Little dedication to Sophie for reading a version of this about a million years ago! I've since rewritten it but i thought id give you a little credit :)
siriuslylupin6

It started in a room with no ceiling. Dripping waxy candles were suspended high into the abyss above, illuminating four extensive tables crammed with children of all ages. Some barley enticed in puberty's cruel turn, and others nearing adulthood by every stolen day.

Down the middle of the mahogany tables came a woman in forest green robes, wearing a scowl that suggested she had no time for wasting. She seemed to glide along the hall, leading a procession of children behind her, ogling the many wonders of the awe-worthy room. It was so surprise they called it The Great Hall.

Once the scowling woman reached her destination (the front of the hall) she stepped up onto a suspended area that overlooked the four tables, mere feet away from a fifth one, sporting oddly dressed adults of varying ages.

Next to the woman was a simple stool; made from the same dark mahogany as the four tables and atop it sat a rather peculiar looking old hat.
The group of children –that to anyone that hadn't been here before might assume were on display as some form of entertainment– were still half stupefied with astonishment when the scowling woman presented an extensive scroll of parchment that would likely have reached the floor if she had let it unravel all the way out.

She made as if she might have been about to recite the words penned on the parchment before the previously harmless and seemingly amorphous hat straightened itself out –much the the surprise of the huddled protégés who gasped with veracity while the seated groups of children smiled, their faces gleaming with  nostalgia.

The hat opened its makeshift mouth sang a tune of varying cadence with not much tone or character to it. The lyrics however were much more interesting and the group of avidly watching children listened with intent.

The singing hat told the story of four houses: Gryffindor "for those who dwell are brave of heart;" Ravenclaw, "where wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," Hufflepuff, "where they are just and loyal," and finally Slytherin "will help you on your way to greatness."
It was clear to even the most dense pupils which table was being described during the wondrous hat's verse by the straightens of backs and the proud beaming grins each table offered on their turn.

"So put me on and we shall see, where you really ought to be!"

With a final ear splitting note (somewhere halfway between a howl and a scream) the hat drew its song to a close and bowed in such a way that only a hat would be able and yet, somehow, it was identifiable as such.

The Great Hall bursted into vigorous rounds of applause, whoops and cheers. The children in the middle of the room looked around them, flummoxed, for a moment before joining in. The old hat seemed to enjoy this attention and it continued to bow with great enthusiasm.

Once the clapping had died down the woman in green robes began to recite the names on the scroll with a booming voice that might have been heard from space (or at least where that cabalistic ceiling ended –which could easily have been space according to the naive youths projected into the firing line of the list).

"I am professor McGonoall, you will listen for you names and then be seated with your house. Understood?" Something in Professor McGonogall's dangerous tone suggested that her question was rhetorical.
She began immediately after:

"Acaster, Daniel"

After a moments bustle, a boy emerged from the crowd with strawberry blonde hair and nervous glassy blue eyes that darted from the stool to the hat that was now suspended in the air by McGonogall. The clearly longevous hat stood perfectly still for a short moment before it crumpled into Daniel Acaster's head in what was supposedly thought. Not a second later it straightened out and bellowed for the entire hall to hear:

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The table of yellow and black cheered and beckoned Daniel over to their table; he practically sprinted over, eager to be out of the limelight as he had very quickly become the cynosure of most pupils eyes and he didn't care for the scrutiny.

"Adily Emeric."

As Emeric Adily made his merry way to the front of the hall, from somewhere else in the crowd of pupils came a whisper to another; the first of the assortment of children to speak off their own accord aside from the general 'sorry' or 'excuse me' since the Sorting Hat had begun its first verse.
"Dammit, I could have sworn that he would be a Ravenclaw."

The voice belonged to a boy with a puckish grin and hair that stuck up at all angles; he was whispering to the boy stood in front of him who turned around and fixed the messy haired boy with an impish grin.

"I'll bet this boy is a Slytherin. I'm Sirius by the way. The boy from the train."

The unnamed boy nodded vigorously, inwardly recalling Sirius setting fire to a slimy haired boy in the compartment.

"I'm James Potter, and I'll guess he'll be a Gryffindor."

