The wind blew around the war memorial in a somber and solemn dance, gracing its fingers over the names on the obelisk that stood proudly, as if gently putting the caste away souls to rest for another night-before they awoke to another day to find that they had been pushed aside by the passing of eras.
If only peaceful time had taken these lives, then, like a wreath, a joyous silence would surround each stone, and tears rendered free of fearful anger and dark sense of loss, would have pattered the soil from those still living.
But not here. For here, most of the names were accompanied by a headstone in the town's graveyard, not so far away.
And each headstone read words of regret and pain and foreboding, replicating that of a time in which these souls coexisted. A time in which darkness and fear slept in every bed and every whisper of the wind was the cry of another person's soul that had been sucked from its body, by the cold hand of one who feared death above all.
The wind sailed across the town and came to blow around the memorial again, sifting up the leaves and tiwgs around the obelisk.
And over this obelisk stood a man in billowing black robes holding a small jar containing a relatively ordinary twig, yet caressing it as if it were made of gold and diamonds.
His bat-like appearance, enhanced by his robes and altogether hunched and black figure was immediately demolished by the air of calm and pain filled remorse that surrounded him.
However, as this man stood before the obelisk, it transformed, and within seconds was replaced by three statues. One of a bepectacled smiling man with messy hair an a tall and built frame. Another of a woman with a kind smile and long wavy hair, of which one lock was held by the baby boy statue that sat in her arms.
A tear fell down his sallow yet unusually sorrowful and remorseful face and he hung his head, unable to get away from the guilt of standing in front of these three statues.
Sniffing noisily, Severus Snape stood slightly straighter and looked up at statue of the woman, to which he stood in front of.
Her hair, though the colour of stone now, still held the vibrant life of waves and beauty that he remembered when he first saw her, and he felt himself break slightly as he remembered how it had draped around her beautiful laughing face, like a veil of a crimson blood-like red, as she had swung round and round on the merry-go-round in the park many a day.
The statue was an ideal imitation of her, he decided, as he looked into her perfectly carved, large almond eyes, which held the truest example of her peaceful and loving serenity that always shone out from the eyes of the real Lily Evans. He could almost see the emerald glow through the stone, that in reality had been her most captivating feature.
Her lips were curved into a small, very subtle, yet encouraging smile-and he felt himself anger.
She had always worn that expression around him. Ever since the first time they had met in the park and she had rescued him from her sister's torments, her expression towards him had always been the same. No matter what he did, or how hard he tried to seem like a man to her, she always saw right through his disguise and into his troubled existence. So instead of ever being something special to her, she was something special to him because she was the only one who held out her arms for him to run to and cry in, smiling that same smile every time.
"Now look where you are," he whispered, through gritted teeth to stop from breaking down into sobs, "look where you are."
The statue didn't move, but he still imagined the expression in those eyes change. He bowed his head again and sighed as the 'if only' phrases formed in his mind.
Sniffing heavily again he opened the jar and pulled out the twig. Twirling it between his fingers a rare and genuine smile graced the features of Severus Snape as he pulled out his wand.
Pointing it at the twig he muttered a spell and soon the twig began to transform. As if just coming to life it began to grow longer while a silver coat began to dance and twirl its way up from the base.
As he watched the mere twig transform into a silver stalk in his hand he felt a breeze, stronger than the others before, and he felt altogether more peaceful-like the times in his childhood when he had sat with her in the woods, telling her about Hogwarts.
"Severus?"
How he loved when she said his name.
"Yeah?"
"Tell me about the Dementors again."
"What dýou wanna know about them for?"
"If I use magic outside school..."
Her innocence always made him smile so much inside.
"They wouldn't give you to the Dementors for that! Dementors are for people who do really bad stuff. They guard the wizard prison, Azkaband. You're not going to end up in Azkaban, you're too..."
What had he wanted to say then?
Another tear fell down his thin face and he gritted his teeth as he remembered her smile. Her smile was strong enough to be hers and his, and yet she never saw how much he cherished it. Her smile for him was never one of anything but pity and a helpfulness that he didn't want-not from her.
He tried to show her how he was better than Potter. He tried so hard to outsmart the Marauders. All for her-everything was for her.
But he was humiliated instead. Instead of following them and finding them participating in illegal acts that night - acts which would surely make Lily see what a true idiot Potter was-he found the secrets of a true friendship, resulting in almost his death-if Potter hadn't saved his life.
Potter saved his life, and the whole plan backfired. Now he was the insolent fool for still hating the boy while Potter was the hero-if not her hero, something better than him, Severus Snape.
