Well, I've been loving heartbreaking ships for some reason. Lily/Severus is, of course, near the top of my list.
Warnings: AU, slight language, character death. I suppose this could be perceived as James bashing. x indicates flashback.
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you've told him all along
And pray to God he hears you
Drive until you lose the road
Or break with the ones you've followed
"Just tell us what we want to know, and he'll go free."
She raises an eyebrow, curious. But calm. Always calm. "Why would I want to do that?"
"He's your fiance, Miss Evans!" McGonagall shouts, hands splayed across the small table. "He's innocent!"
Lily smiles. "Then prove it, Professor. You certainly don't need my help if that's true."
"I just don't understand it," the detective says gently, and Lily is already so tired of the good cop, bad cop routine he's played with McGonagall. It's been hours, and it really is all just so annoying.
"Yes, you've made that quite clear." Lily says, softly drumming her index and middle finger on the table. If she's playing out some song, they'll never know. They expect her to break, to fall down and beg them to let James go, to plead with them. They will be very disappointed. She hopes.
"Who are you protecting?" McGonagall asks.
Lily looks up, emerald eyes cold, her lips pulled into a noncommittal smirk. The drumming continues, barely audible. "Myself."
"Are you saying, then, that you have some involvement with the murder?" McGonagall asks, hand over her heart. She never would have believed it of her, of Lily Evans. She doesn't like to think that any of her Gryffindors are capable of anything but bravery, excellence, and love.
"That's rubbish," the detective throws down a stack of papers in front of Lily. "Her alibi is solid--at least ten witnesses, all checked out."
"It's All-Hallows Eve," Lily remarks, looking up to check the clock above the two-way glass window, "and as I've done nothing wrong, I'd like to go."
"She did come in voluntarily," McGonagall says, "you don't have enough probable cause to arrest her."
The detective is furious, but defeated. He has rules to abide by.
"May I see him?" Lily asks, for the first time showing some emotion. Little do they know that emotion is nothing but bitter hate.
McGonagall's face softens; she thinks she's the old Lily Evans back. She'll grasp at this, though she'll be grasping at thin air. She raises her eyes at the detective, who nods. "Alright then. But I can only give you two, maybe three minutes."
Lily shrugs. "I won't need that long."
They lead her down a small hallway, slightly grungy, certainly not the luxury and comfort that James is used to. This pleases her. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, Potter.
The detective stops at a cell, and she looks in, sees James leaning against the wall. The cell is small and has a metal bunk bed at one end, a toilet and tiny sink at the other end. Lily's smile widens. He sees her, too, and rushes to be as close to her as possible. His smile is radiant; he loves her.
"Lily! Thank God, I didn't know how much longer--"
"Two minutes." The detective says, and retreats a few yards back to give them some sort of privacy.
"What's he on about? Lily, am I not getting out?"
She shakes her head. Doesn't apologize, because she never lies. "I want you to know something, James Potter." She says, and she leans in, closer to the bars. She whispers the words, her voice like acid. He recoils, but he can't do more than gape open-mouthed at her as she whirls around, blows a kiss to the detective, and leaves his sight.
The detective shakes his head after her. "What'd she tell you?" He asks, though it doesn't really matter. Lily Evans will never set foot in this place again, and everybody knows it. The wizarding world may well believe he, this James Potter, is innocent, but the proof is astounding. No jury will let him go free.
"You take away my life, I take away yours." The words spill out of his mouth, their meaning close to home. He obviously knows what they mean.
Nothing surprises the detective anymore. He's seen so much, heard so much, done so much. He shrugs. "She's mad."
"No...she's not mad. Not even close." Because if there's one thing Lily Evans isn't, it's crazy. Everyone would agree--she's possibly the sanest person in Britain.
x
"I need to talk to him. To see him, to smell him. Please." Rain is falling, a hard, freezing rain. Her hair is soaked, her clothes too, her teeth chattering. She doesn't care.
"I've told you, he isn't in a state to receive guests." Eileen pulls her knit shawl tighter around her shoulders. "And it isn't a good idea, even if he was perfectly healthy."
"You have to know what he means to me." Lily says, fighting back tears. She won't give this, this monster, the pleasure of seeing her break down.
"I do," Eileen says, and for a moment Lily thinks the ice around her heart defrosts slightly. "And I know what you mean to him."
"Then let me in!" Lily pushes past Eileen, into the darkened house. Spinner's End was never particularly inviting, and now, under these circumstances, it looks nothing more than a bizarre morgue to Lily. The walls are bare, save for book shelves crammed to the hilt, shabby furniture is covered with equally shabby crocheted blankets, the lanterns kept dim.
"I'll allow it, just this once. Be quick." Eileen says, once more the cold shrew that Lily loathes.
She is up the cramped, narrow staircase in a matter of seconds. Outside his bedroom door she hesitates. Wishes, regrets. But she loves, more than anything, and she loves him. She smooths her hair down the best she can, tries to straighten her sweater, though it's not like he'll care. She'll always be beautiful to him.
He's laying in bed, reading of course. His hair softly frames his face, his black eyes glittering with eagerness as he drinks in the words on the page. He is pale, though; so pale. Thinner then he was when she last saw him, but that's to be expected. The disease is killing him, slowly draining away his strength and his life.
"Sev," She says, her voice hoarse, and he looks up, his eyes contracting with surprise.
"Lily?" He puts the book down, as she moves to sit beside him on the bed.
"Oh Sev," She chokes out, his name a sob, and she thrusts herself into his arms. "I can save you, God let me save you." She is shaking uncontrollably, her broken heart on her sleeve.
