"Late into the night, the snow fell and fell," she quoted dramatically, sighing sadly as she did so.

It was hard not to feel alone, on days like today. It had been a wonderful day for the Hogwarts students, as they laughed their way to Hogsmeade for the special festival that was in town. The majority of students still left in the school could appreciate it and she knew that many of them, innocently, didn't know what it really celebrated: the new anti-Muggleborn laws.

It was clear, decisive proof that Voldemort was winning and, in order to celebrate it, wizarding cities all around the world were throwing parties – celebrating the new "Pure" Happiness Holiday.

A sham, she knew, but still.

Continuing with her morose story, she intoned, "And all around, the Purebloods slept and slept."

She was sick of holding back tears.

"Dreaming of peaceful things, not of war,"

There was no one to see her tears, really, so why hold them back?

"Of war," she whispered again, letting the words fall from her lips as the tears did.

She'd been too busy, in her pain, to notice the padded footsteps behind her, "Lily?" A voice behind her asked, startling her, "Are you alright?"

Damnit. She often forgot that she wasn't alone anymore, that she had to share her common room with the Head Boy. He was caring and honest, brave and sweet, but now was not the time for comfort. It was selfish, Lily knew, but she didn't want any comfort from a Pureblood, not today.

"I'm fine James," she said, in the best voice she could manage.

He didn't buy it, she knew, but she thought at least that he'd had the courtesy to leave anyways. James Potter was that kind of person.

And yet, several minutes later, that same voice piped up again, softer, in pain for her pain, "Is this about the laws?" he asked her.

She was surprised he knew about it, and she let the surprise mingle with the tears on her face – not that he could see either. Without turning to him, still facing outside, facing that ever-peaceful snow, she answered him, "I'm fine James," she repeated, without taking her eyes off the snow.

She actually really liked snow, she always had. There was something about it that made it beautiful – the way it could blanket everything. Snow could fall on a Muggle, on a muggleborn, on a pureblood, or on Voldemort himself. It didn't matter what your blood, snow could touch you all the same.

A beautiful thought.

"We're going to win, you know," he said to her then, suddenly closer.

She didn't respond, for fear that she'd start sobbing in earnest.

"I promise," he whispered, leaning his chin on her head and wrapping his arms around her from behind.

They stood there for a long time, the Pureblood and the Muggleborn, just standing at the window, watching the snow.