How he had hoped that he could have the chance to prove to her that his love was far more than Potter's. Potter was just talking when he told her about his undying feelings for her. They would only be together for a few months and then she would see what an idiotic teenager he was.
Whether Severus deserved her or not, she certainly deserved more than Potter. And she would see that.
But then they got married. The holy commitment of the very love that he was sure was never there.
He had lost his chance. She had tried, fleetingly to patch things up between them in the sixth year, but his hate and anger at the world pushed her away. He let himself be brainwashed by the other Deatheaters and Voldermort and he believed himself to hate her.
But no matter how many scathing remarks he shot at her, her smile for him still remained the same. Still the small upturn at the corners of her beautiful lips and the pitying yet encouraging light in her eyes-only now disappointment began to show.
And he fell, further and further, in an effort to get away. Instead he found himself closer and closer to the pain as every day passed for him, knowing that he had lost the one person who actually cared for him
The wedding invitation had come to him, just like everyone else. He could imagine what lengths she had to go to, to convince Potter to send it. He was after all a full Deatheater now.
He did not attend, instead let his hate grow, thinking it was for her, when instead it was for everything that was not her. He hated how she loved Potter and not him. He hated how she saw right through his cold demeanour without the use of any Legimincy or magical means, and pitied him and tried to help him instead of love him.
He hated how she had forgiven him time and time again for his outbursts, and hated how understanding she was.
He hated how she made it impossible for him to do anything but love her, and he hated how he had never gotten a chance to tell her-instead had killed her.
Glancing at the now evenly thick silver glistening stalk that had now developed shimmering stems of large narrow leaves, he frowned at the long oval bud at the top of the stalk that shuddered but did nothing more.
He pointed his wand at it distractedly, while his glowering thoughts continued. The bud remained unopened, twitching as if trying to.
"You have too much hate," a soft familiar voice sounded form behind him.
He did not jump or start with fright, nor did he turn around. Instead he let out a dry soft chuckle and looked up and straight ahead of him.
"How long have you been standing there?" he asked her.
She shrugged, "quite a while."
He nodded absently but did not turn.
"Severus," she said softly.
"Lily," he replied.
They stood in silence for a while longer before she sighed.
"Why won't you look at me?"She asked, knowing that they both knew the answer.
He did not reply in any way, instead continued to stare ahead of him, trying desperately not to turn around and find the one thing he longed for. He had stayed without her for this long. He could go on for longer still.
"So what sort of magic allowed you to come here tonight?" he asked finally.
"You," she replied, "more like your presence."
"Potter was here a few days ago," he said in reply, challengingly, "you didn't appear then."
He heard her laugh and felt his heart clench.
"Harry came here for another purpose," she answered him, "and he wasn't here to grieve. He's never been given a chance to do that. He just came to see our remnants. You came for me. You came to see me and grieve me and hate me, like you've been doing for the past twenty years."
He remained silent.
"So I came."
After a few more minutes of silence he felt his shoulders slump.
"You've been watching then," he said, more than asked, pretending only to gaze at the budded stalk in his hand. She laughed softly and he closed his eyes against the tears at the melodic sound, clenching both the stalk and his other empty fist.
Why did it hurt so much?
"You couldn't expect me not to watch over my little boy could you?" she said, the sense of mirth still audible in her voice, "I had to make sure he was protected."
Snape opened his eyes and looked at the statue of her, and then at the boy. The boy he had spent 17 years loathing with every cell of his body for the resemblance of the father. The boy he had been protecting for 17 years for the love for the mother. The boy whom he had, in some twisted way of fate and life, loved, for the resemblance of the mother in his character-but mainly in his eyes.
He felt a soft, feathery coolness on his shoulder and knew it was her.
"Thank you Severus," she whispered, her hand on his shoulder, "I don't know what he would have done without you."
He didn't reply, trying to hide the fact that he was choking from his tears.
"James and I are very grateful," she said after some time, her eyes watching him intently, waiting for his reaction.
And it came.
With a slight growl he shook her hand off of his shoulder and hunched away from her. He heard her sigh.
"Don't hunch Severus," she said quietly, remaining in her position, "you look taller and stronger, like you really are when you stand up straight, instead of just a cowering bat in the darkness."
He found the true meaning of her words and they stung. He did not straighten up.
"Why did we stop being friends?" she asked, after a few minutes of silence, "When did that happen?"
He didn't answer for a few seconds. Instead he just watched the silver lily bud, as it glistened under the moonlight.
"Does it make a difference, being Muggle-born?" she asked.