He sighs, leans back, smooths her wet hair from her forehead. "My dearest Lily," He says, and her breath catches (like it always does, like it always will, she pleads) when his onyx eyes look into her own, "I do not believe that death can separate two people. I will always be yours, and I will always be here," He gently pushes his palm against her chest, right over her heart.
"No no no, don't Sev! I have to fix you, you can't leave me!"
She is tragically beautiful, like a piece of fine art hidden in the attic, a breathtaking summer landscape buried, suffocated, under feet of freezing snow. Severus hopes she will understand it all, someday.
"Didn't I just say I never would leave you?"
"I wanted to come, so many times, I begged them, but your mother--"
Severus nods. "She thinks it's best if I don't have any contact with you. That you will just make it harder for me to let go."
Lily shakes her head. "Sev, I've found a way to make this all better." Lily reaches into the pocket of her jeans and pulls out a crumpled, damp brochure. It's an advertisement for a hospital in London, a muggle hospital claiming to have the cutting edge of technology and the best trained, most highly-qualified physicians for heart problems. Diagnosis, surgery, treatment, and rehabilitation are all offered at the hospital, and Severus can see in Lily's eyes that she whole-heartedly believes this is the answer.
"If St. Mungo's can't--"
"Mungo's can't do anything about a genetic condition, Sev, but these people can! They study it, there's extensive research and they've already saved loads of people with your same problems."
Her hope is hanging by a thread, and he is already breaking her, hurting her so much just by being. He doesn't have the strength to remind her what he already knows, deep inside of him. Nothing is going to save him.
"But Lily, the cost...you know how much we struggle, and mother will not want to beg."
Lily nods vigorously. "I've thought about this. I'm going to get the money for you, Sev."
"How? Your parents aren't much better off than we are, darling, and I will not have you out there, doing Merlin knows what for money."
Lily sits up straight, eyes bright, and moves her wet hair behind her shoulders. "I'm going to ask Potter." x
The Autumn wind blows her hair around her face, more of a nuisance than anything, and she longs to cut it short, chop it off, but that would mean letting go. He loves her hair, and she will always remember how his fingers feel against her scalp. Really, if there's one thing Lily Evans can't do, it's let go.
The path, strewn with dead, crunchy leaves, weaves up a mossy hill, then splits in two, surrounding a small valley. It's practically abandoned, this place, and as she pushes open the small black iron gate it's apparent that nobody, not even Eileen, has been here in months.
Lily used to visit every day, but then, you see, she found her purpose. When James Potter, who had just inherited a sum of seventy million galleons from his deceased parents, let Severus Snape die without batting an eyelid, Lily may as well have fallen off the face of the earth. She became reclusive, refused visits from everybody, left her flat only to go to the cemetery, and for almost six months the world very well thought that she had died along side Severus Snape.
And then, when she least expected it, she found her way again. Perhaps Severus wouldn't have wanted it to happen this way. He had made his peace before he died, but Lily was far from that. The only thing that fueled her was her revenge. It wouldn't do to simply kill James, though she had been tempted to do that very thing. If he were to die, he would slip away, just like Sev, and she would never let that happen. He had to suffer, to be knocked off the golden platter he lived on. He had to have his freedom, his will, taken away.
So she did the only thing she could do--she framed him for murder.
Of course, he had already committed that, so really, she was only opening the eyes of the world to the kind person James Potter truly was. If James would have but paid for Severus to be treated, he'd be here today. They'd be married and have kids and lovely home in the country and they'd live happily ever after. And all James would have had to do is say yes. The money wouldn't have made the smallest of dents to any of his accounts, wizard or muggle alike. But he refused, said no, and instead of signing a check, signed a death certificate.
She made James love her. And he did, and she laughed at how easy it was. She said the right things, fucked him the right way, wore the ring he gave her. He adored her, fast and hard, fell head over heels. And he swore that everything of his was hers, that he would give her eternity if she wanted it.
And want she did. But not a forever in the sunset, and certainly not with him. He couldn't fool her, wouldn't fool her. He put on a show of generosity, that he would do anything for her, but that was the biggest lie of all. If James Potter had truly wanted her to think of him as anything but a grotesque, pathetic excuse of a person, he would have saved Severus, would have helped a fellow wizard and human get the help they needed.
So, instead of signing a marriage certificate, Lily signed James' arrest warrant.
Truth be told, Lily would've done the killing, if necessary. But Sybill was always unbalanced, highly dangerous to herself, and when she stumbled upon her body (suicide, of course; those that knew her well always said it was just a matter of time), she took the opportunity, placed the blood in the right places, and made the deep incisions on Sybil's wrists that were self-inflicted, look like the maniacal work of a psychopath.
Lily breathes deeply, at ease now that her work is done. She will see him tonight, her love, her heart. She sits in front of his headstone, legs crossed, tips her head to the sky, and waits.
"You're so beautiful," he says from behind her.
She smiles, stands, and reaches out to him. The veil is the thinnest tonight, the only time of year she can see him, truly see him.
His hand ghosts along her arm, pulling her toward him, enveloping her.
"Everything I have done," she says, looking up at him, "I have done it for you."
"And I, you, my dearest Lily." He says, and they kiss, the painfully perfect girl grasping, reaching, for a man long-since dead.
When she opens her eyes, tears pouring from them unbidden, he is no longer there. She looks down at his headstone, runs her fingers along the embedded words of his favorite quotation. She's heard him say it more time than she can remember, and she has to wonder if, all along, he was thinking of her.
Monsters are real, and ghosts are real, too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.
Lyrics at the beginning from How To Save A Life by The Fray. Quote above is from Stephen King.