drawn curtains, wondering if perhaps Severus' owl had taken a late night journey to her home, but she had never been a very good sleuth and so she ended up pulling the curtain almost wide open anyway.

And there, sitting in the oak tree by her window was a sheepish looking, hat, gloves & scarf clad Dorcas Meadowes, holding a white plastic bag.

Am I getting in or not?
Lily could make out her mouthing as she shivered in the snow, her teeth chattering almost as loud her her window tapping had been. Poxy apologies aside, Lily couldn't, in good conscience, leave her friend to transfigure into a snowman or indeed an icicle, so clumsily, still partially asleep, she flung open the window and held a hand out to Dorcas to help her in.

"Sorry for coming so late," she glanced at the clock above the door –twenty to five, "–or early or whatever, I just... I needed you to hear this. And I know what I want to say now, too."

Startled, Lily sat back down on her bed, the draft of the hibernal December bite had woken her up considerably and so her shock was absolutely candid.

"Okay: here goes..." usually if Dorcas were to be in Lily's room she would have sat down, or shrugged off all her extra layers and left them in abandon on the floor, but not this time.
"I'm sorry. Very very sorry, I was petty and I was wrong. I guess... I just didn't want you to like him more? I felt replaced if I'm honest with you."

"Oh?..." her words seemed to take a temporary hiatus from her mind as she listened to Dorcas go against everything she stood for in all sincerity.

"Yeah. You were right. I was being petty, and honestly a bit of a cow but that's nothing new– I'm often a cow."

Lily couldn't hide a small smile creep onto her face, she leant on her hand to make it appear more nonchalant.

Dorcas continued, "and I know you didn't want a poxy apology so here I am. In the middle of the night like a fucking romance novel, climbing in your bedroom window with snow in my hair. Anyway, I wanted to prove to you that I am sorry so I brought you this," she held out the polly-bag timorously (not an adverb often used to describe someone like Dorcas, nevertheless there she was, looking rather tense). 

Lily took the bag off her and pulled it's contents out, grinning like she'd just won the lottery; when in reality what she was spreading out on her desk was a pile of vinyls. Not just any vinyls, this pile consisted of every single album, single or EP that she had ever leant Dorcas. Imagine by John Lennon, Satisfaction by The Stones, SOS by ABBA and perhaps the one she was most touched by; December, 1963 by The Four Seasons, a.k.a the first single Lily had ever given Dorcas and which she had promised to return three years ago almost to this date.

In short, Lily was speechless, flabbergasted, schmaltzy; and it might have been her hormones talking but she was also incredibly emotionally tender.
"Dorcas... it's snowing not raining."

"What?"

"I said it's snowing. Not raining." She repeated (grinning).

"What the bloody fuck has that got to do with the price of baked beans?" Dorcas said, the smile Lily was wearing seemed to be contagious.

"Well if you were going for dramatic you should have waited for rain. Then I could run into your arms in slow motion and we could reconcile under a brewing storm and confess how we simply couldn't live without each other!"

She snorted, "is that so?"

"Most definitely."

"That's what happens when you apologise?"

Lily nodded in a very convincing act of sincerity, "almost exclusively."

"Well then come 'ere. We can at least do the hugging and reconciling."

Lily leapt into Dorcas arms (and it was a leap up as Dorcas seemed to have legs longer than a giraffes neck– or at least it seemed that way to the exceedingly small Lily).
"I must say," Lily murmured into her best friend's ear, "you do have wonderful lexical choice for an apology: perhaps if you did them more often?..."

"Not. On. Your. Nelly."

"And she's back. Dorcas Meadowes you are perhaps the most wondrously melodramatic person I have ever met."

♥ ♥ ♥

(December 25th 1976)

Christmas– a time for forgiving. Which would be a lot easier if she knew for definite if she was actually supposed to be doing any forgiving.

Severus Snape hadn't written to her in months. He might have had a perfectly logical explanation but quite frankly she was struggling to come up with a rationale one might have for being iniquitously impertinent to their friendship since he'd started back at Hogwarts. As of now, Severus was the only real connection she had to the life she could have had and she wasn't letting go of it so easily...

Crafting a letter didn't seem difficult in her head (or on paper so to speak) but as she began to write it down the words escaped her. What does one say to their chronically abstract  friend? The words seemed to come out wrong each and every time, almost like they were trying to make a mockery of her.