They shook hands and the bet was sealed. Emeric sat down on the stool and looked up as the hat covered his eyes. The two boys in the crowd leant forward, caught on the Sorting Hat's every crumple and sway.
It was only seconds later that the decision was made:

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Dammit!"

"Get in!"

The two new fast friends shared a chuckle, "what do I win?" Asked Sirius with a wink.

"You win your pride, you chancer!" James Potter elbowed his companion rather sharply in the ribs.

"Whatever, I still won."

A few heads were turning to watch this exchange; some disappointed, others merely intrigued. Professor McGonogall gave them a sharp stare as she read out the next name.

"Esme-Leigh Bisset?"

The first girl to be called up was a rather unusual one. She walked with a shaking gait and a faltering smile that would otherwise have been flawless. Her eyes were the type of blue the sky seems to be on the summers solstice and her hair was a spectacular blue-purple.

For a moment James was almost too stunned to speak. He had never seen such an extraordinary person in all his life and he wasn't quite sure how he should react.
Sirius on the other hand wasn't overly apathetic but he was, however slightly, impressed at the girls audacious colour choice; although not nearly as floored as James.

"I'll bet she's a Gryffindor." Sirius whispered in his ear, "she looks the type."

It took James a millisecond to respond, and once he had composed himself it was almost as though his moment of awe had never happened .
"I'll be inclined to agree. No one rocks up to the sorting in first year with blue hair if you're not a Gryffindor."

The hat didn't take long to agree:
"GRYFFINDOR!" It bellowed gruffly and Esme-Leigh Bisset grinned and flounced over to the red and gold table, her gait now more level to reflect how relieved she was it was over.

"We are good at this game!" James laughed as the next first year was called to be sorted.

Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw....

One after the other were sorted and Sirius was winning ten points to nine when his own name was called.

"Sirius Black?"

Sirius felt a spark of shame fill the pit of his stomach at carrying the family name. They weren't overly good people and so he was so consumed by his discomfort that he didn't wait for James' reaction to the surname, instead he traipsed up to the stool; mourning the end of the short lived friendship between himself and James Potter.

Sirius shut his eyes tightly when he felt the weight of the Sorting Hat bare down on his head unceremoniously.

"Ah, another Black!"

The voice that had spoken seemed to boom out of every pore in Sirius' body. Something (perhaps intuition, perhaps common sense) told him that the edge-cutting voice was coming from inside his head.

"We'll I think it's clear enough what do do with you, boy!"

Just as the hat was taking a breath to announce his decision to the Great Hall Sirius opened his eyes and immediately they sought James.
He was standing exactly where Sirius had left him, on the balls of his feet, rocking with nerves with two fingers crossed behind his back.

Sirius had never felt so much all at once. He wasn't quite sure what to make of the outlandish sensation that creeped its way into his heart.

It took the Sorting Hat all of a millisecond to retract itself back into its crumple, muttering something about 'breaking family tradition' and bellowing, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The table of red and gold burst into surprise applause and disbelieving laughter. Each and every one of them was beaming from ear to ear, seemingly too excited to have a new house member to care that he was a Black. There was something poetic in that sentiment that made Sirius feel so elated he could probably jump for joy.

However, the worry was still embedded into the mind of James Potter. Despite being more than ecstatic for his new friend, James was lead to question that if Sirius could defy family tradition then why couldn't he? Albeit there were Slytherins in his distant family (he had his terrible visit to his great aunt Dorea's to vouch for that) but his fathers side were primarily Gryffindor.
And yet now seeing Sirius so dramatically defy his family norm filed James with debilitating levels of anxiety.

Ravenclaw, another Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin.

They came and went once again and James could feel himself getting bored as the novelty of the Sorting hat wore off on his unusually short attention span.

A boy not two feet away from him seemed to be losing interest too and be caught James' eye as they darted around the room.

"Remus!" He hissed.

Remus nodded, almost astonished, "how did you know?"

"You were on the train with us!" James replied simply with a laugh, "I remember faces."

"Oh, in that case your memory is impeccable. Remus Lupin." They shook hands and another friendship began its slow burning course of time.
"What was it you wanted to ask?"

