Entry tags:

fic, fic rated g, halloween submissions, rated g

FIC: "Unfogging the Future" (G)
Title: Unfogging the Future
Author: harktislark
Rating: G
Words: ~3,000
Warnings: None.
Summary: Divining the future is an imprecise art, but Lily and Severus make the most of their tea leaves.
Author's Notes: Much adoration for R., my lovely beta. Also, this site and this site were used as references.

Unfogging the Future


October 31, 1970

The cup’s halfway to Lily’s mouth, burnished silver in her little, pale hand, when she sets it down.

“Sev,” Lily says seriously. Her green eyes are bright and solemn. “I want to know the future.”

Severus starts in surprise, before he rocks his chair back, tucking his hands behind his head. On the telly, this is how the best, the strongest men sit. He affects a sneer, the kind his mother wears when his father’s too drunk to remember that “Ellen” is the girl back at the pub, and that the sallow-faced woman is his wife.

“That’s a load of tosh,” says Severus, consciously echoing his mother. “They’re a bunch of frauds.”

“They?” Lily leans forward and tugs closer Severus’s cup, a twin to her own, and plops a few cubes of sugar into his tea.

Severus pretends not to notice, even though he really wants his tea black. He shrugs. “Seers. Most of them can’t even see ten paces ahead. You’ll never catch me listening to one of them, that’s for sure.”

“Oh.” Lily wrinkles her nose. “Well, what about reading tea?”

“Reading tea? Like a book?”

“Reading tea leaves,” Lily amends. “You can do that, you know. I found a book on it in my school’s library.”

“Your school teaches magic to Muggles?” bursts out Severus, his arms dropping from behind his head. Spoons clatter as his hands fall against the table. Some of his tea spills.

“Obviously,” says Lily. She reaches around and plucks Severus’s forgotten napkin from his lap, swiping away the tea. “That’s why you’re the only wizard I’ve ever met.”

Severus frowns; he hates being on the teasing end of things. “Well, that’s a relief,” he says, a sullen twist to his mouth. Lily’s silent, and between her brows there’s a slight pucker.

“But let’s try it,” Severus says quickly. “It shouldn’t be too hard.”

Lily matches Severus’s forced smile with a nod. For some reason, she’s oddly stiff, but their hands work in fluid tandem as they rearrange the teapot and the silver and the sugar bowl. Then Lily pads down to the kitchen to retrieve the library book from the breakfast table, while Severus waits, faint jitters in his feet. Snapping a quick look at the door, he rises from his chair and skirts around the room, hoarding all the details he can.

That is Lily’s stuffed animal, a monstrous, one-eyed bear called “Fuzzy.”

That is Lily’s dresser, where her diary’s buried under her socks. (She’s mentioned hiding it from her sister.) He’ll read it later.

That is Lily’s bed. He flushes, all of ten and acutely aware of the tremble in his legs, and then nears her pillow. There are a few strands of deep red hair, which he fingers reverently and then pockets. Just as he’s lowering his head to inhale her scent, Lily’s door creaks open. Severus leaps away and crashes into the dresser, so startled that his expression’s jumbled.

“Lily?” says a nasal voice. It’s the Muggle sister. Severus’s lips curl; she fixes him with a stare. “Oh, it’s you.”

They size each other up for a good ten seconds, but her beady, wary eyes catch his twitching hands, and with a haughty sniff, she flounces out and slams the door. A screech follows, and Severus hears Lily’s sweet voice as she attempts to placate her sister. He smirks, smoothes his rumpled overalls, and settles back at the table, stirring Lily’s tea idly.

Lily enters without a word, although the pucker between her brows has deepened. Severus would like to say, “Your sister’s awful,” but he bites his tongue and slides her cup back to her. He’s learned that Lily doesn’t tolerate attacks on her family.

“Thanks,” Lily says quietly. She downs her tea and swirls the dregs, and their heads bend together in close examination. Frankly, it looks only like a soggy mess to Severus, but he plays along.

“It’s a ball,” says Severus, utterly certain.

“It’s a cloud,” says Lily, equally certain.