It took precisely one miniature mental breakdown, twenty crumpled up balls of paper and almost an hour but before there was, at long last, a letter suffice to send to Severus.
For all the effort and time it took, Lily wondered if he would ever do the same for her?

Ultimately it was Dorcas that had brought this magnanimous spirit about after she received a small pile of LPs and a hug to last a life time the previous morning. She had taught Lily the festive message of forgiveness and so she found herself here. Regretting a large clump of her life decisions, having spent so much wasteful time on an abysmal letter which may or may not receive a reply.

What's more, technically he would almost be home by now, the holiday started today and so she would post the letter through his door and might as well just talk to him but that wasn't nearly as interesting as to see if he would pen her back. She told herself it was a social experiment more than a friendship test, this wouldn't effect her either which way.

She was wrong of course but that wasn't for her to know in the present...

Dear Sev,

I'm sorry I've not written you this term. I've had a lot to do. Mrs Feenie –the owner of Indulge Cafe– asked me and my friend Alice if we could so some seasonal photography to display up in the shop and so we've been quite busy with that.

Anyway, the reason I'm writing this is to ask you if you would like to meet me next Saturday? I know that might be difficult and so I'm flexible with the date (you've seen how easily I can climb out my window!)

Please let me know how you are too, but hopefully we'll talk in person soon?

See you then,
Best wishes,
Lily

Lily always signed letters with a smiley face underneath her name but today (as a remorseless act of rebellion) she left it out. Hoping that by some sort of magic she might be able to make him notice her perturb through the paper and it's lack of cheery illustration. Of course it was very unlikely he would notice but perhaps if he did she could at least argue that he knew her enough to be wary, but Sev had always been rather taciturn and reserved, perhaps even if he did notice he wouldn't  mention it? Or was she making excuses? Either way, she would likely post this through his door on the way to see Alice this afternoon to develop more pictures that they took together the previous week.

Christmas was apparently a time for forgiving, but at this moment in time she wasn't entirely sure that's what she wanted to do...

"I hate this game! It's not nearly as exciting as exploding snap!"

"Oh shut up and play, Sirius! My girlfriend plays this with her family and I told her I'd learn how to play!" Marlene took to thumping Sirius over the head with the back of her hand, a set of roughly seven Muggle playing cards in the other hand.

"Your girlfriend which we still haven't met!" Peter chimed in, playing his own card, "play three or pick up three, Remus?"

"Fuck sake."

"You'll meet her soon enough! We've only got two days together before Little Miss Culture whisks me and my family off to Paris over the holidays!" She went on, nodding over to a smirking Esme-Leigh.

"Oh and of course you'll be spending those who days... together..."

"Padfoot, get your head out the gutter for the love off all that is holy!"

If Marlene didn't know Sirius better she might have noticed him jump at the cutting tone of her voice. She smiled inwardly, glad to know she could still scare the hell out of him if need be.

"This is tedious, Mar, can't we do something else?" James asked, throwing his cards (which he probably could have won with) on the table they had transfigured.

"Fine. I suppose Muggle games don't really have the same thrill do they?"

Remus shook his head, "as a recipient of both worlds I would confirm that pretty true."
The way Remus said things one couldn't help but take his word for gospel and so the rest of them followed James suit and threw their cards down in the table for inspection (for sheer curiosity if nothing else).

"Sirius you had a black five!"

"Isn't that the objective of the game?"

Marlene had to envision Azkaban to stop herself from strangling him, "no! The objective of the bloody fucking game is not to have a black five, you imbecile!"

"Well why didn't you say?!"

"I DID!"

Sirius rolled his eyes, lying back and letting his hair fling up into the air in a rather impressive arc, "I hate Muggle games."
(This wasn't one-hundred-percent true however– he was quite partial to Monopoly).

"Well if it's cheering up you need then we've still not managed to coax the full story of Ikra Patel out of James yet?"

James covered his face with his hands. It wasn't rare for the two of them (Sirius and Marlene) so enjoy interrogating him over his rendezvous with various women.
"I've tried to tell you that it's rude to kiss and tell!"

"And yet you tell us every time. You'll break eventually. You've got more sex appeal than sense and with the right strings pulled you can't resist telling us about it," Sirius smirked, patting his mate on the back and winking.

"For the right price," James replied, staring out of the window abstractly, smirking at his own craftiness.

"Ooh!" Esme-Leigh grinned, her hair was staining pink with excitement as she ran her hands through it as if trying to conjure an idea out of the strands.
"Will chocolate do?"

