Author's Notes: Because my friend is evil, and has evil prompts. I don't even know. This is going to be so triggering for non-consent, rape, underage, just...it will be triggering. And obviously extremely AU.

He expected Potter's spawn to look exactly like him, of course. That wasn't in question. The scruffy dark hair, the tilt of his cheekbones, the scrawny body (that still bore so much resemblance to James' own lines). He expected the arrogance, as well, the temerity of the brat to not even pay attention during his first Potions lesson (how like his father).

What Severus Snape hadn't expected, not properly, was the impact it would have on him when Harry Potter lifted his defiant, James'-cloned face, and Lily's eyes stared right back at him.

They were narrowed with emerald fire, the same that Lily's eyes always sparked with, when she was furious over this thing or that. And if he just focused on those eyes, those bottle-green eyes and nothing else, he could almost forget, if only for a moment, that Lily Evans was dead, and that Harry was living proof of her dalliances with his hated rival.

But of course, the moment passed and far too soon, Severus was forced to sweep past, to continue on with the lesson and oversee the wretched dunderheads as they attempted to blow up the classroom once more. It soothed him when he gave the Potter brat detention, and he consoled himself the entire rest of the day by remembering Lily's eyes.

The boy was just as sullen, just as insolent, during detention and though Severus set him to scrubbing out all the cauldrons, he could see the petulance brewing. What a nasty, wretched child. Spoilt. If Lily were alive, she would have seen to this, he knew she would have.

Perhaps it was this last reminder of Lily's sacrifice that spurred him onward, that encouraged him with stealthy, ghost-like tendrils that curled around his mind, that pulled his arm out, straightened his wand. This brat was nothing. The Boy Who Lived? He couldn't save himself from the Dark Lord. He couldn't even save a church mouse. It was Lily who had done it, Lily who had sacrificed herself, and left this puling brat in her place, with his taped-up glasses and baggy clothes.

He had her eyes.

And before Severus knew what he was doing, his wand tip pressed against the boy's forehead, and he whispered Imperio.

The boy's jaw slackened, and those glass-green eyes grew gloriously blank. Severus's breath shuddered as he traced his wand back and forth across Potter's forehead. He couldn't stop for a moment. If he did, he'd realise what he was doing.

Your name is Lily Evans, and you are fifteen years old. Your name is Lily Evans...Lily...

Nothing outwardly changed of course, Severus was not so accomplished at morphing a physical form, particularly in only a few minutes. But the child's glasses fell to the floor, the glass inside splintering. The baggy Muggle clothes transformed into an outfit Severus remembered Lily wearing one heady, sun-warmed Saturday. A knee-length red skirt and a gold-and-red-threaded sweater. It hung on the brat's eleven-year-old frame, but that didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

"Follow me," Severus rasped, his throat painfully dry, as he led the way from the classroom into his private quarters. The boy followed clumsily, blinking rather like an owl in the dim light. Clearly he had inherited his unfortunate father's abysmal eyesight.

"Lie down," Severus ordered, directing the boy to the bed. "Spread-eagled." He did as he was bid, looking swallowed up by the four-poster. Severus had never gone for anything too ostentatious, but the brat was dwarfed by the slightest of things. Ignoring the uncomfortable prickles at the back of his mind, Severus conjured ropes, tying Potter-Lily- down to the bed.

A few carefully placed cutting charms later, and the neat skirt-and-sweater-set lay in artful shreds. He covered the boy's groin with the fabric almost unconsciously. He had no wish to see anything that might jar him out of this. This one, brief moment with his Lily.

"Mine," Severus whispered, ridding himself of his own garments and pretending, if only for this time, that he was fifteen himself again. "Lily, you're mine."

Lily's head tossed upon the pillow, green eyes glazed as she looked up at him. Her mouth curved into a slight smile and she nibbled at her bottom lip. He covered her mouth with his own, trying to be gentle, to quench the blazing intensity that had flamed to life. He wanted to crush her to him, to make her his in the most forceful way he knew how-he went slowly. Gently. Summoning lubricant while he licked and nibbled at Lily's chest, skimming over how flat it had become, how pale and shadowed the flesh was. His fingers brushed over the hollows of her ribcage.

"It will only hurt a second," he promised. Lily peered up with wide, wet eyes.

"Okay, Severus," she whispered, breathy, anxious. He slid into her and it felt exquisite. Perfect. He couldn't help but pick up speed, his hands spanning her hips as he thrust, staring down into her beautiful green eyes.

"You're so beautiful, Lily," he groaned, his hips slamming against her body, pushing her up against the bed, straining the ropes that held her. "So beautiful, I always thought you were, I always loved you, Lily, always."

With a grunt, Severus spasmed and came, slipping out of her and leaving the way slicked and bruised. He collapsed beside her, listening to her pant in his ear, one arm coming across her body and holding her close. It was perfect. It was all he'd ever dreamed of. It was Lily.

And then Severus Snape opened his eyes and realised he was sprawled next to an eleven-year-old student who he'd just Imperiused and raped, and that the evidence was stained across his bed sheets in white and red.

"Severus?" the boy's voice, uncertain. Of course. He still thought he was Lily, a result of the Imperius and several other compulsion and mind charms. For all intents and purposes, Harry Potter thought he was his mother. If James was here, he'd laugh and laugh...well, after he beat Severus to a bloody pulp and tortured him until his skin was reversed. Severus winced at the thought.

"I'm here," he finally answered, rougher than he intended.

"I love you," his faux Lily murmured, and despite himself, he felt a thrill fizz through him, sparkling in his veins. How he'd longed to hear those words fall from her lips, directed at him for once. Just once...

And now it was all wrong, and there wasn't any way Severus could make it right.

But he could try...

It took only a day for the staff to discover that Harry Potter was missing. Severus joined the search himself, although only after a pronounced sneer about the boy's notoriety going to his head (just like his father), and a declaration that Potter had gone back to the dormitory after his detention, as far as Severus knew. Despite his Death Eater past, Dumbledore didn't suspect him. He was sworn to protect the boy, was he not?

The days turned into weeks, which cascaded into months. The search was called off. Dumbledore looked older every day, and Severus had to fight every moment to ignore the stabs of guilt, to keep the mask in place.

In his quarters, kept safe and hidden and delightfully restrained, lay his Lily, in ruffled nightgowns, new skirts and sweaters, and sometimes, in the darkness, completely nude. When all he could see, every night, was her emerald green eyes.