Severus flips through Lily’s book and scans the meanings for “cloud” and “ball.”

“Let’s go with ‘ball,’” he says. “It means ‘variable fortunes.’ ‘Cloud’ means trouble.”

“Sev!” cries Lily. “You can’t just pick the meaning you like best. That defeats the whole point.”

Severus shrugs. “Not like I believe in prophecies. Besides,” he adds, “even if you want to go with ‘cloud,’ both ‘trouble’ and ‘variable fortunes’ could mean anything. We’ve learnt nothing from this.”

Their eyes meet as Lily studies him, mouth almost curved in a smile. Then she pushes her chair back abruptly and heads for the door. “Fancy going trick-or-treating tonight with me and Tuney?”


October 31, 1974

“No, I think I’d rather not,” Severus sneers, one of his hands clutching his bag possessively. His hand burrows into his robes, and he grips his wand, fingers clenched.

He’s treated to a broad grin as James Potter, leader of the third year Gryffindor boys and Chaser extraordinaire, laughs heartily at his refusal for a bit of “midnight tricking” and slings an arm around Severus’s shoulders. Potter has shot up a good five inches over the summer hols, and now, he towers over Severus. In the dimly lit hallway, Potter’s shadow looms and melds with the dark wall behind him, and Severus is sorely reminded that the closest he’s gotten to a growth spurt is the crack and whine of his stretching voice.

“Why not, Snivellus? Got a hot date?” teases Potter, his large hand stifling.

Severus snaps. “Yes, actually,” he says rashly.

Potter’s eyes narrow, and the hand on Severus’s back stiffens. “It’s not Evans, is it?”

Severus forcibly wrenches James’s hand away and steps back, nostrils flared in disgust. “I fail to see how it’s any of your concern, Potter.”

“Look here,” begins Potter heatedly, fists tightening. But before he can finish, one of his cronies, the sickly one called Lupin, has rounded the corner and now stares at them with obvious apprehension. Potter’s glance flicks to Lupin, and he calls, deceptively casual, “All right there, Remus?”

There’s a long pause before Lupin responds, his forehead furrowed and an odd expression on his face. “Yes,” he says carefully. “Are you?”

Potter forces a smile onto his face, but his eyes are hard. “Sure. Just asked Sniv—Snape here if he wanted to come along with us tonight to the kitchens, bring his friends . . . Holiday spirit, you know?”

An eyebrow arches up on Lupin’s peaky, careworn face. “Of course,” he says, nodding as if Potter makes perfect sense. The ludicrous nature of the invitation—Severus only has one friend, and Potter knows exactly who that is—makes Severus itch to turn and walk away, but something in him refuses to leave. He’s not about to let Potter think he’s been intimidated into running.

“But since Snape’s occupied, I think we’ll have to postpone. All right, Snape?”

Severus twitches. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Potter, but I’m not buying it.” On that definite note, he turns his back on Potter. His mind’s leapt ahead to the thought of Lily when he hears a rapid-fire, furious, “Accio Snape’s wand! Accio bag!”

As his wand rockets out of his robes and his bag’s torn from his shoulder, the first thing Severus feels is a hot current of anger. The second is a deep, stomach-twisting mortification. Don’t open it—don’t open it, he silently chants, his helpless litany failing him as he whirls about to see Potter’s triumphant smirk, the flap of his bag unlatched.

“James,” Lupin begins. Potter silences him with a single look. Lupin gazes down at his hands; the creases on his forehead seem pained.

“What do we have here?” Potter pulls out a beaten-up, dog-eared journal, thumbing through with undisguised glee. “Levicorpus? That’s a spell, right? And what else, hmm….”

Potter’s expression darkens. “You write about Lily? Next to your nasty spells? What, planning to hex her or something?”

“That’s Evans to you,” snarls Severus. Each breath comes heavily; his pupils dilate, his eyes blacken.

“Oh, yeah?” Potter challenges. “I’m not a greasy git. I’m in her house and all her classes!”

