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“You’re not ready.” She frowned.
“Lily!” James wore half of his Harlequin costume, and not the right half. He waved a shoe, one leg tangled in his tights. “You look amazing!”
“Thanks.” Her voice was flat, but the dress floated about her, a confection of silk, lace, ribbons, and feathers. “Get dressed.”
She eyed the rest of them. Pettigrew stood in the corner, the baggy white robes not hiding the butterbeer paunch. True to Pulcinella’s character, he was stuffing his face.
And then, there was Sirius, who decided to act the part of the villainous Scaramouche. He lazed about, already dressed, drinking and harassing the others, offering comments on James’ costume.
Remus wouldn’t meet her eyes. He looked as awkward and out of place as she felt. Sandrone, the clever peasant spokesman for the oppressed. She almost smiled at the striped socks.
The entire trip had been a mistake, she knew that now. James had arrived at her parents’ house, flashed his charm and his money, and whisked her away before she realized she’d agreed.
They still didn’t know that she’d heard them from her bedroom that first night away—James and Sirius, arguing about their relationship. Their relationship. Sirius thought she ought to be told.
She almost liked him for that, the honesty.
Then, she heard them making up. James didn’t believe she would understand. She was muggleborn. She hadn’t been brought up to accept that a man could fall in love, but still need a wife. Apparently, his father was pressuring him to strengthen the Potter line with muggle blood.
She’d gagged. Neither had used that word—but they might as well have. She only kept the mask up now to avoid more drama before they returned home.
She wondered what Venice might have for her and her half-dressed bunch of drunks, acting the parts of the Commedia Dell’Arte.
When had this become her life?
Glittering and twittering crowds mingled and sipped at ridiculous concoctions, half-potions half-alcohol, and gossiped about the English principi .
Lily pulled a face from behind her mask, hating them all.
She endured a waltz with James, feeling her skin crawl. She refused to dance with Sirius or Pettigrew, but allowed Remus to twirl her around the room.
“You know, don’t you?”
Their eyes met despite the masks. She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.
“I wanted to tell you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“They—they’re my friends.”
She sighed. “I thought we were friends. Do you really want to live in that cage for the rest of your life?”
Her own words twisted inside her.
He looked down, and she sighed. She raised her hand from his shoulder to lift his chin. “Be a better man, Remus.”
She smiled at him, and then slipped away. She needed solitude.
The stars mocked her. Her night of romance had turned into dust in her mouth. She leaned against a column, and stared into the night.
She deserved something better than simply strengthening the Potter bloodlines. She refused to live in a cage.
A branch of pink orchids appeared in front of her.
Pierrot, the sad clown, tilted his head and offered the flowers again. “Thanks.” She ran a finger over the petals. “These are my favorites.”
Pierrot nodded. She could sense a strange tension in his body. Almost—almost like, “S-Sev?”
“I should go.” He turned.
“No!” She grabbed his shoulder. “No,” she repeated, softer now. “Please don’t go.”
“Lils?”
“Why are you here?”
“My apprenticeship. My Master,” he sneered the word, “is here, drinking his weight in goblin gin, and providing potions for fools. He requires a minder, thus, I am here.”
“Not minding him.”
“Well,” he shrugged, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. She had missed him.
“You always did refuse to suffer fools.” She smiled and straightened his costume.
“And you? Why are you out here looking so sad? That’s Pierrot’s job, you know? Columbine ought to be dancing.”
“Columbine is pathetically sick of dancing.”
“Oh?”
“Sev, I’ve made a mess of my life.” She leaned into him, and he wrapped an arm around her.
“No more than I have of mine,” he replied. “Is your mess fixable?”
“I don’t know. But I’m determined it won’t get worse,” she promised. “What about yours?”
“Fixing my mess would mean angering some rather curse-happy people.”
She ran a hand over his left arm and glanced up at him, but he shook his head. “No, but it’s expected once the mastery is complete.”
“If the mastery takes longer than expected?”
“That would be a pity,” he sounded amused. “Lily,” he began.
“Merlin, it must be bad, if you’re calling me that.” She shook her head and smiled. The riot of curls she’d wrestled into an elaborate updo shook slightly.
“I wanted to apologize,” he murmured.
“No—Don’t apologize. I never should’ve—“ she broke off with a sob. “There’s all kinds of horrible in the world, Sev. Put the blame for that day on the people who deserve it. Not you. Not even me.”
Severus squeezed her tighter. Lily closed her eyes, turning into the embrace. She felt him fold her up in his arms and gently urge her head down onto his chest, and for the first time since she’d left Cokeworth, she felt at home.
“Dance with me, Sev?”
“If you like.” He began to sway slightly to the soft strains of music coming from the ballroom.
“Dance with me tomorrow, Sev?”
“Tomorrow?”
She nodded, the soft fabric of his costume brushing her cheek, the black buttons tickling her nose. “And the day after that.”
“The day after,” he parroted.
“Yes, Sev,” she stopped swaying and lifted her mask. He removed his own. “And all the days after that.”
She rose onto her tiptoes and kissed him, hoping she guessed right. She tasted his surprise, and then he was kissing her back, squeezing her tight and lifting her up to twirl around, her ridiculous skirts floating, as she broke the kiss in a fit of laughter.
“Did you just ask me to marry you?” Severus grinned at her.
She gaped at him. Had she? She supposed she had. “Depends on what you’re gonna say, I guess.”
“What kind of Slytherin answer is that?”
Later, after they’d shared a glass of champagne, avoided the people they’d arrived with, and slunk out of the palazzo, they made their way across St. Mark’s, ignoring the pigeons.
Lily had a hotel room to clear out and a letter to write, and Severus had a tiny apartment over his master’s potions lab.
And the apartment had a bed.