31rst of October 1981
31rst of October 1981
Severus Snape stood frozen in front of the half blasted cottage, in the middle of a quiet and cold village, oblivious to the whirling turmoil of the man, and ignorant of the event that transpired that night.
Gasping a sharp intake of breath, the stupor broke, plunging him in the atrocious reality, and he took in the sight, feeling like he was discovering it despite having been staring at it for long moments.
In a daze, he extended his arm slowly, pushing forward the squeaking wooden portal and stepped in the yard, contrasting in its neatness with the disarrayed appearance the façade of the structure offered. Staring but unseeing, he walked up to the door, left ajar, and pushed it in further as he climbed a single step before crossing the threshold.
The silence that greeted him was eerie, unnatural in its stillness, as if time itself was suspended. Glancing around, nothing out of the ordinary stood out to him. The lights were on, and the remnant of a fire was burning down in quiet crackling in the hearth. Leftovers were neatly encased in glass containers on the kitchen counter, cooling down and ready to be stored in the fridge.
His eyes were caught by the wand that lay forgotten on the couch, his mind uncomprehending, even as a voice deep in the back of it screamed its conclusions. Looking around, Severus directed his steps further in the house, a smell of dust and explosion swimming around, permeating the walls, curtains and carpet, and made Severus unconsciously scrunched up his nose. As he progressed towards a small open arch, he halted in his tracks as he gazed upon the rigid figure sprawled over the first steps of the stairs. Nothing came to mind upon realizing who the figure was as he got closer. No emotion, sentiment or reaction stirred in him as he looked into the unseeing open hazel eyes, frozen in death. It simply was.
He walked over the body, one hand clenched around the banister, the other pressed against the wall as he ascended, a nasty ominous foreboding strengthening its hold on his insides with each steps. The smell was worsening in the stall air. Severus stopped as he reached the final steps, shuddering a few breaths, the hope he hadn’t thought himself stupid enough to entertain already crumbling, turning into poison that slowly but surely made its way to his heart.
Compelled by as much morbid curiosity as the genuine need to know, he took a step forward slowly, noise absorbed by the dusty carpet until he reached the room right in front of him. The door had been smashed open, revealing the entirety of what used to be a nursery as soon as Severus stood close enough.
The shock of what waited for him in the room stole his breath, his heart clenching painfully in his chest as he gasped out an anguished cry. He stumbled, barely catching himself to the wall behind him. Unable to stay upright, it was all he could do to slide down without forcefully crashing to the floor, where splinted wood was scattered about.
Reality crashed around him, muted sounds now exploding in his mind, dulled colors now blinding him. There, right in front of him was the broken form of the woman he’d always loved, lying on the floor where she had fallen, her fiery red hair sprawled around her head like a gruesome halo, one arm on her stomach, the other extended next to her.
The frightened wails and sniffling that filled the room were lost to Severus, who was incapable of diverting his eyes away from the still form of Lily Evans.
He couldn’t breathe as pain flooded all his senses, shattering the self-control he used to pride himself over, and wracking, painful sobs ripped through his chest. Before long, his face was drenched with tears, now crying alongside the child he couldn’t bear to look at, and he had moved next to the prone form of his former best friend, his arms swooping down to cradle her to his chest.
He didn’t know how long he stayed like this, rocking Lily back and forth gently. The pain wouldn’t relent, a dull ever presence and yet exploding with each breath, with each tear rolling down his cheeks.
This wasn’t what he had wanted. She was supposed to stay safe, hidden away in that godforsaken village, away from the menace of the Dark Lord looming over her family, away from the dangers of the raging war for power that had engulfed wizarding Britain. Dumbledore himself had ensured the protective charms and wards were effective and efficient. The house itself had been placed under the Fidelius charm, it should have kept her safe. The miserable excuse for a wizard supposed to have been the secret keeper must have talked. They must have gone blabbering to the Dark Lord, disgustingly begging for protection in exchange of the location of the Potters. The second he got his hands on the miserable vermin responsible for this he would… he would..
He looked down at the surreally peaceful figure Lily offered, her eyes closed and her features relaxed, an oddity in the chaos around them and within Severus.
Another sob ripped through his ribcage.
No.
The fidelius charm would never even have been necessary in the first place if it hadn’t been for that senseless prophecy. He pressed his head down, his forehead resting on the top of Lily’s head as cold devastating horror engulfed him.
A prophecy he himself had delivered to the Dark Lord. A prophecy, his master had decided pointed to the small boy crying not far from him, and to his mother. A prophecy that planted a target on them all, and had begun a hunt Severus despaired over every night, plagued his dreams, drove him to insanity with each passing day. A prophecy that had pushed him to the edge, making him fully jump into the role of a spy to the Light, and dotted him with the desperate determination to do anything in the realm of possibilities to counteract the dreadful unfolding it predicted.
And yet.
She was dead. Never again would she smile, never again would she laugh, never again would her eyes bubble with mirth, lit up with intelligence or soften with affection. She was dead and he had killed her.
The last shred of the delusion he had tried to convince himself were torn apart as realization crashed around him. It was neither in Dumbledore, nor the Secret Keeper, nor the Prophecy that rested the blame for this tragedy. It was in him. It was entirely his fault. Each breath was being dragged out and his chest was heaving painfully as he clutched Lily’s limp body against him.
