Reason to Fight:
It Doesn't Make Any Difference

Notes: I hope you enjoy this fic. It's something that's been floating in my mind for a while, now.. Also note that this chapter is supposed to take place around the end of their sixth year.


"Does it make a difference, being Muggle-born?"

He stared at her for a moment, seemingly turning it over in his mind.

"No. It doesn't make any difference."

White-hot anger bubbled inside her, rethinking the conversation they'd had so many years ago.

"No. It doesn't make any difference."

Itdid make a difference, a very big difference.

She curled her fingers into her palms, her knuckles turning white.

"There you go, you're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus—"

He quickly scrambled to his feet. "I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!"

It had been almost an entire year, and he still filled her with such unimaginable fury. Every time they passed in the hallway a wave of anger washed over her, and she wanted nothing more to hex him, to start the war then and there.

After all, that's what it was, now; a war.

They'd each chosen their sides. Severus—no, Snape—had chosen his Death Eater friends, he'd chosen Mulciber and Avery and the others, he'd chosen Voldemort himself.

And Lily, she'd chosen the other side, the side fighting Voldemort. But what did that mean? What did she know about her own side, other than the obvious fact that it was the side of "good", determined to defeat Voldemort and his Death Eaters?

The sudden force of another body colliding with hers sent Lily to the cold, stone floor, her books flying out of her hands.

"Sorry," she distractedly muttered, not even looking at the other figure as she got to her knees, quickly collecting her library volumes and stuffing them into her bag.

"It's my fault," said the other voice. That voice...

She looked up suddenly, staring at none other than James Potter. He was now standing up, brushing off the knees of his trousers. He smiled at her, holding out a hand to help her up. She reluctantly took it.

"I suppose I ought to pay more attention to where I'm going, eh Evans?" he said to her, now handing her one of the books she'd failed to retrieve. She nodded absent-mindedly in response, still rapidly thinking about the war against evil she didn't even know how to begin to take part in...

"Well, I'll be seeing you, Evans," James said, running his fingers through his raven tangles and grinning at her before stepping past her, making his way down the corridor.

Suddenly, something seemed to click inside Lily's mind. James, surely he'd know. He was a member of a pure-blood family, a long line of Gryffindors who all would have surely given their lives to fight against evil like this...

"Wait!" Lily found herself suddenly calling after James. He turned, watching her quickly approach him.

"What is it?" he asked curiously, intrigued as to why Lily would ever actually want to talk to him, other than to tell him off.

Lily bit her lip, unsure that she was doing the right thing; surely there was someone else, anyone else who knew what she could do to fight...

"What sort of resistance is out there to fight Voldemort?" she asked in a soft voice.

James blinked, staring at her, and her heart pounded; maybe she had asked the wrong person, maybe he didn't even know what she could do...

Suddenly, a smile spread across his face, and after looking around, he leaned in close to her.

"Supposedly there's a resistance, one led by Dumbledore himself. I mean, I don't know much about it, supposedly it's this secret organisation... Who better than Dumbledore to run it? I mean, he's the only person Voldemort's afraid of. That's why they say Hogwarts is the safest place you can be, right now."

Lily listened intently, eagerly taking the information he was presenting her with.

"Why are you so curious?" James suddenly asked her, a vaguely questioning look on his face.

"I want to fight," she told him defiantly.

"You don't have to be part of any elite group to fight Voldemort," James told her gently. "When it comes time to fight, you know who and what you're fighting for. It doesn't really matter whether you're a member of any resistance, because it doesn't mean anything, really... It's all in your heart," he said, placing his hand over his.

Lily stared at him, pleasantly speechless; she'd never seen this respectable side of James Potter, this valiant fighter. He knew, she could tell, what part he wanted to play in this war, what side he wanted to be on.

"Never just stand by and watch, Lily," he told her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "If you want to fight, do it."

"Thanks," she said quietly. "I will."

"Good," he said, turning again to walk away.

"Wait!" she said again. He turned this time, smiling slightly.

"Yes?"

She inhaled deeply. "Does it make a difference, being Muggle-born?"

"What?" James asked, slightly horrified. "Of course not, Lily, anyone can fight, and they should. It doesn't matter if you're pureblood, half-blood, Muggle-born, or even a Squib. It doesn't make any difference."

She smiled at him, nodding. "Thank you."

He grinned in return, waving as he walked away, leaving her alone in the corridor.

"It doesn't make any difference."

The words suddenly bore a new, exciting meaning. To these people, to James, to Dumbledore, to the resistance, to everyone who was fighting Voldemort, it made no difference what she was.

She would do James proud, she knew she would. She would fight until the day that she died.