James grinned, "you wanna play the guessing game?"

Remus, who James deduced was a timid, docile looking boy that seemed friendly enough, gave him an inquisitive look with a slight head tilt, the sandy brown hair on his head flopping into his eyes.
"Elaborate?"

"Well, I reckon that the next person is gonna be a ravenclaw."

"What we guess without seeing them?"

"We are this time, ready?"

Remus smirked (the first essence of rebellion glinting in his eyes) "you're on. I'll go slytherin."

"Drivelly Isaac?"

James snorted, "cracking name!" He hissed into Remus' ear who choked on his own throat, doing his best to mask it as a cough.

"He wears it well too."

He was right. Isaac Drivelly has the kind of face that appeared to never recover from the cold all year round. His nose was always red and pissing snot and the corners of his mouth looked like a science experiment. This time it was James that nearly fainted with his desperate need to laugh aloud at the surprisingly amazing Remus Lupin. Remus himself, however, managed to keep his face stonily even. It was an art form, James deduced.

They almost didn't hear the Sorting Hat bellow "huflepuff!" Before they had calmed down. James stamped his foot on the ground and Remus swore allowed amongst the clapping and cheering of the Hufflepuff table at their new arrival.

"That's a rough draw getting 'Snotty McGee' in your house." Remus remarked, deadly serious and making James lose his mind again while Remus didn't bat an eyelid, his composure was something to be admired.
"Right, I call Ravenclaw."

"Gryffindor."

The jade green robes of Professor McGonogall flared out in an odd spiral of skirts as she swivelled round to readdress the slowly shrinking group.

"Evans Lily?"

It took a few moments before suspicion arose as to why it was taking this Lily Evans so long to make her way to the stool.

Perhaps she was nervous?
Perhaps she was lost outside?
Perhaps there was a mistake on the parchment?"

None were true.

"Lily Evans?" McGonogall asked once again. (One might have detected the small hint of apprehension in her usually cadence voice).

Once again, no body answered.

The rigid-looking Professor for the first time that day broke her character, glancing behind her to the Headmaster, he shook his head sadly, saying nothing.

The following seconds ticked by in absolute silence. The kind of uncomfortable silence that seemed to shatter the earth from under their feet and burn them alive with curiosity.

It was hard to tell whom the first person was that broke this spellbinding silence but as soon as the innominate student did, the earth resealed and whispers opened fire.

James turned to Remus and frowned, "what do you think that was?"

The other boy shrugged, "don't ask me. She might be a Muggleborn. Doesn't sound like a wizard name, really, does it?"

"Neither does Potter." James argued and Remus let him have that point with a jerk of the head and a small shrug.
"I see what you mean. But what would a Muggleborn want with not coming to Hogwarts?"

Once again, Remus adopted a stance of a shrug, "the war? It's probably pretty tough to learn all of this new. I know my mum went mental when she found out, she's still getting used to it, you know? It's a big deal."

"Suppose. But all the same... what happened to her?"

"Fitzgerald Dollie?" The Professor's tone was sharp and slightly impertinent, clearly it was not the first time she had called this name.

Dollie was sorted into Hufflepuff but the applause was forced, the ambiance had noticeably shifted; Lily Evans still very much the cynosure of all attention.

The rest of the sorting passed in an odd sort of trance.

Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Slytherin... one after the next the group of first years were being carted off as they finally began to dry off from the boat ride they had taken to get here. The heat from the candles was drying their sopping clothes (which were now sticking to their bodies uncomfortably) bit by bit and the effects of the lake water was finally wearing off. Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin...

"Lupin, Remus?"

James nodded towards his friend and watched with an air or nerves as he made his way to the stool and the beaten down hat.

James crossed his fingers behind his back. He had never been remotely superstitious but he'd eat his hat if one of the only decent people he'd met that day was a Slytherin. He decided it was time to make a bet of his own, a bet against himself.

"Gryffindor." He whispered.

The room was much more quiet now as the questions surrounding Lily Evans numbed to nothing. There was no doubt that she would be the talk of the coming years but for now the hall was silent.

