The Trial

DECEMBER 20, 1979 -- BRISTOL

Severus Snape knelt before the fire in his manor, Shevvington Place. The room was completely dark, except for what little light small flames caused to play across his face. He folded his hands and waited.

Soon the orange fire turned into swirling shades of green, and a dark shape became eminent. The figure's red eyes made it clear to Snape that this was his master.

"Severus . . ."

Snape bowed his head. "Why is thy bidding, my Lord?"

"Have you found the Headquarters to Dumbledore's fan club?" Lord Voldemort rasped.

Snape lifted his eyes, his eyes bright and triumphant. "I have. They are working in Godric's Hollow, which James Potter now owns. A spell of ancient nature protects it. I could not get in because I was not invited by the master of it."

"Of course . . . of course . . ." Voldemort's mind was working, devising a plan to deceive. "This will not be difficult. All we have to do is remove Godric's Hollow from Potter's control, and Dumbledore's most intimate secrets will be available for us to take like rotten fruit off a vine."

Snape grinned eagerly. "Shall I kill him, my Lord?"

"No," Voldemort said slowly. "Not yet. He is too strong in magic, too well defended and protected for you to kill him."

It was extremely difficult for Snape to suppress a disgusted scowl.

"No," Voldemort was saying. "There is another way. An easier way, a more . . . fun way. You will get to kill, Severus, I promise that."

Snape shifted his weight. Killing James Potter was one thing. Killing someone else, though he hated to admit, was quite another. . . . Luckily, Lord Voldemort was too deep in thought to notice his hesitation.

"James Potter will be in Azkaban by Christmas Day, leaving Godric's Hollow unowned and unprotected," the Dark Lord said. "Listen carefully. This is what you must do."

MEANWHILE -- GODRIC'S HOLLOW

"What do you mean, you can't come?" James Potter said desperately. "You've got to come."

"How's that?" Lily Evans said with a teasing smile. "We're not dating anymore, you know."

James blinked. "I know." He shook himself mentally. "But -- Evans, it's an Order of the Phoenix Christmas party, and you're one of the most vital parts of it." He'd almost called her Lily. He hadn't done that since they stopped dating. That's all past now, he scolded himself. She's Evans to you.

"Oh, I'm sorry, there must be some mistake. I was told that the Order of the Phoenix was an organization to fight evil, not plan and carry out social gatherings."

Lily and James were sitting on the couch in the den of Godric's Hollow -- the house James had inherited, and the current headquarters for Dumbledore's followers. The year was 1978 and they were barely six months out of school.

"Don't be so coy," James said. "People around here haven't had any real fun for so long, it seems to me that when we do defeat Voldemort nobody'll know what to do with their free time. Tomorrow night, we'll eat, dance, get drunk on rummy nog -- You'll have fun. . . . And," he went on bravely, "I was sort of looking forward to seeing you there."

Lily looked at him, and for a fleeting moment, James thought he saw something -- felt something, felt the connection between them that had been so astonishingly strong during their seventh year -- but as soon as it had appeared, her expression changed, and James wondered whether he'd imagined the spark in her emerald eyes.

"I'm sorry, Potter, but things are kind of messy at home. I need to be there. I do think you'll get on swimmingly with your Marauders and the other 26 people who work with us." James had to smile.

"Yeah, Sirius and Remus and Peter have been a great help. We're still trying to decide on the party cookies -- Fireball Fritters or Trapdoor-Spider Sandies?"

Lily groaned. "Between Petunia and your pranks, I'll take Petunia." She stood up. "I gotta go. My sister'll go schizo if I come in after eight."

James stood, too, and walked her to the door. He watched her take off on her broomstick and disappear into the clouds, and went back into his house, to the kitchen where Sirius, Remus, and Peter were working on the cookie-dough silently.

"She's gone," James said. "And I've given up."

Sirius leapt off the counter upon which he'd been sitting. "Oh, good, we can make noise again." He licked some creamy batter off the spatula. "Now tell me again why we listened to that?"

"To see if Evans still gives a damn about me. Forget it, though, I think it's clear." He sighed, and gestured to the bowl of cookie dough with his wand. "Fireball?"

"It's not clear," said Remus, always the optimistic one. "She did seem to regret not being able to come tomorrow."

"She said between me and Petunia, she'd take Petunia," James said, unable to control the hurt in his voice.

There was a silence.

"She said between your pranks and Petunia," Peter put in.

"Same difference," James muttered glumly.

"Fireball might be a problem," said Sirius, fingering his wand. "Robes are a bit flammable. I wanna go for Trapdoor-Spider Sandies. Come on, James, this isn't like you. Stop moping, it's just a girl."

"Yeah, you're right," James said. "A girl. . . . An extremely pretty, clever girl. But -- Hey!" He brightened. "Women make up half the population of this world; there are plenty more pretty clever girls, aren't there?"

"That's right," Remus said, nodding.

"Yeah, mate, except the ones who know you hate you," Sirius admitted.

James deflated. He was right -- the girls in their year at Hogwarts had despised him. He'd had been disgustingly conceited throughout his first five years at Hogwarts. Most of the girls in their year had been head-over-heels for Sirius, but strongly disliked his snobby best friend, Lily Evans most of all. It took over a year of her ridicule and disgust, but James had finally realized his faults, and had humbled himself for her. Then they had dated during the seventh year. He truly fallen in love with her her -- he still loved her. But they'd broken up on the last day of school.

What went wrong? he thought to himself. And how can I fix it? How can I make her love me again?

He shook his head slightly, wanting to change the subject. "Let's do Smokebomb Sugar Cookies. It's less dangerous and less legs."

His friends gave their assent and James got out a cookie sheet.