I don't own HP. This story basically follows canon until midway through OotP, at which point, as you will soon see, something unusual happens...

Chapter 1: The Letter

Early February, 1996 (the week before Valentine's Day)

Snape sank into the threadbare sofa, emitting a weary sigh. He was not precisely comfortable in his current location, but the change was nice. Yes, the dim, tiny parlor with its dark, imposing, ceiling-high bookshelves brought back unpleasant memories of his parents, but for now it was better than the Hogwarts dungeons—reminder of the other half of his unhappy childhood and where the living embodiment of all his mistakes strutted about as if he were a monarch.

Sometimes, one had to pick one's ghosts.

He sipped a bit of red wine and opened Potions Weekly to skim an article about improvements upon a common pain-relieving potion. It had been Dumbledore who had suggested for Snape to go home for the weekend; he had seen that the stress was getting to his potions master and spy. Snape, consummate workaholic that he was, had protested; however, he now had to admit that it had been a good idea. All his duties—classes, Slytherin House, the Order, spying on the Dark Lord, and those terrible and as of yet worthless Occlumency lessons—were lifted for a blessed few moments from Snape's stiff shoulders, and for the first time in months Snape found himself relaxing ever so slightly.

He'd forgotten how pleasant such a feeling was.

He perused the magazine for a while longer, periodically taking small sips from his half-glass of wine. Eventually, he put the magazine aside and got to his feet, stretching. Making his way to the kitchen, he methodically washed the glass and put it away before heading off to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

He slipped under his sheets a bit later and miraculously fell asleep within minutes. Not in years could he remember having had such a pleasant evening.

~.~.~.~

Snape, however, could never do Nothing for very long, so upon awakening on Sunday morning, he was soon dusting the bookshelves, organizing drawers, and sifting through closets.

As he organized the closet in his own bedroom, Snape saw a bit of crumpled parchment on the floor. He picked it up and opened it, curious.

October 31st, 1979

I can't think. Which is why I'm writing; I think it might calm me down—allow me to figure out
what to do—where to go from here. I want to die right now. Never have I felt so—so terrible, so
horrid, so filthy and monstrous.

There was a fight tonight. Lily—Merlin, I can't even write her name, my hand is trembling so
badly—well, she's safe, sort of. I mean, she's alive. And she's not a captive anymore.

We were having a meeting, and the Order of the Phoenix found us. It's the first time I've
actually seen Lily with the rest of the Order. I tried to kill Potter, but failed. Now...now I feel
ashamed to have attempted to kill him. Maybe he doesn't deserve her, but he certainly does
more than I do.

Anyway, a battle ensued for a bit, and eventually Lucius pulled me from the fray and led me
down the hallway and into one of the unused bedrooms.

Lily was there, bound securely, unable to move.

Lucius grinned at me and proceeded to say something about how I needed to get my attraction
for "this Mudblood" out of my system. He winked, and a flood of fury swelled up inside me.

I forgot myself and punched Malfoy in the face.

The next moment, I was on the ground, being Crucioed by the man who had just previously been
my closest "friend" in the world.

After my brief but thoroughly painful punishment, Lucius hauled me to my feet. All amusement
was gone from his face—replaced by a contemptuous scowl. He threatened to tell the Dark Lord
of the "depth of my infatuation," and said that it must end, tonight. He leveled his wand at me.
My own was still on the floor; I had dropped it while under the Cruciatus.

"Imperio."

I cannot write of what followed.

Words cannot record the horror I felt when the Imperius Curse was lifted from me. Quickly,
though, anger usurped the self-loathing, and, regaining my wand, I Stunned Lucius before he
could react.

I wanted to kill him. I am still not quite sure why I did not. Instead, I Obliviated his mind of the
encounter and shoved his unconscious body into the hall.

Then I did the hardest thing I have ever done: I faced Lily.

She was still tied securely, and she was sobbing as quietly as she could manage. I located her
wand and brought it over to her, releasing her from the bonds as I approached.

She curled up into a fetal position and kept crying. I whispered her name, tentatively touching
her shoulder. She merely trembled.

I pleaded with her to sit up, to move, to get out of here. I would have apologized, but what could
I possibly have said?

I glanced around the room and noticed, for the first time, a curtained window. Getting up, I
examined it. The window, a ground-floor one, opened onto the property's backyard. It was a
possible escape route—but how could Lily manage in her current state? For I could not leave
without risking considerable danger—my master would see through me at once, and I would pay
dearly for my transgressions.

I saw movement across the yard. A wizard with untidy black hair and round glasses came into
view.

Never before in my life had I actually been glad to see Potter.

"Potter!" I hissed to him. His face turned toward me and darkened as he recognized me. He
reached for his wand but was put off when I beckoned him over.

Returning to Lily, I carefully lifted her in my arms and took her to the window. Potter arrived,
and I transferred my Lily into his arms.

"What happened?" He snarled, though his voice had less venom than usual in it, seeing as I
was clearly helping them.

I could not speak; I merely displayed the anguish on my face.

Potter looked as though he wanted to question me further, but he abandoned the thought when
sounds of battle were heard nearby. Shifting Lily's helpless body, he jogged away, taking her to
safety. I watched until they were out of sight before closing the window and curtains. I left the
room and found Malfoy still on the floor. Swallowing the urge to hex him into oblivion, I knelt
and muttered an "Ennervate" at him.

He shifted and sat up, looking about confusedly. He asked me what happened.

My mask was firmly in place, and I was able to lie convincingly: "I don't know. You were
unconscious when I got here."

He nodded and held out his hand for me to grasp to help him up. I obeyed the subtle order, and I
followed the elder Death Eater back to the main rooms, to see what was going on.

Apparently the Order had underestimated our forces, for we were victorious. Most of the Order
had succeeded in retreat. There were only three deaths—two Order members and one Death
Eater. The Dark Lord held us for a while longer at a different location before allowing us to
return to our residences.

And here I am now. And I think I am a bit calmer. Though still I want to die.

Will she be all right? And how can I live with myself? I fear that I cannot. I want, so terribly, to
forget this.

Perhaps that is the solution. A simple "Obliviate" and I will never know this happened. It will
only be a nightmare that is beyond remembrance upon waking.

Yes, indeed. Goodbye, terrible memory.

~.~.~.~

The 36-year-old Severus Snape was weeping. Crumbling the letter in his fist, he pointed his wand to his face, thinking to remove the letter from his memories just as his younger self had removed the actual event, but then he stopped. What good was it to forget?

This knowledge simply gave him more reason to hate himself and more reason to work in Lily's memory. He wiped his tear-stained face savagely. While he wanted no more than to curl up into a ball and die due to the knowledge of what he had done, he had to hold himself together. After all, it did not do to wear his heart upon his sleeve.

He looked again at the letter, rereading the date. Halloween.

Severus Snape hated Halloween.

And a mere two years separated the two worst Halloweens of Snape's remembrance—the other, of course, being that of 1981, when the Potters were murdered, and their son, a little more than a year old, became the savior of the wizarding world.

Wait.

Snape's breath caught as a thought occurred to him. A little over a year old, and two years between those Halloweens... When was Harry Potter's birthday? The end of the seventh month, of course—July 31st, 1980.

Nine months after Halloween, 1979.

A/N: Hiya, folks. This story is eleven chapters long. I have a completed draft saved to my computer, so I will update regularly—probably once every other day. I'll put chapter 3 out at the same time as chapter 2, as chapter 2 is quite short. Enjoy!