The Marauders: Year One (female)

29. Against the Dark Lord's Wishes

For the past few days, Lillian had purposefully avoided Severa. He knew that she was at least vaguely aware of some of the more illicit goings-on in Slytherin House. He was even more appalled that she hadn't seen fit to tell him that the older students were chatting to Lord Voldemort in the fire place.

However, by Sunday, Lillian decided that enough was enough. He couldn't very well ignore Severa for the rest of his life. Besides, she was still his best friend. The only way to get around it was to go up to her and confront her about it.

Who knew? Maybe, by some miracle, Severa would be completely oblivious, or perhaps she had an excellent reason for not telling him.

He could only hope, and pray that Slytherin wasn't as bad as the other Gryffindors made it out to be. If they were as bad, he hoped that Severa hadn't been influenced badly by them. Severa had made it seem like Slytherin was the only Hogwarts house worth trying for. Lillian had often dreamt of what it would be like, being Sorted into Slytherin with his best friend.

Now that Lillian was at Hogwarts, and had seen both Slytherin and Gryffindor first-hand, he wasn't quite so sure that Severa had been entirely right, and he often thought of how difficult it would have been for him in Slytherin, as a Muggleborn, in these times.

He sat curled on the night stand by the window, which was slightly misted over from the cool morning air, and grabbed a blank piece of parchment, shoving aside the stack of returned letters that he'd sent to Patrick.

Not one of them had even been opened. Not one. Lillian wasn't so sure his parents were even receiving his letters either, because whilst they hadn't been sent back like Patrick's, it didn't seem like they were getting them either. At any rate, Lillian had received no news from them whatsoever.

Fumbling around in the drawer for a quill, and trying not to wake his sleeping dorm-mates turned out to he quite the chore. Alex Prewett was not known to be the sweetest of souls when woken up before seven o'clock.

Lillian let out a hiss of triumph when his fingers closed about a quill, only to curse in disappointment when he discovered there was no ink to be found. Bleeding wizards and their ruddy quills!

Why couldn't they just bloody use biros or even just simple ball points? It would make life a ton easier for everyone, and there was absolutely no reason not to, even if it went against Hogwarts' "aesthetic".

Wizards really needed to get over themselves, and realise that not every idea was bad, just because it came from a Muggle. Cars were a Muggle idea, and plenty of wizards used those. They'd probably claim that the Muggles had stolen it, though.

Lillian revolved to bring back a ton of normal pens back with him when he returned from the Christmas Holidays, and sod anyone who had any critisism to make of it.

Lillian spat on the end of his quill to get whatever ink was left on it running, and began his letter to Severa. The writing was jagged and crooked, and the sound of the dry quill scraping against the parchment grated on Lillian's sanity, but it was an important letter, so he kept going.

Dear Severa,
I realise that we haven't spoken in many days, and I'm really sorry about that. I'll explain everything to you as soon as I can. Meet me on the grounds after lunch?

Your friend always, Lillian.

Lillian went over the letter several times, reading it over and over again in his head, until it was finally deemed satisfactory, and unproblematic enough for her friend.