"GRYFFINDOR!"
Broke that charm, however, and Remus audibly sighed as he made his way down to the red and gold table, with a bounce in his step. The knowledge it was over felt something like mitigation.

"Hullo!"
Remus turned to notice he'd sat next to the Black boy from earlier on (arguably the second most stirring thing to happen that day).

"Hello. Remus Lupin."

"Sirius Black, pleasure."

Sirius was clearly a boisterous character, his moonlight-grey eyes gave that away almost immediately. His hair was jet black and it looked as though it was in the uncomfortable process of being grown out (most likely an act of rebellion).

"So. You wanna make this interesting?" Sirius said with a smirk that Remus supposed would become signature over their time in Hogwarts.

"Let me guess? Bets on the house of the next student?"

"No!" Sirius choked defensively, "okay yes. How did you know?"

"I'm psychic."

Sirius laughed rambunctiously and something of respect crossed his sparkling eyes.
"Well played."

And so they continued their little game of bets, invented mainly by their unknown mutual friend. Unknown only until his name was called by the professor which they both agreed looked rather austere.

"Potter, James?"

Aforementioned James felt as though something rather sinister was eating his insides as he made his way up to the stool at the front of the hall. From where he had been before, James realised that he had badly misjudged the sheer size of the place, and in turn its capacity. There must of been fifteen hundred people all with their eyes on him. James had never considered himself timorous but in that moment he was starting to envy Lily Evans and her nievity to the situation he was currently in. He wore neither jealousy, nor nervousness, well and so as he finally sat down he was positive he must have been green.

"A Potter, are you? I've seen plenty of you lot in my time... not as many as the Blacks, but."

At the mention of Sirius –his new friend– James felt a surge of pride for the boy now sitting at the table he would do anything to be on too. The pride followed jealousy in a blizzard twist of overloaded emotions.

"Oh, I see!" The deep, unmistakably menacing tone of the Sorting Hat mocked him as he read his thoughts. "Well then it'll be decided..."

James felt his heart stop. The world stopped turning and he felt as if he had just been pushed off a cliff judging by the erratic beating of his heart and the plummeting feeling in his stomach.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

He opened his eyes in disbelief to see the two friends he had made waving him over as 'Pettigrew, Peter' shuffled up to make room for him.

It was easy to see how stupid one had been in hindsight. It wasn't as tough the world would have ended if he were put in Ravanclaw, for example, but now he was here it was hard to imagine he could possibly trade it for the world.

The sorting didn't take long to draw to a close after that and it was clear Remus and James were far superior at the guessing game. By the end Sirius had basically given up on the whole thing and resorted to counting the number of students left in a huddle. They had fiercely declined since Sirius had left the seas and only grew shorter with time. Until eventually it was completely evaporated (with, this year, a perilous over draft of Hufflepuffs).

"I see you two have met each other in my absence?" James mused as he sat down opposite Sirius and Remus with a smirk.

"Oh yes we're inseparable best friends already, and have no room for a third party whatsoever," Remus smirked with the sort of debonair that James least expected from such a meek seeming lad but it was by no means unwelcome. James was always one to be interested in the unusual types of characters.

"Would you consider a fourth?"

"What?"

Choosing to ignore Sirius' blatant inquiry he motioned to a rather lonely looking boy that was picking at the food in front of him, although judging by the plumpness of his cheeks that didn't seem to be a common occurrence. This was something that drew attention to him almost like a magnet despite his head being down and his eyes unwavering clearly suggested he wanted to be alone. Although the simple blue hue of his irises saw no malice or hostility.

James cleared his throat and elbowed the boy.
"Peter?"

Peter jumped, his eyes nearly popping out his skin and his pores projected shock (it's a miracle he didn't take a heart attack). He turned to face James and smiled, "yes?"

"We're starting a barber shop quartet and we need a mouth percussion. You want in?" James smirked, and the other two chuckled along but Peter just looked at a loss.

"I'm pulling your pisser!" He assured, humorously, after a few seconds of awkward looks, "I was asking for your friendship?"

"Only if you stop using words like 'pisser'."

The boys laughed, James especially, and accepted his small defeat.
"Negative. Welcome aboard anyhow."

"Thank you for having me."