“But you’re not her friend,” Severus says in a low, livid hiss. “I warn you, Potter, give me back my bag and wand or this’ll be the last pathetic, brutish thing you’ll ever do. I promise.”

For a tense moment, Severus isn’t sure if Potter’s about to throttle him. Then Potter rolls his eyes, dumps the journal and wand into the bag, and tosses it back. There’s a muscle pulsing in his cheek as he nods to Lupin and stalks away, but apparently, he can’t help himself, because he calls back, “Have a nice date, Snivellus.”

~*~
The “date” goes rather badly. Lily is unwitting of Severus’s recent encounter and utterly confused with his tetchy, snappish behavior. He’s not about to share—the last time he spoke of a Potter showdown, she consoled him in a manner that he found humiliating. No, he doesn’t need her support. No, he doesn’t need her telling Professor McGonagall. And no, he doesn’t need her to speak to them.

Severus has his own means. He’ll make sure that Potter and Black and all those self-righteous, damnably foolish arses get what they deserve. He smiles to himself. Sectumsempra is still in the works, but when he’s done, it’ll be beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. Perhaps it’ll even impress Lily, he thinks, oblivious to the pucker between Lily’s brows as she catches the gleam in his eyes.

Finally, as Severus snaps back his cup and gulps down the tea, Lily extends one hand, reaching for his cup.

“Let’s see what your fortune holds,” she says tightly. Severus glances up, startled out of his moody glower. Lily smiles to see him aghast. She pries the cup out of his hand and asks sweetly, “Remember that day?”

Severus remembers and nods, somewhat apprehensive. The cup’s spun, the dregs swirled, and Lily peers in.

“It looks like an axe. . . .” This morbid declaration has Severus jolt in his seat. He’s not taking Divination—it’s all balderdash, according to his mother—but a murderous weapon doesn’t sound promising. He leans closer to study the drenched leaves, secretly glad for an opportunity to smell the apples in her hair.

“I think it looks more like a—” he pauses, casting for a suitably similar but far less violent object, “an anchor.”

“Well, that’s possible,” says Lily, thoughtful. “Do you think it’s near the top or bottom?”

It looks rather middling to Severus, but he answers gamely, “The bottom.”

“Well, if it’s at the bottom, it could be ‘inconstancy.’ It usually means your future’s clouded.”

Severus almost sneers, but recalls that it’s an ugly expression. He settles for rolling his eyes. “Exactly what I thought.”

Lily’s gaze sharpens and she offers, “By the way, an axe—near the bottom—means ‘difficulties.’”

Severus throws up his hands. “Oh, brilliant.”

He’s rewarded with a heartbreaking smile, as Lily tucks a red curl behind one ear. “Isn’t it?”


October 31, 1975

It’s a gorgeous, golden autumn afternoon, and Lily’s under the tree by the lake with a Charms textbook and a cup of chamomile for company. She wriggles her toes free from her shoes, then leans back and props herself up with her elbows.

From the castle’s front steps, Severus admires her, a fiery beacon in the lowering sunlight. Her red hair’s bright against the blue bowl of the sky, and her face’s upturned, pale features aglow, her eyes shut tight. As her pert nose takes a sniff of crisp, breezy air, Severus copies her, closing his eyes and inhaling a heady lungful.

Then he squares his thin, hunched shoulders and crosses the grass with as much assurance he can muster, plastering an awkwardly broad smile on his face. His is a long, narrow face made of angles, not toothy grins.

As the crinkle of dead leaves announce his arrival, Lily’s eyes open, then close. A stocking-clad foot waves at Severus as he drops down beside her.

“Hello, Sev,” she says.

“You look—” he blurts, halting suddenly as he realizes what he’s about to say. He cringes.

Lily’s eyes snap open, and Severus looks up pointedly at the rustling orange leaves and says dryly, “You match the season so well.”

Lily laughs. “Thank you. I’m glad I’m an orange mess.”

Shaking her head, she runs her hand through her long hair, attempting to free the leaves and twigs nested there. Severus halts her hand; the cool touch makes her pause. Lily meets his eyes, brows raised curiously.