"Depends..."

"Honeydukes?"

Still James didn't look up, "hmm..."

"I'll throw in a cauldron cake or two?"

"I'm listening."

"And..." Esme glanced around for something else to use as bribery, "and one of Marlene's cigarettes! I know for a fact you ran out yesterday because you were whining like an augurey on heat!"

This remark didn't seem to do well for their case judging my James' quirked eyebrow but he let it drop when Marlene produced a cigarette and the promised chocolate.

"Fine. What do you want to know?" He grinned, placing the fag between his teeth and leaning over for Marlene to light it with a Muggle contraption she called a lighter.

Sirius grinned coquettishly in a sort of devilish way, "Did you shag?"

Peter dropped his lollipop on the ground where it would eventually stick.
"Holy Hippogriff, Padfoot! Coming in strong!"

James waved a hand nonchalantly, as if this were a subject he breezed over frequently (in all fairness it was.)
"No we did not thank you very much. I may be a bit of a slag but that doesn't mean to say I don't respect the women I sleep with –or don't– and their wishes. Next question."

Remus sighed with relief (this sort of game could go two ways: intrusive graphic detail or as pleasantly as can be expected. He was thankful the former was likely not to take place today; he'd just brought a new bar of honeycomb chocolate which he planned on consuming in it's entirety, without being put off by such tales).
Sirius, on the contrary, looked rather put out. He would have much preferred to have a grossly inappropriate conversation about James' sexual encounter, perhaps even more than James would.

"Well I was going to ask if she was good but that question is rather out the window," He grumbled, turning from vivacious jester to taciturn and jokingly sour.

"It still applies. And so I would say so, yes," James remarked as he blew a string of smoke into the air and watched as it danced around the compartment.

"Will you see her again?" Remus chimed in, seemingly genuinely interested which was rather out of character for him as he generally liked to take a back seat in discussions like these.

"I don't think so," James ruffled his hair with his free hand– something he did when he was feeling miffed, "I mean I thought about it. She's an interesting girl but i don't think that was what she was overly interested in."

Marlene shrugged, "well then. Maybe you could find a Muggle girl to cozy up by the fire with. We can be pureblood outcasts together, it'll be wonderfully scandalous!"

"Now that's an idea I like. We could rope Sirius into it?"

Aforementioned Sirius looked a little bleak as he unwrapped a bag of caramel cauldrons, "maybe."

Smirking, James eyed Remus, who was wearing a similar expression.

Wonderful.

♣ ♣ ♣

(December 27th 1976)

James Potter lived his life on the dangerous side, one might say. He smoked out the window, legs dangling out; he pulled pranks that often did not connote a law abiding teenager in the eyes of both wizard and Muggle law (he had a certain disregard for every and all forms of rules in truth); he enjoyed the fiery glow he got from firewiskey on a school night and the thrill he got from flirting meaninglessly with just about every attractive woman he met of a reasonable age. He was precisely the type of teenage boy that mothers and fathers warn their daughters about when they reach a certain age: very nice to look at but a heart breaker to behold.

Although the most peculiar thing about James Potter was that, despite all those things, he wasn't dangerous at all. To society? Perhaps, but mainly he was quite harmless.
He was clever for one. Inconceivably so, to the point where he could score full marks on just about any exam put in front of him without having to do so much as glance at a single textbook (textbooks –or just about anything nonfiction– bored him to oblivion if you must know).
What's more, he adored Victorian Literature and Muggle musicals which he drew reference to much too often for his friend's liking. He would often frequent to the extensive library in the uppermost corner of Potter manor and waste away over Charles Dickens and Charlotte Brontë while the sun rose and set behind him.

That was what he missed most about the old house: the sheer size of its library. The Potters retirement home, although still very much lavish, was a lot smaller than their previous residence and hence the library had –quite literally to James– shrunk overnight.

James and the rest of the Potters, you see, were raised on a mercenary lifestyle and so despite their family fortune they were used to being important in the chain of wizard employment. Which, in turn, was why he had been so shocked when his mother first told him they were moving to the retirement home. He couldn't imagine his parents not working, despite them pushing their seventies with every passing day.
This lifestyle was easily noticeable through the many offices dotted around the new house already. Astronomy, Auror, Muggle, just about any sort of material you might want to know about one could likely find in one of the Potter's offices. James had his own, of course, but he seldom used it unless he was working on a lengthy project over the summer assigned as punishment for a record amount of detentions.