He hesitated. HIs black eyes, eager in the greenish gloom, moved over the pale face, the dark red hair.
"No," he replied to her, "It doesn't make any difference.
"I don't need help from a filthy little mudblood like her!"
"Fine, I won't bother next time."
"I'm sorry," he begged.
"I'm not interested."
"I'm sorry."
"Save your breath."
She stood in her dressing gown in front of the Gryffindor portrait.
"I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here."
"I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you a Mudblood, it jsut..."
"Slipped out?" she hissed scathingly, "It's too laet I've made excuses for you for years. None of my friend can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eather friends - you see, you don't even deny it! You don't even deney that's whatll you're allaiming to be! You can't wait to join You-Know-Who can you?"
He had nothing to say, just opened and closed his mouth.
"I can't pretend an more," she said, sounding tired, "You've chosen your way, I've chosen mine."
"No..." he begged, "listen...I didn't mean..."
"To call me a Mudblood?" she filled in venomously, "But youc all everyone of my birth a Mudblood, Severus. Why shoulod i be any different?
If only she could have seen how different she was.
"Fifth year," he said finally, "the end of fifth year."
He felt her turn to look at him and heard her chuckle softly and he closed his eyes as that sound seemed to dance with the wind around him.
"You called me a..."
"Mudblood," he finished for her, cringing at the very taste of the word in his mouth.
He heard her chuckle again, louder this time, "a mudblood," she repeated, amusedly.
He turned finally, slowly to look at her, not knowing what to expect.
But there she stood, right in front of him, as if she were real, solid and existing, with only a slight gentle unearthly glow around her.
Her eyes were shining at him, and smiling slightly – a smile that he had seen so often and now tore him apart.
She was looking at him with the same expression of gentleness and kindness which he mistook for pity.
She turned away from him and then looked up to the statue of the man with glasses and smiled.
"He wanted to come with me tonight," she said softly, "To speak to you as well. But we decided that maybe you wouldn't have liked that much."
He didn't know what to say. Whether she was deliberately irking him in order to receive some kind of action, or she was just randomly picking a conversation, unaware of his plight, he did not know – but he felt himself bite back anyway.
"Like Potter's every cared what I would've liked," he said sullenly, making her smile at him in that same kind and pitying way.
"He wanted to come and say thank you as well," she continued, turning back to his statue, "for everything you've done for our son."
He didn't care how immature he sounded now, for in front of her he was nothing more than a sad disturbed little boy with social problems. He didn't have to feign a strength he didn't have because it was all for her and she didn't need it anyway – not now.
"Wouldn't it be below his dignity?"
She laughed, loudly this time, making his heart fly from his mouth to his stomach in a matter of a second.
"You would've thought wouldn't you?" she said good-naturedly.
After a few moments of smiling lovingly at the statue of her husband she turned to him, her smile changing back to what she always held for him.
"Please don't be angry Severus," she said softly, her expression changing to one of sorrow and almost remorse.
He frowned at her request, "I'm not angry with you."
She shook her head quickly – in a way he'd only seen her do when she was studying.
"Don't be angry at all," she said, her voice begging, "Not with anyone."
He looked into her large imploring green eyes and turned away to hide his tears. She made him look back by taking his hand.
"You didn't kill us," she continued on, softly and gently, tearing each wound open, "You didn't kill ."
He looked down to the floor, took a deep breath and looked back up.
"Yes I did," he croaked, "yes I did."
She shook her head again, more agitatedly, her eyes closed, "no! You have to understand Severus! Please! You didn't," her voice was still soft, yet he could hear the desperation, "who would've known he was going to choose Harry?"
She let go of his hand and turned back to the statue of James Potter.
"He and I have never blamed you," she stated firmly, "never! Because we've seen you look after our son in a way no one else could! Not even my own family would do that!"
His shoulders slumped, "But it wasn't for..."
She laughed softly and sadly, cutting him off, "the reason doesn't matter! You have to stop blaming yourself, and repenting and repenting for a sin you never committed. Because you'll end up in a darker hole than you were before."
He looked away and shook his head, refusing to accept.
"I worked for him," he said finally, in a desperate twisted attempt to win the blame back, "I worked for him since I was in school!"
She smiled that same smile again and he looked away.
"Only because you didn't understand."
"Understand what?" he retorted.
She sighed and took his hand and led him a few steps, to a tree.
"Look," she said pointing at the hole in the centre of its bark, "Look at this hole."
He looked at the hole and then to her, an eyebrow raised sceptically.
"It's there," she stated, "It's just there. No one's to blame for it."
He shrugged, "so?"
