The Lion and the Lily

Chapter One

There is so much to say and so little time. There is so much Harry must know, so much he must understand, and someday he will, I trust. Some day he will be old enough to understand. Perhaps by that time he will have experienced some of the same emotions that I have. Only the good ones, I pray. I pray he will he knows the burst of happiness that floods the soul with bliss like sunlight, and I pray he will never know the desolation when the sunlight is taken away and darkness pervades those regions once shimmering with brightness. May he never know the grief and the pain and the loss of hope. Harry, my darling, let me tell you a story. There is a maiden and a handsome hero and a wicked villain as well. But this story isn't made up. Every word is true.

***

"Oh - I'm so sorry - I didn't see you . . ." The voice trailed off uncertainly. I, heaped in an ungainly tangle of limbs and robes on the ground of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, was glad that my hair had come out of its prim bun and now fell in a thick red-gold curtain that veiled my flushed face most effectively.

Taking a deep breath to compose myself, I slowly lifted my head - and found myself face to face with a kneeling and deeply concerned-looking James Potter. I closed my eyes, flushing deeper. Idiot, I thought to myself. Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot. Oh, what would Petunia think if she were here? What would Petunia say if she saw the ever graceful and regal Lily sprawled like a dead rooster on the ground?

"It's quite all right," I said, stiffly. Nice way to start seventh year, wasn't it, by getting practically run over by the Hogwarts poster boy, James Potter, paragon of looks, grades, and popularity? I tested out the arm that I had fallen on. It worked. Gingerly, I felt my ribs, discovered all of them to be intact, and started to my feet.

"Here, let me help you up," he said swiftly, all brotherly concern. "I'm so sorry, I couldn't stop myself, I ran through too fast - "

I cut him short coldly. "It was my own fault. I oughtn't have stood so long in front of the barrier."

He slipped an arm around my waist, the other hand still holding mine, and helped me to my feet. The minute I regained my balance I stepped casually out of his hold, feeling an odd if momentary sense of loss at the rush of cold air where I had pressed against his warmth.

With a flick of his wand both my trunks and his were replaced on their respective trolleys. "Thank you," I said. He nodded cheerfully and started pushing mine. "Where will you be? I'll help you load 'em up."

He waved aside my protests. Sure that my face was now the approximate color of my hair, I randomly picked a carriage that looked empty, and he stowed my things onto the racks.

"Thank you," I said. Straightening, I added, "Thank you, but it was quite unnecessary. I could have managed - "

"I knocked you over," he said, as though that were a good enough explanation for him. He flashed a smile that would have melted all the icebergs in the Atlantic. "See you around."

I didn't answer. With a last smile and wave, he stepped back outside. Through the train window, I watched as he and his three especial buddies, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew greeted each other with great enthusiasm. My cheeks still burned with mortification. I went over the whole encounter again in my mind, wishing it had gone differently. What must he think of me?

The train left at eleven sharp. As it rolled out of the station, I curled up into a corner of my empty compartment and began to read. Soon, I was lost in another world.

Afternoon. I was starving. I hadn't had anything to eat since dinner last night. Listlessly, I paced the compartment. I was, as usual, alone. I had always been lonely, even as a very small child. My sister and I did not get along at all - whereas she was boy-crazy, pretty, and gregarious, I was aloof, homely, and extremely reticent. Petunia had had dozens of beaux, and was about to marry some horrible fat man named Vernon Dursley. I never could tell what she saw in him, besides his bank account.

I, on the other hand, was always somewhat overlooked at Hogwarts. I wasn't especially ugly, and while I had been somewhat plump in my earlier years, I had lengthened as I grew older. And nor was I stupid; I led most of my classes, all except for Transfiguration, which James Potter dominated, and Potions, which Severus Snape excelled at.

And it wasn't that I didn't want to open up to my peers - I liked talking about myself as much as most girls do. But there was never anyone to listen. My parents were a little lean in the purse, so my life was not exciting in tangible ways; my robes were inexpensive, my books secondhand, and I seldom traveled. But I had my dreams, my aspirations, my ambitions, and I was rich in these things.

I loved my studies, and threw myself into them wholeheartedly, spending most of my spare time in the library. But I always sat alone in my classes, so it was somewhat awkward when we had to pair up.

It was in Potions that I first spoke to Severus Snape. He had been without a partner as well; the professor ordered us to work together, and dispassionately, we had. Snape didn't know the first thing about good hygiene, but I felt rather sorry for him; he was so unpleasant that no one could tolerate him, not even his fellow Slytherins. I tried very hard to be polite to him, and eventually discovered it to be worth the effort. He wasn't half-bad once you got to know him. After our project had been completed, we had never spoken again, but I sensed that he rather liked me and had not minded that he had been forced to work with a Gryffindor.

It was in my fourth year that I discovered what I had always termed The Room. It was really an extraordinary bedchamber; it could be accessed from the southeast corner of any room in the castle by tapping the fifth brick from the bottom. Its main entrance was behind the portrait of a shepherd girl, but this portrait was located right next to the Fat Lady and I did not want any others to discover my haven, so I usually entered it through a disused classroom on the third floor.