A choked hiccup eventually made Severus look up and his eyes fell on the sobbing toddler in his crib, small hands tightly clenched around the bars and eyes unswervingly nailed towards the unmoving form of his mother, mumbling an incoherent stream of “mummy” between the tears. It was the first time he ever laid eyes on the child. Severus hiccupped and swallowed at the mop of black hair already adorning the brat’s head. Nothing could have prepared him for what came next and he violently startled as those eyes suddenly looked straight at him, as if drawn like a magnet. Severus felt like his heart stopped once again, his chest tightening and his breath hitching in and out.
Vibrant emerald green eyes, glistening with tears and burning pure sadness and misery.
Severus closed his eyes, shakily exhaling as he tried to calm himself down. Lily’s eyes. The brat… the boy had inherited his mother’s eyes, the woman he was holding in his arms and those eyes were staring at him with more pain than he had ever seen in them.
Swallowing, and uncomprehending his own actions even as he was moving, he released the body of the one person he had ever truly loved, gently laying her down onto the carpet and smoothing the fiery red hair slowly with his hand. He rose then, making his way to the crib, and the boy fearfully looked up at him, tears abiding for a moment as he took stock of the man approaching, hiccupping. Severus was breathing heavily under the innocence that lay there, and he stopped short as the little boy’s arms lifted up with a pitiful cry.
Severus could only stand there, aghast and at a loss. It seemed his instincts took over, for before he knew it, the little boy was in his arms, pressed against his chest and face nuzzled in the crook of his neck. Far from rendering Severus uncomfortable as he’d assumed, the weight and warmth of the toddler were anchoring him. The world had shifted on its axis and the boy was the only thing keeping him form delving into despairing sobs once more. The boy had resumed crying quietly, but his breathing had regularized. Severus took to rock the boy slowly, shushing him quietly while one hand drew circles on his back. Caught up in the repetitive soothing gesture – which he didn’t quite realize was as much for the boy’s benefit as for him – he didn’t notice as two other people had entered the house, and made their way up to the nursery after stopping upon the dead body of James Potter.
Severus stilled as he heard the soft banging of the door pushed against the wall, and he relaxed minutely upon meeting the blue worried gaze of his mentor. Next to him was standing the smaller figure of Minerva McGonagall, his teacher not so long ago.
Severus went back to rocking the boy and closed his eyes, unwilling to meet either of the other’s gaze, fearing to see what he was already feeling. Disappointment, horror, resentment, loathing. Minerva was silently crying as she approached Lily’s unmoving and in death, peaceful form.
“Oh gods…” she whispered shakily, her hand stroking Lily’s hair gently, as if she was afraid she would break. Much like Severus before her, she couldn’t look away, despite the tears in her eyes blurring her vision. She felt Albus’ presence behind her and gasped out a sob as his hand came to rest on her trembling shoulder.
Severus looked up at that, and couldn’t help staring mouth agape at the ordinarily stern and oh so composed professor. Albus was watching the young man carefully with an unguarded expression of grief and Severus had to lower his gaze when their eyes met. There was no loathing there, no resentment or horror. Just unabashed, infinite grief and…compassion. It nearly made Severus ill, and he had to focus on the now quiet little boy in his arms. He didn’t deserve compassion. He deserved worse than the fate he had condemned Lily to. He hated himself for it and they should too.
Minerva rubbed her eyes free of tears and her vision cleared as she looked upon Lily’s face once again, brushing her knuckles on the warm and rosy cheek.
She frowned, her breathing subtly but suddenly more shallow as she considered this impossibility. Lily was dead… How could her cheeks be warm? James had been as cold as stone.
“Albus…” She whispered as she touched the young woman’s cheek again, before going for her throat, where a pulse would have beaten if she had been…“Oh by Merlin!” Minerva exclaimed, jumping backwards and overbalancing backwards in shock.
Both men snapped their attention to her; Severus, eyebrows drawn in confusion, Albus already moving. He knelt down and pressed two fingers where Minerva’s had been moments prior. Severus’ heart clenched painfully in his chest with maddening hope. Why would they check Lily’s pulse? She was dead… Wasn’t she?
Racking his memory furiously, it dawned on him like a hippogriff that he had in fact, not even thought of checking for a pulse. He frantically glanced between his mentor’s face and the inanimate body of his best friend, head spinning with clashing thoughts. Hope against rationality.
Albus nearly gasped and that surprised further than Minerva’s outburst had, for the man was rarely surprised by anything. Severus took a slow step forward, a small whimper reminding him not to clutch too tightly the small weight in his arms.
“What-“
“Unbelievable…” Albus mused in wonder, a smile already creeping on his lips. Minerva seemed to understand and she let out a disbelieving laugh, full of relief, tears washing her face anew. Albus caressed Lily’s hair back and his smile deepened as he briefly looked up to Severus who stood stock-still and hardly breathing.
“She’s alive,” he heard Albus say. “Lily’s alive.”
The words didn’t make sense. How could they? Then Albus looked up again, eyes glistening with tears and it hit Severus like a ton of bricks.
“Oh gods,” he nearly cried out, falling to his knees, with his hold on the boy secure.
Lily was alive. His Lily was alive. He looked up to the skies and could only mutter ‘thanks’ for several minutes as he held onto the little boy who had finally stopped crying.