She smiled, this time in a way he hadn't seen before, "but it's beautiful."
He sighed and rolled his eyes. He wasn't in the mood to be taught life lessons by the deceased.
"It's a home. It's warm. It's safe," she stated, making him look again, "and it's beautiful."
"Your point?"
She let out a breath and looked him straight in the eye.
"I do love you Severus," she said with an earnestness that couldn't be denied, "I do. You just have a different place in my heart than James."
He looked away at her words, not wanting to hear what had never been said.
"Please stop hating and blaming," she said in a quiet and pleading voice that he had never heard before.
"I'm not blaming you," he said, his monotone hiding his heart – once again. Her shoulders slumped at his comment and she shook her head.
"Please stop blaming and hating yourself and James and me," she said in the same voice, "It's too beautiful. The love that I have for the both of you is too beautiful and pure. Why do you keep tarnishing it fault that shouldn't even be there. Nor should the hate or the pain."
"I said I didn't hate you" he said firmly, still not looking at her.
"You hate James," she stated, "and not because I don't love you instead of him. You hate him because you hate yourself and you had to find another way of putting it."
He turned to her, his eyes fierce with an anger so long withheld.
"You don't even know what you're talking about!" he hissed, "You have no idea! Do you know what it's been like? Do you know what it was like? Do you know what it will be like?" he took a step forward, "NO you don't! Because you're dead! And it's all because of me!"
She began to shake her head but he ignored it.
"You see Lily?" he said, his voice hitting the note of a manic whisper, "my life is just one big ironic circle of anger and pain and then anger and pain and then anger and again pain! All of it caused by me! All of it! You were my best friend. But could I leave it like that? No! I had to fear what the other Slytherins would say. So I lost the one best friend I ever had.
I loved you! But you could never love someone like me! So I go and get you killed! And now...now you come and tell me that the love is beautiful? And you come and tell me that I shouldn't hate?" he was breathing heavily but continued, "I would have been dead by now if it wasn't for my anger and hate Lily."
The silence rang out more than his whispers did and yet she did not budge.
Shaking her head she let a tear fall from her eye and down onto her cheek.
"I do love you," she said calmly, "if only you'd seen that! You wouldn't have been in that hole. If only you'd seen how much I loved you Severus. You could have saved yourself."
He looked at her for a few seconds before slumping down and letting his hands cover his face.
Slowly rocking his head from side to side he let everything seep through his skin in a calm rush of emotion, for once, letting it consume him till he felt all the pain transform into a serenity that he couldn't describe – and for once, he felt like he could breathe.
He looked up after a few seconds and found her looking up into the trees.
After watching her for a few seconds, he placed his hand on her smaller one and felt the cool soothing touch of her unearthly existence.
She turned to him and smiled the smile that had travelled through time with her. But this time he found himself smiling back as he found the true meaning behind the darkness he had placed in front of it.
Gently she extracted her hand from his and took the silver stalk from his hand.
Running her fingers over it, still smiling, they both watched as the entire stem shuddered. A greenish gold line seeped its way up the stalk and through the viens of the leaves while a glistening crimson took to the edge of each leaf.
"You had too much hate Severus," she said quietly, smiling, "try now."
Taking the stalk from her he pointed his wand at it.
The bud exploded with glowing colours and life and within seconds of seeping golds, reds, blues, greens, purples and silvers, the most beautiful lily was visible.
With centre protruding stalks of silvery green with golden tips and petals with a centre colour of red that grew out to purples to blues to greens and then finally silver, the newly opened lily glistened its shimmering colours under the moonlight, the little sparks and shining particles still dancing in the air after it's flaring bloom.
"See?" she said after a few seconds of beauty filled silence, "you had too much hate."
Severus merely looked at their creation of splendour before walking to the grave.
"He has to die," he said, not knowing why he had spoken so randomly, "Harry, he has to die."
Lily walked up beside and nodded, still smiling.
"I know," was all she said in her calm voice before taking the silver flower from his hand.
Reaching up to the statue she placed their creation in between the fingers of the hand that was placed over the baby's abdomen.
Turning to him she smiled.
"I always loved you Severus," she whispered and then turned back to the flower on the statue, "I've never forgotten that."
Smiling she stepped up to him and kissed him on the cheek.
"Don't you forget that either," she said sweetly into his ear.
He looked her smiling face and nodded solemnly before silently watching her fade and disappear into a speck of golden light that remained for a few seconds before disappearing as if it never existed.
Sighing he looked up to the statue and let the last tear fall.
"Thank you," he whispered to it.
And this time he was sure the smile on the face of his best friend did widen.