He sat there now, in fact, when his father found his way in.
"You're working?"

"Transfiguration. Minnie set this for me after the niffler incident."

Fleamont Potter knew better than to inquire further into 'the niffler incident' so he just smiled.
"Good luck with that. I always found transfiguration a bastard if I'm honest. Your mother used to tutor me."

He watched as his son rolled his eyes from behind the rectangular spectacles, "I know, I've heard the damned story about a million times!"

"And I'll continue to tell it."

"Oh, I know."

Fleamont chuckled, turning around to leave his only son to work when the son in question called him back.

"Dad?" He said.

"What's that?"

"Why didn't you tell me about the Snatcher attack? You mightn't have come back and I'm supposed to find that out from The Prophet?"

"Of course not—"

"Then what then?"

Fleamont didn't answer for a moment. His son made a fine point.
"Because I didn't want you to worry. You do enough of that already,— and don't roll your eyes at me James Potter! I can tell; you care too much about people. Despite the image you've created for yourself. I didn't want to worry you, if you must know I had a letter written and told your mother to send it if need be, I can fetch it if you wish?"

James shook his head, stunned.

"Then that's all I can offer you in terms of a decent answer– or excuse– depending on how you've perceived it.

James surveyed his father for a moment.
"Answer, definitely. I know an excuse when I hear one; I'm quite the expert, myself."
If Fleamont didn't know better he might have detected a note of sarcasm in James' voice.

"Jolly good. Is there anything else you want to know?"

"Erm... yes. Dad? How far along are you? Will you catch them this time?"

The question make him squirm. It was an unknowingly heinous question. One he was finding it increasingly onerous to answer– especially to his teenage son.

"You really want to know?"

James nodded, shifting in his wooden chair to straighten his back, like a vehement protégé.
"Of course I do."

Fleamont nodded, solemnly, and taking a deep breath, exhaling like he might be able to blow the perpetual preponderance off his shoulders. He spoke perfidiously, as if he might be able to sugarcoat the baleful words that were due to fall from his mouth.

"I don't know. I don't," Fleamont frowned as he spoke, watching James listen with great intent that he had never seen from his troublemaker of a son before, "but we do know something that we didn't before. A boy– he saw the Snatchers leave the window but he was awfully taciturn," he sighed again, wondering if it would be ethical to ask his son if he carried cigarettes, "but he told us one thing. We're not even sure if it's true but he's told us..."

"Told you what?" James got the impression that if he didn't force it out of him then his father might stand in the doorway of his office for eternity.

"He told us they didn't blink."

"What?"

"The boy. When he saw them he was adamant they didn't blink; now we know this it's fairly obvious that he must have been close to them and yet he could barely recall any of his potential conversation– convenient of course, but the fact remains that he spoke to them nonetheless and if we can trust him then we must assume that the boy is correct." Fleamont said, regarding James with an even look that was not supercilious nor self important, simply informative.

"And you? Do you trust him?"

He shrugged in an attempt at an apathetic manner, "I do, he's all we have at the moment I suppose."

James nodded, his glasses slipping only slightly down his nose with the action.
"Okay, final question. McQuade was round earlier, wasn't he?"
Millard McQuade was leading the investigation into the potential purposes of the taken muggleborns and so often frequented in the Potter's residence to update Head Auror Potter on the case.

"Yes he was."

"What did he tell you? He looked as though he might have seen a ghost..." James shook his head at the poor analogy as soon as he'd said it, "actually that's a bogus way to put it, let me rephrase: he looked as though he'd seen Professor Slughorn in his birthday suit, yes, that'd be enough to put anyone off food for life!" James liked to talk with his hands, which didn't do him well when trying to explain this particular avid picture.

"That's enough, James. But yes, he has reason to believe he might have discovered the main source of use for the taken muggleborns."

"Which is?"

Fleamont didn't answer immediately, he gave his son a reluctant look but James relented and so he chose his words deliberately, he was a firm believer in words and their power and so that was why whenever he opens his mouth his aphorisms were carefully chosen and selected with deep knowledge. He was not one to speak off the cuff.
"McQuade came to be the other day to inform me of a resurfaced six year old boy that went missing last year– you have to remember this stays in this house?"

"Naturally."