Friendship seemed easy after the day's toil. Their first day of school would go down in magical history; 'The Day Lily Evans Never Came.' She was the first of her kind but (although none of them knew it) she would not be the last. The phenomenon would spread fast and wide and soon, Lily would simply be the tip of the iceberg, the straw that broke the camels back and led the wizarding world to a new and dangerous phase of an already slowly worsening war.

Over the coming years the 'barbershop quartet' would adopt a new name. One that came with a prestigious reputation and the type of camaraderie that was scarcely common nowadays in the light of a war. They would grow famous amongst the student body for their notorious pranks and wondrous ability to lighten a room. Their parties would be exclusive and their friendship would be valued. In the years to come they would be considered the High Society of Hogwarts.

For now they were a newly innocent friendship, 'the barbershop quartet', but in their years to come they would grow to love each other enough to die for them. And more than once they almost did.

Soon, they would be the Marauders...

Lily Juliette Evans was impervious to her magical abilities for most of her short life. There had always been a perfectly logical explanation for most of the peculiar things that happened around her.

The wind knocked over the picture frame while she stormed off in a huff.
She had climbed the tree in a daze and that's why she remembered flying to the top.
She hadn't had enough to eat and she was delirious when she brought the life back to a daisy in the soil.

Perfectly logical.

But what was not perfectly logical was the arrival of Severus Snape.

Severus Snape was perhaps the most illogical, enigmatic, and wonderful person Lily had ever met, he was the complete opposite to everything she'd ever known. Before him all she had was logical explanations but the day she met him, logic turned to magic and even the fully mundane things in life became fresh and new to discover.

She spent everyday with Severus, listening to his stories and magical tales of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He told her of endless ceilings, moving staircases and flying broomsticks. He taught her about hexes, jinxes and charms. And so by the time Lily turned eleven she was fully excepting the wonderful letter with the crimson wax seal.

However what she wasn't expecting was the hostile reaction her parents would have to it.

Her mother and father had always been kindly people; the type that wouldn't hurt a fly even if it had plagued the kitchen for an entire summer's day, but never in Lily's life had she ever seen her mother so upset over a piece of paper. Especially given that the letter was supposed to make all her dreams come true. At least that was what Sev had said but now, looking at her red-faced mother she begun to doubt and question his judgement.

"Who sent this? Was it that weird boy from the other side of town? Did he do this?! I don't want you seeing him and his silly fantasies anymore, Lily love, it's not good for you." Lily's mother reasoned in a tone that started off as indignant but in the end had melted into sheer exhaustion.

She tried to argue.
"Sev wasn't lying! He's my friend and he can do it too!"

"Do what?"

"He can make things happen too! Like I can with my flowers, he makes paper birds and we watch them fly, mummy it's magic! Not logical, it's magic!"
The way in which Lily said the word 'magic' one would think she had never entertained the idea long enough to get round to actually letting the word slip from her lips. Now it was out Lily found it rather hard to put back in.

"I've had enough of logical, mummy, it's magic and you know it! And at Hogwarts I can learn how to control it, my magic and I can make it logical, mummy please listen?"
It wasn't just 'magic' that was treated like a dirty word in that moment. 'Logical' tasted like poison on the eleven year old Lily's tongue.

"It's not magic, Lily, please stop with your silly pranks!" She was almost delirious with a frustration and pain that someone so young could never even begin to understand.

"Mum?"

Wide emerald eyes stared at their mother with disdain and raw upset. It felt like someone had dropped a crystal ball on a marble floor, letting it smash to a million pieces never to be retrieved again. It was only years later that Lily recognised that crystal ball as he moment she realised that adults were not always right, and that her mother was not completely Solomonic.

Tears filled the wide emerald eyes as they watched their mother, the crystalline shards spread across the floor small enough to be dust. Perilous, malicious, murderous dust that was dangerously close to seeping into her heart.

"Go to your room, Lily."

Lily stayed where she was.

"Lily, please go to your room."

There was something dangerously calm and saccharine in her mother's tone. Something that was perhaps what made Lily linger a half second longer, eyeing her with curiosity.

"Lily..."

