Lily Evans though had been his friend first and by the Unwritten Rules of Men it meant she was supposed to have been his. He'd had first claim to her and Potter had snaked her out from under him - before she could ever be under him. She had never been a Potter and never would be, as far as he was concerned. And while she may have hated him for words said in haste, she had no grounds to hold them against him so unjustly when he had debased himself and apologized.
She had cause to be angry, but she had no cause to run off with Potter and spread her legs for him - to give Potter what had belonged to him by right. If any sort of afterlife existed, if she had any way of seeing what was going on in the world, then she only had herself to blame when it came to the boy. If she hadn't been so spitefully stubborn as to run off with Potter when he could have hidden her instead, when she had defiled herself by sleeping with him and getting with child, and she had trusted his stupid band of miscreants to protect her from the Dark Lord, then yes, she did only have herself to blame.
If any lingering spirit of Lily Evans waited for him on the other side of death then she only had herself to blame for how he treated the boy too. The boy had come from her, the eyes said so, but how could she think he'd treat him as anything other than what he was: the proof of her sin against him. How could she think the boy would be anything to him but walking embodiment of her spite and betrayal? The boy should never had been born, the fact he was when a young child named Snape should've been in his place was something he could never forgive.
The spiteful goblin said what he felt for her was hardly an expression of love; so be it. If he couldn't hide himself away with thoughts of how things should've gone and call it love then he wanted this thing with Albus done with all the sooner. Then he'd be free to hate them all equally: the prancing ponce Potter, the stupid girl that'd betrayed him, and the Boy-Who-Shouldn't-Have-Been-Born.
...
It'd been a tiring couple of days for Lester Lichfield, so tiring he hadn't even bothered to torment his downstairs neighbor - besides flattening the rubber wheels the boy's automocar moved around on. He looked up the steep flight of stairs to the inner door to his apartment and began the trudge upward with a groan. He really needed to install a floo so he wouldn't have to rely on the regional public one, but who knew if the fools in the Ministry would get around to clearing it out before the landlord came by checking to see if he was dead when he didn't pay rent one month.
When he moved to set down his briefcase, Lester knew something wasn't right. There was no pitter-patter of little feet scurrying over for work and that could only mean - Lichfield drew his wand and whirled to the right, aiming for the apartment's single chair. Sitting there he saw a surprised-looking Mipsy with a dripping ice-cream cone almost as big as she was; her tongue paused halfway to giving the swirling vanilla tower another good lick.
She smiled and pointed behind him just as he felt a wand press into his back.
"Constant vigilance," the man behind him said.
The silence of the moment was suspended just long enough for Lester to consider, and then reject, the idea of spinning around and knocking the wand behind him away. This wasn't some first year recruit; no doubt he'd have another wand held further away out of his range. Formalities must be observed though.
"You know I lost Constance a long time ago," Lester said in reply, just as he had since the day his wife had died.
The man behind him grunted in recognition, though it did nothing to sooth the growing look of concern on the house-elf's face.
"And I still say you're a damn fool for having left," the gruff voice said.
Lester returned the grunt of recognition, though he had never had any doubts as to who the man was. As he began to turn to face the visitor the wand pressed into his back even more.
"Mind telling me why there's still a wand in my back?" Lester asked.
"Mind telling me why you abducted an old friend of mine?" the man behind him answered.
"What makes you think I did something like that?" Lester asked, motioning to the young elf to remain seated and enjoy the rare treat as he went about replacing his wand in his pocket and removing his outer robe. Just because the visitor was being persnickety was no reason Lester couldn't make himself at home in his own apartment.
"A wizened old codger is unfazed by two trainees showing up, displays clear knowledge of the inner workings of the Department, claims to be a bailiff, asks for me by name, and uses a registered emergency portkey activated by 'razzle-dazzle'?" the voice rattled off. "Yeah, I'd say that's you. Thanks for not killing the kids, by the way."
"Not a problem," Lester said, removing his shoes. "Wouldn't want to kill the recruit you've been spending a lifetime looking for. Where'd you find a metamorphmagus anyway?"
"Albus pointed me at her years ago," the growling voice grunted. "Delayed my retirement to train her. If I can get her to stop being a klutz she'd be great; if she was a Slytherin she'd be terrifying. Records say you're no longer active, how'd you get your hands on that old portkey?"
"It's been on the shelf over there the whole time," Lester gestured. "You didn't think I'd give up the real one, did you? Besides, they never had the authority to fire me. The change of status form must have slipped my mind," he said dryly. "I take it you also saw who's allegedly in charge of the outfit I'm supposed to be working for?"
"That's why I'm here and not there," the voice growled. "I'd like to get some answers before I try to get some answers."
"Splendid," Lester said. "I assume I can turn around now?"
The visitor grunted again.
.....
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