"Good. The six year old had certain traumas to his mental and physical health which Muggle doctors put down to the year he was missing but upon wizard examination it became clear that the little one could no longer perform any more magic than a spark. McQuade's theory is that the Snatchers have found a way to channel the youngsters magical ability for their own benefit; how? We're not quite sure." It was a rather morbid subject matter to say the very least but it was important to Fleamont that James should know. He was very particular about a lot of things.

"They want the Muggleborns for their... their magic?"

"In theory perhaps. It's early stages yet, James, so you mustn't tell a soul?"

"Marauders honour," he saluted, an irksome quirk in the corner of his mouth told more than it needed to.

"I trust this is an adequate promise: marauders honour?"

"Why of course!"

(December 26th 1976)

Lily found herself once again staring out her bedroom window wistfully, watching the people and the cars pass while Rumours by Fleetwood Mac (one of Lily's newest albums) spun on the turntable behind her.

It was rather fitting really, considering where she was due to be in less than two hours: with Severus.
He had written back to her and they were to meet after the sun was down in the park they first met, the same one Lily had escaped too not so long ago on the first of September night.

The reason it was so fitting was that Fleetwood Mac, of course, had written the album when they were completely and utterly at each other's throats and yet there it sat, spinning away quite happily playing Don't Stop like nobody's business. Lily often thought of Rumours like her friendship with Severus: it spun quite jovially on its own, doing well for its self until one decided to delve just beneath the surface where one was met with an earful of problems and a dumbbell of weight held up by a silkworm's string. It wasn't a very imaginable situation and yet she was prepared to meet him and spill her guts to him. Finally.

The thing with Severus was that no matter who he had grown to be, to her he would always be her only connection left to the life she left behind. The last remaining whisper of what could have been and she was determined to hold onto whatever little she had. And so it didn't matter that he never wrote, or that he rarely told her anything of value about the wizarding world because he was enough for her. She never asked for much really.

It had finally stopped snowing now, and although the ground still appeared to be sprinkled with sugar it was now much more manageable for daily commutes which was perhaps why the boy that had emerged from the old house across the road and alone the hill did not particularly look out of place.

But despite having one foot in her dreams and another in the real world, Lily knew enough to know that in all her days of staring out her window she had never seen the dark haired boy before. He jogged out the grand doors and adroitly turned a corner and set off on a run; Lily thought of Dorcas– they might get along.

She sat there until she was due to leave and meet Severus but she must have missed the boy on his way back inside because she did not see his dark hair again...

Setting off towards the park felt something like heading down death row. There was no going back but perhaps that's what she deserved. No going back.

The night was bitter. Aberrant gusts of wind wrapped around her and whispered lies in her ear, people seemed to watch her minatorily and the frosted grass seemed to stand on end like the hairs on the back of her neck.

Nothing was welcoming about what once was her favourite place on the whole of Cokeworth. Not even the black haired boy perched on a swing and staring unnervingly into the abyss, as if he thought the metal artefacts of the community play park held the secrets of the universe. They didn't. Lily had stared at them long enough on lonely nights to know that by now.

"I thought you weren't going to come."

"I wasn't, but I changed my mind." Severus said, not breaking eye contact with whatever nothing-in-particular he happened to be staring down like it owed him money.

"What changed your mind?" She probed, slowly taking a seat on the swing next to him; not bothering to push herself, that might have been to much. Talking to Severus Snape was often like trying to diffuse a bomb with ones tongue. In other words it was almost outlandish to even comprehend and Lily didn't really know much about bombs...

"The smiley face."

"The what?"

"You always used to sign your letters to me with a smiley face on the end. And you didn't in the one you sent me."

"Oh..." she stumbled. There was something odd about the way he was so sure of himself when he spoke all of a sudden. It was atypical of him to say the least. Severus wasn't the type to speak out of turn or with so much mettle, his mannerisms were always taciturn and could even be perceived as premeditated.

"I figured you must have had a reason for it. Lily Evans rarely does anything without a reason." He continued.
I could say the same about you, she thought gravely.
"So was there a reason?" He turned to her and Lily saw his face properly for the first time that day. He looked older, if only a little, almost like he'd aged rather than just grown up; there was something in his eyes, something unnerving that set her on a knifes edge. That was when she truly realised that she'd lost him.

"Yes."

Severus didn't speak. He watched her with intrigue as she gathered her words together. Something to explain this direful feeling that crept up on her and made her skin crawl whenever he was around. There was no light way to put it, and so Lily had settled on the right way. He never seemed to be in any rush to leave a place or a conversation behind, he operated like time froze by will and he was in command.