Lily was already a gyre of furious red hair on her way out the living room. Tears slipped down her eyes and burned her cheeks like she was crying acid.

She curled herself in the corner of her bed, rocking back and forth in the foetal position and willing the burning in the backs of her eyes to cease.

It was almost half an hour later that she stood up and caught a look of herself in the mirror.
Her cheeks weren't stained with tears...

They were stained with blood.

Presentations of magic in Lily had always correlated with her emotions and this wasn't any different. She didn't only cry blood, she cried vehement, betrayal, anguish. She cried from the sheer bellicose flame in the pit of her stomach. Somehow now she was used to the trickles of scarlet red running across her face; connecting her freckles, she was almost, almost, disappointed it was only blood. As far as Lily was concerned it should have been fire. Abandonment, alienation, injustice. They didn't hold a flame to the feeling of knowing that everything you thought you knew about someone was just a long, winding string of canards.

Blood dripped sinisterly down her rosy cheeks, the nipping pain had numbed now, she was almost impervious to it. It didn't hold a match to everything else that fuelled her sobs.

From where she stood, enthralled by the bitter crimson, she could hear her mother –now nothing but a monster– weeping to her father. Her father who, try as me might, would never quite be able to understand the complexity of Mrs Evans. She wasn't composed like him, wasn't organised like him, wasn't completely collected like him. It had never been the case that she was a bad person, nor mother, but the distant smell of gin was never far away. She was aloof and airy in a way that children seldom notice in their mothers.

Mr Evans held his wife as she cried, only smelling faintly of gin. She cried to him, pleading with him to understand, to understand that "there was nothing wrong with her," that it wasn't magic that was the matter, nor divine circumstance, but merely the company she hung out in.

Lily almost sniggered, it was hard to imagine that Severus had squeezed the blood from her eyes.

If only she was watching now.

Lily thought coldly. Of course it wasn't wholly her mother's fault. She knew that, even then, despite the countless occasions she had screamed the counter to her mother she knew it to be false. In fact is, it was absolute and utter tripe but that wouldn't stop it crossing her mind.

Her mother was frightened, that was all, she was frightened and she was fretted. It was difficult to comprehend such a thing at her tender age but the crystal in her soul had forced her youth to come to terms with far too many demons to count. She would never be the same as her peers. She might never get to meet the peers she could be the same as.

Over the years the crystalline shards plagued her again and again; sometimes at the expense of her ignorance, other times her arrogance but every single time she would be reminded of the day she cried anger. Because to Lily is wasn't blood she wept but emotion in its purest form. Tears of red hot, bloody anger...

Four days later a man appeared on the Evans' doorstep. Not just any man, he was so typically abnormal that one could sense his presence in the drab cal-de-sac the Evans house was located without having seen him.

Lily answered the door a mere second after it was called upon and was a hair away from gasping in delight. It was difficult not to recognise him immediately as Professor Albus Dumbledore. His silver beard almost reached the waistband of his lavish purple robes and beyond his half-moon spectacles there was a youthful and delighted man underneath the series of wrinkles, and still he looked aristocratic. He was the man that Severus described as the headmaster of Hogwarts School; if anyone could convince her mother of the reality of Hogwarts it was Professor Dumbledore.

"Hullo?"

"Hello, you must be Lily Evans?"

"That's me, would you like to come inside, sir?"

"That would be wonderful, Lily, but aren't you supposed to be skeptical or strangers?"

Lily gave him a juvenile smile, innocence oozing out of every pore, "you're no stranger, sir."

She lead him into the living room where he was greeted with Mrs Evans and her husband, pouring over the crossword in the Sunday paper.

"Excuse me, Mister and missus Evans?"

The couple looked up and simultaneously looked ready to faint. In their poor defence it wasn't the kind of sight that appears in one's living room on a late Sunday afternoon.
To anyone in a residence as plain as the cal-de-sac the Evans occupied, accent wallpapers were a shock to the system; never mind someone as splendidly strange as Albus Dumbledore.

Mrs Evans leapt to her feet in alarm, "Lily!" She squeaked, "why did you let a stranger in this house?"

"I didn't."

"Neither she did, Miss Evans. My name is Albus Dumbledore. See? Now you know my name, we can't be strangers anymore, can we?"