“Let me,” he says swiftly. “I’ll be careful.”

Lily nods slowly, a strange glint in her eyes. She turns her back to him and allows him to comb through her thick hair for the autumn debris. When he’s nearly done, Lily hums a bit in apparent contentment, and Severus snatches the opportunity. He doesn’t remove his hands, and there’s a gradual shift as his long, spidery fingers cease hunting for leaves and instead, begin to tease apart the tangles in the deep red strands, as gentle as though he were sifting through cobwebs.

Her hair’s warm, and this close to her, he can hear every breath and every indistinct sigh, and she’s his. There’s an unsettled lurching in his stomach and his heart’s beating a-rat-a-tat-tat, and as he reaches for her shoulder, she turns to meet his gaze, and her eyes are so green and so bright, and he leans forward, and, and—her face slips past his, and he feels the soft pressure of her lips against his cheek and a murmured “thank you” in his ear. Now she’s inching away and her hair’s positively glittering in the sunset. Severus feels something inside him clench and release.

“Tea?” Lily offers brightly. Severus nods, aware that his cheeks are aflame as brightly as her hair, but his face is blank, and that’s all that matters.

When they’ve emptied their cups with cautious sips, they check each other’s cups. It’s now a habit, and Severus’s done this enough that he knows the meanings to the most frequent signs for Lily—birds are good news, apples mean achievement, and fish signal good fortune. However, he’s not sure of the dregs in Lily’s cup. It appears to be a cross, but he’s never encountered it before.

“You’ve got a bush,” declares Lily.

Severus smirks. “Back to your first year of Divination, are we?”

Lily shoots him a grin, then says, mockingly affronted, “Of course not. This is good news, Sev—new opportunities and friends are coming your way.”

“All right,” says Severus, even though he knows Lily will be the only real friend he’ll ever want. “You’ve got a cross.”

A strange expression crosses Lily’s face. “Really?”

Severus’s eyes narrow. “What? What does it mean?”

Lily’s face breaks into a teasing smile. “I thought you didn’t put much stock in the ‘woolly arts’?”

Severus says nothing and stares until her smile fades. She huffs exasperatedly, saying shortly, “Sev, don’t worry about it. It does mean suffering and sacrifice, but really, you probably just misread the dregs.”

The sun’s set by now. Lily picks herself up and offers a hand to Severus. He snorts, ignoring her. As they head back to the castle, he doesn’t notice her puckered brow, but he does notice that as she dumps the dregs into the lake, she’s careful to avoid looking at the bottom of her cup.

That night, Severus borrows Avery’s Divination textbook and looks up “cross.” Lily’s right, as usual, but she’s forgotten the third meaning: protection.


October 31, 1981

Severus brews himself a pot of tea. It’s a lovely infusion of asphodel and wormwood, and the scent is overpowering in the small office. He breathes it in, reveling in the heaviness he feels as the steam curls up his long, hooked nose.

“Severus?”

Dumbledore’s at his door, the twinkle missing from his eyes. “I’m about to meet Hagrid at the Dursleys’. Would you care to come along?”

Severus shakes his head, instantly bitter as the leaden feeling is replaced by a sharp pounding in his temples. Dumbledore catches his expression, and sweeps in, scanning the open vials and the steaming pot.

“Severus,” said Dumbledore sharply. “Don’t drink that. I need you alive.” He pauses, then adds, “Lily’s son needs you alive.”

Dumbledore’s concern does little for Severus’s listless shrugs, and finally, Dumbledore sighs and steps back out. “I won’t deny you the choice, Severus, but I thought you were braver than this.”

A tiny fire sparks at that. Severus glances up, dull anger throbbing somewhere—he doesn’t know, doesn’t really care—but Dumbledore has already left.

Severus fingers a few deep red strands of hair in his pocket, and after careful examination, lets them fall into the tea. It’s the final, necessary ingredient. He stoppers Lily’s life into a Draught of Living Death and, eyes burning, decides to dispose of the rest.

As he drains the pot, he can’t help but notice the dregs linger at the bottom, huddled in the shape of a cross.