"Yes," Lily repeated, "I don't know you anymore."

That was the short answer. The long one consisted of many late nights staring at ceilings and imagining him there. At Hogwarts without her. Probably in the Slytherin common room with all the friends she wanted and learning all the things she wished she knew.

"You do—"

"No, I don't. I wished I did, and– for a while– I thought I did but I don't."

His anaemic eyes watched her with unreadable emotion. It was impossible to know what he was thinking when he simply looked arbitraetory.

And so she carried on, desperate to make him understand, to change the blankness in his eyes as he studied her like a scientific theory.
"You never want to talk to me, you never answer whenever I ask you anything and whenever the subject of Hogwarts arises you just close off!"

"That's not true! I'm trying to keep you safe," he whispered, the wind almost carried his voice away.

"That's what you say every time, Severus." She replied, this time much calmer than her prior bellicose tone.

"But it's true. Muggleborns aren't safe in the wizarding world and I don't want you to want it so badly that you compromise your safety!"

Lily shook her head, smirking almost ironically out of bitter spite.
"Well if the mysterious missing children have much to do with things I'd say I'm already in danger!"

"You know about that?!"

She almost laughed, "I put two and two together. So spill, now's your chance to be straight with me. Tell me what's going on!"

He stared at her a moment longer, her red hair the colour of a fine barrel wine in the winter darkness and her eyes still gleaming jade, so scintillatingly he could see their crystalline shine from where he sat.
"Lily... I can't... you won't like it..."

"Isn't that what you want?! To keep me away? Deter me? No?" Her anger was picking up speed of once again, she had always had a malicious temper.

"No! It's not like that! I—"

"So why are you avoiding me?!" (Ostentatiously) "Why don't you want be be my friend anymore?" (Much more morose, barely a whisper). 

"I do! Lily, I really do but it's not that simple for me!" Severus stood up and so did she, they stood face to face in the middle of the play-park, mere metres away from the exact spots they had first laid eyes on each other.

"Why not?!"

"Because I'm not supposed to be– my friends, my house, they—"

Excuses. Lily Evans could not abide excuses. Whether that be a white lie to get out of the cross county run in gym class or more serious, she couldn't stand excuses... lies...
"They what?! Because from where I'm standing it looks pretty damn simple: I'm not important anymore! I'm not a real witch so I don't deserve to ever be a who I really am, is that it?"

"NO!"

"Then by all means fill me in! Tell me why you're so dead set on keeping me in the dark about this whole war situation and why you won't tell me anything about the world you were happy to inform me about back when we were ten! Id love to hear the excuse you conjure for this one!"

"BECAUSE I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU!"

Her heart skipped a beat. The world stopped turning. She seemed to leave her body and watch the scene from somewhere else, like an old movie.

Her mouth fell open (it might have caught flies if it weren't December).
"No you don't."

"I do." Severus turned away, not wishing to meet her eye, however inviting and irradiant they were to him he'd rather look in the face of the devil than face her.

"No... no you don't."

He said nothing. She didn't ask.

"I... I didn't know..." She murmured although she wasn't entirely sure of the veracity to this statement. Glances, brushed hands, late night conversations, letters signed with smiley faces. They all add up. So it would be foolish of her to say she didn't know, and insulting of her to convince him he hadn't made it clear because there would always be a crushing culpability in the back of her mind reminding her that she did know, and she still did nothing, she ignored it in hopes it would go away.

"Of course you did!" Severus snapped, kicking a pebble on the ground as Lily watched, wide eyed and dumbfounded.
"Of course you did. A girl always knows. Goodbye, Lily."

He looked at her one last time, striking right into her as if he were mapping the outline of her face to store away forever. Something gave her the impression this would be the last time he would be close enough to do so.
He had never looked at her, Lily noticed, always into her. Perhaps that was a sign she would have payed more attention to. Something she could have known before hand.

A girl always knows.

Severus' inky gaze turned sour and dropped to the floor as he turned his head and was gone, leaving Lily utterly alone, wondering if Severus was ever worth all the heartbreak in the first place...

So this chapter was a lot shorter than the other ones so sorry for that but it was kind of a filler besides the part with Snape, hope you enjoyed it regardless!

Secondly I have a little announcement: for jilytober I'm going to be updating my one shot book as much as possible with all the fandom cliches as celebration of the best Harry Potter holiday, so excuse me if this book isn't updated regularly!

Love for eternity,

Abbi ♥️