I loved The Room, and by my fifth year, had moved permanently into it. Its whole south wall was simply a window that was enchanted so that I could see anywhere on the castle grounds. "Quidditch pitch," I'd say, and I could watch the Quidditch games right from my own room. There were also beautiful facilities adjoining the main bedroom, with a bathtub the size of a small swimming pool, an incredible vanity with a darling mirror named Marnie, and a most obliging wardrobe that selected the most becoming clothes for me.

There was a piano that played on its own and a magical radio that would blare any song I asked it to. There was a writing desk that organized my papers for me, calendars that magically updated itself without me telling it to, and once I caught the bed tidying itself up. There was a closet that wasn't really a closet, but the entrance to any room I chose. "Library," I'd tell it, on nights of insomnia, and walking in, I'd find myself in the library. It was dreadfully convenient.

I became friends with the house elves, and on nights when I couldn't find the strength to dine in the Great Hall, they would prepare special dinners just for me. After awhile I was so spoiled by the special treatment that I never went down anymore.

I never wanted the other girls of my year to know where I went, so in our dorms I would always choose the bed in the southeast corner. Retiring early, I'd draw the curtains so that they couldn't see whether I was really in it or not, go to The Room, and spend the night there.

And so, I was very lonely, though I did not mind it all, especially after the discovery of The Room. The sense of cleavage deepened as I grew older, instead of disappearing. Sometimes I felt wistfully that it would be nice to have a real friend, but I could not find that friend in Hogwarts. And being of a nature that could not compromise with second best when first best was denied, I made no lesser friendships. I was contented, nay, I was very happy, with my Room and my books and my dreams. Truly, I lacked nothing.

What really puzzled me was my election, first as prefect, and then as Head Girl. My fellow prefects had been brilliant, glittering girls with many chums, while my only friends were the house elves, my mirror Marnie, and the frightened, bewildered first years, until they were no longer frightened and bewildered first years but superior and sophisticated second years that did not need me anymore.

I pondered this that afternoon on the train. I was glad, glad to be going by to Hogwarts and my Room and my classes, and my heart was singing, the blood running like quicksilver through my veins. I had forgotten my humiliating encounter with James Potter.

It was thundering and raining in earnest. I was glad, in a way; it matched my own turbulent mood. The train swayed a little on its track. I took a perverse pleasure in the gray, savage tempest. Under all my reserve, I was as wayward and willful as April; I loved the sea for its storms and gathered my roses where I could.

I had had no doubt that Head Boy would be James Potter. He was the star of the school - clever, handsome, charming, kind. He was Quidditch Captain for the third year, he led all his classes, he was a prefect, a prankster, the best Seeker Hogwarts had seen in years. He was self-assured without being arrogant, outspoken without being domineering, witty without being irrelevant. He listened more than he talked, he helped more than one unfortunate student out of the clutches of Filch, and his pranks were all diabolically planned and artfully executed. His future would undoubtedly be a brilliant one; he had the makings of an Auror, I had heard the professors whisper to one another, though he could have flown for England if he wanted to.

I loved flying too, but I lacked the finesse, the skill, to fly on the House team. I flew for the fierce, intense pleasure of shooting through the air like a knife. I flew fast and hard, without the control so necessary to Quidditch.

I started out of my reverie at the sound of the compartment door opening. Turning, I saw Lucius Malfoy and his gang of Slytherin pals enter the compartment.

My first instinct was to slink into a corner and cower there until they left. But I would not let myself be bullied by Malfoy. Straightening, I lifted my chin and gazed fixedly out the window, praying that they would ignore me and go on.

No such luck. "Well, well, well," drawled Lucius, with a famous Malfoy smirk. "What have we here?"

They circled me, like lions around their prey. I swallowed carefully, determined not to let them see me frightened.

"Why, it's the little Mudblood Evans," he said, his voice soft and dangerous. He was much taller than me, and placing a cold, clammy hand on my chin, he jerked my head up.

"Let me go." I meant to speak imperiously, but of course, the words came out in a barely audible whisper.

"The filthy little Mudblood wants me to let her go," he mocked, smiling cruelly. "What do you think, Nott?"

Before Gordon Nott could answer, the compartment door opened again. Please, please, please let it be a teacher, I prayed, please let it be someone who can help me.

Because Lucius still had his horrible clammy hand on my chin, I couldn't turn to see who it was. But I recognized the voice.

"Let her go," came Sirius Black's even, distinctive tone.

"Why, if it isn't Black," said Lucius derisively, looking up, though he let go of me. I staggered backwards, ducked out of the ring of Slytherins, and collapsed onto a chair, feeling violently ill. "Lupin. And . . . Potter." I clamped my hand over my mouth, feeling my empty stomach reel. The train gave a lurch. I stopped listening to what Lucius was saying, it made my head hurt too much. Mustn't be sick, I thought vaguely. Didn't have anything to eat, mustn't be sick or will . . .

I fainted.