The calming drug of the Professor's voice seemed to seep down the Evans' bodies from head to toe. They were still on high alert but Mrs Evans tawny eyes were less wide and unnerved, and Mr Evans was no longer scavenging for a quick escape out the room.

Slowly –still unsure but feeling drugged by the calming blue of the Headmaster's tone– Mrs Evans nodded, feeling behind her for a chair to collapse into.

"I think it's best you leave us for a moment, Lily. I shall speak to you in a moment."

Lily nodded and scurried from the room, crossing her fingers behind her back, screwing her eyes shut tight in hope. Hope that Albus Dumbledore would be her saving grace.

He was not.

That became clear after twenty-five painful minutes of sitting on the stairs and bending her ear in attempt to catch a sentence or two but mainly in vain. It was the tone, not the words, that Lily caught from her hiding spot. And the tone told more volumes than any odd word could.

The feeling that over came her was different to the original crystalline shatter. This was more of a numbing in her eleven year old brain. It was a horrible compound of confusion and upset.

There had to be a perfectly logical explanation for this?

She realised that she sounded like her mother, although for a completely different reason.

When Albus emerged Lily scurried down the stairs to see him, taking into account the fact that her parents hadn't followed him out.

"I'm not going am I?"

The Headmaster turned to see Lily in the bottom stair by the front door, her expression full of naivety and disappointment.

Albus Dumbledore shook his head. Lily averted her gaze to the ground and didn't risk looking up for fear of crying.
"What you have to understand is that this decision isn't taken lightly and if I didn't agree with your mother and father I wouldn't have let them stick by their choice."

"What do you mean?"

"Miss Evans, you mustn't hate your mother and father for this. It's in your interests not to attend Hogwarts and I don't disagree that it won't be safe in our world. The wizarding world has a war brewing. A war that is trying to bring an end to witches and wizards, like yourself, those that are born to non-magical parents and it could put your position in the wizarding community in danger.
Your parents are doing right by you, Lily, and you shouldn't dislike them for what they are doing." Dumbledore assured her. There was something in the way he said it that made Lily believe every word.
"Perhaps one day we will meet again? If not, I urge you not to tell anyone of your gift or your meeting with me."

He was making his way towards the door now, he was going. And with him he took the last chance she had at magical life. He turned for a moment, his somehow lively old frame faced her for a moment.
"I hope to see you soon. I find that often if we dream something hard enough it is almost impossible not to achieve it. Dreams are wonderful things, Lily. You can give someone everything you own; but you cannot give them your dreams. Goodbye Miss Evans."

He closed the door gently behind him on his way out. Lily rushed to the window to watch him walk away but to her surprise he didn't walk at all. Instead he stood in the middle of the road, looked left, then right and then with a wink to her and a crack he was gone. Leaving Lily, once again, utterly alone.

She didn't bother confronting her mother. It was too raw to dig up. Instead she fled to the hill behind her house; she often went there for peace and quiet, something that was few and far between in a full household. It was the first place she ever used her magic on command, even just the pollinated air reminded her of the daisy that clasped up in the palm of her hand.

The hill wasn't very steep, nor tall, making it easy enough for her to access, but lacklustre enough to dissuade anyone from wanting to spend copious amounts of time there. The small, generally underwhelming peak didn't have much to offer in the way of a view but on a clear day it was possible to catch sight of the rolling hills of Derbyshire.

Lily didn't break stride until she reached the peak, where finally she collapsed and began to weep in despondency. She cried for the chances missed; for the world she would never get to see; for the friend she would have to disappoint; for her place in the world.

Life had played her the perfect hand. It was just in the wrong suit...

It took her longer than perhaps it should have for her to notice the snow falling on her head, too early for September, even in The Midlands. She reached out her hand, raising her head meekly, stained with tears (at least it wasn't blood).

But it wasn't snow either.

The 'snow' was sizzling and crushing between her fingers. It wasn't snow at all.

It was ash.

Lily's magic had always been convenient to her emotions. Ash was the perfect analogy.

She had cried blood.
She had rained ash.
And still she was alone.

But not for long...