The rain started as they reached the iron bridge—a soft, misting drizzle that turned the river silver and blurred the edges of the crumbling factories across the water. Lily ran to the railing, leaning over to stare at the churning current below. Severus followed, gripping the rusted metal with fingers still marked from last night.
Elias hung back a few steps, hands in his pockets, watching the pair of them framed against the grey skyline. They looked almost like children from another world—one where bruises didn't bloom beneath sleeves and magic wasn't something to hide.
Lily glanced back at him.
"Come on," she called. "It's better up close."
Elias joined them, though every instinct reminded him this bridge wasn't safe—bolts rusted through, boards groaning under weight—but Lily didn't know that, and Severus didn't care, and if either of them slipped, Elias would catch them long before they hit the river.
He always would.
Lily turned her face into the wind, eyes bright even under the darkening clouds. "This place isn't as awful as you two said."
Severus snorted. "Yes, it is. You just like everything."
"That's not true." She wrinkled her nose. "I don't like maths. Or Mrs. Daugherty's cat. Or… that man from the pub who yells at children."
"You shouldn't be near the pub," Elias said sharply.
Lily blinked at him. "I'm not. I just walk past it sometimes."
"Walk the long way," he said. "There are people there who would hurt someone like you."
"Someone like me?"
"Kind," he said curtly. "And noticeable."
Lily stared at him for a heartbeat, something flickering in her expression, fragile and unreadable. Then she smiled, though softer than before.
"I'll walk the long way," she promised.
Severus shot Elias a look—something between confusion and gratitude—and Elias turned away, unable to bear how transparent he suddenly felt.
The rain came harder then, pattering across the iron beams. Lily stepped back from the railing.
"Let's go to the old rowboat," she said. "It's close and we can shelter there."
Severus lit up. "Yes! Elias, come on."
Elias followed them down the embankment to where a half-sunken boat lay on its side like a forgotten skeleton. They ducked beneath its hull, where the planks formed a crooked wooden cave. Inside, the sound of the rain became a steady drumming above their heads.
Lily sat cross-legged on the dirt and patted the space beside her. Severus flopped down immediately. Elias lowered himself more carefully, conscious of every inch of cramped space.
It was warm in a way Spinner's End rarely was—three bodies in close quarters, sharing breath and heartbeat and quiet.
Lily plucked a pebble from the ground and traced circles on her knee. "Severus," she said, "you never finished telling me how you first knew you were magical."
Severus grinned, the bruise on his lip pulling awkwardly. "Oh! Right. Well—it happened when my father smashed my toy broom. I got so angry it glued itself back together. Upside down. And then it attacked him."
Lily gasped. "Attacked him?"
"Flew straight into his face." Severus looked extremely pleased. "Elias had to pull it off."
Lily turned to Elias, eyes wide. "You saved your father from a broom?"
"It wasn't saving," Elias said dryly. "It was directing the broom at a safer object."
Lily laughed—a full, unguarded sound that filled the wooden shelter. Elias felt it like a warmth on his skin.
"What about you?" she asked him, brushing a strand of red hair behind her ear. "How did you find out?"
Elias's fingers curled.
He thought of Tobias frozen mid-swing, eyes full of hate and fear.
He thought of his mother's shaking hands and her whispered warning.
"I always knew," he said at last.
Lily tilted her head, waiting.
"Magic listens to me," Elias continued quietly. "Before I ever tried to use it."
There was a silence.
Severus glanced up sharply; he hadn't known Elias would speak of this. But Lily didn't recoil. She didn't frown or whisper or shrink back. She only nodded slowly, as if memorizing his words.
"That sounds lonely," she said.
Elias blinked.
He had expected fear. Or awe.
Not this.
"It isn't lonely," Severus said defensively. "He has me."
Lily smiled at him. "I know. But even with someone… some things still feel lonely."
She looked back at Elias.
"And that's all right."
Something pressed against Elias's chest again—heavy, unfamiliar, frightening in its gentleness.
He didn't answer.
The rain softened overhead. Lily lay back on the dirt, hands folded beneath her head, staring at the ribs of the boat above them. Severus lay beside her a moment later.
Elias stayed upright.
"Lie down, too," Lily murmured without opening her eyes. "It's more comfortable."
"I'm fine."
Severus nudged his ankle. "Just do it."
Reluctantly, Elias lay back, staring up at the warped planks. Lily shifted, her shoulder brushing his.
He felt it everywhere.
A quiet settled around them—not awkward, not tense. Just quiet. A kind Elias had never felt in Spinner's End.
Lily's voice was soft when she spoke again.
"What do you think Hogwarts will be like?"
Severus answered first, rambling excitedly about potions dungeons and house banners and ghosts. Lily hummed in interest.
When Severus finished, she nudged Elias gently.
"What about you?"
Elias considered.
"A place where we won't be helpless," he said. "A place where we can learn enough to never be afraid again."
Lily's breath caught.
Severus stared at him with something like awe.
"That," Lily whispered, "sounds like hope."
Elias stared upward.
He hadn't meant it to sound hopeful.
He had meant it to sound like strategy.
But Lily Evans had a talent for taking his edges and softening them without trying.
When the rain finally stopped, the three of them crawled out from beneath the boat. The air felt cleaner. The world seemed lighter—even Spinner's End.
They walked back together until the Evans home appeared at the end of the street, bright curtains glowing faintly through the window.
Lily turned to them, her hair frizzing wildly in the damp air. "Tomorrow? Same time?"
"Yes," Severus said immediately.
Lily looked at Elias.
He nodded once. "Yes."
Her grin could have lit the river.
Then she waved—an enthusiastic, almost theatrical gesture—and ran toward her house.
Severus watched her go with stars in his eyes. Elias watched him.
"You like her," Elias said.
Severus flushed, pushing his hair behind his ear. "She's… nice."
Elias didn't say what he was thinking.
That Lily Evans wasn't merely nice.
She was something bright, and sharp, and unyielding.
Something dangerous to someone like him.
But she made Severus feel seen.
That was enough.
As they walked the final stretch home, Severus's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Elias?"
"Yes."
"You'll come with us every time, won't you?"
Elias looked down at his brother.
At the boy he'd sworn to protect before he even understood what protection meant.
"Yes," Elias said softly. "Always."
From behind the curtains of the Evans home, Lily watched the two brothers disappear down the lane.
She smiled, unaware of the storm their friendship had just awakened.