There was a maple tree on the grounds, near the Quidditch Pitch, that Bill liked to sit under when he worked.

It was a nice, big tree, with lots of shade, and wizards flying around in the background, and Bill would curl up with his Dark Arts textbook and pretend he wasn't learning things he'd kill his classmates with in 7 years.

Sometimes he took a break from studying to watch James fly, but when he caught himself staring he'd push his glasses back up his nose and hunker down so that all he could see was text.

Sometimes Snape would sit on the other side of the tree, keep his back to the Quidditch players, and they would read in companionable silence. Snape didn't have friends either.

"You're wasted on Gryffindor, Weasley," he told Bill once, and Bill chose to take it as a complement. Snape might not be as cute as J -- as certain Gryffindors -- but he had a knowledge of curses that took Bill's breath away, and good looks wouldn't protect Charlie or Percy from anything.

"Why do they hate you?" he asked once. Snape was silent a long time, so long Bill thought maybe he'd gone too far. Maybe he wasn't wasted on the Gryffindors after all.

"They can hurt me," he said finally.

"I don't --"

"They can't hurt the Dark Lord."

"You could kill them with your eyes closed," Bill said.

Snape shrugged. His voice was bitter, laced with sarcasm. "Not while we're in school," he said.

Bill decided he didn't envy James and Sirius their graduation after all. He picked his book up, and continued making notes.