You're invited…to the wedding of Lily Evans and James Potter
She slips the paper, cream colored and freckled, into his hand, and stares up at his face with wide eyes and a breathless smile.
"You'll come, won't you, Severus?"
He smiles, a little too thin to be genuine, but good enough for someone as stoic as himself.
His lip trembles, slightly.
"…wish I could…" he lies through his teeth, scrambling for an excuse among the thick fog smothering his mind.
Her look of disappointment is enough to undo him, then and there.
"Oh…"
She mirrors his fake-smile back, but not as effectively, and turns as if to go.
"Wait, Lily!"
He catches her hand in his, brings it to his lip for the shortest and longest second of his life.
He is oddly gratified to see her blush slightly and bite her lip, looking a bit sad, and a bit regretful.
He tightens his grip on her hand, bringing her to stand in front of him.
"I'm…happy…for you," he enthuses.
"I want- I want you to be happy."
She smiles genuinely at this in a way he likes, where all her teeth are showing and she glows against the crisp winter air.
Potter doesn't deserve to touch her.
Hell, he doesn't even deserve to look at her.
So her smile fades when he drops her hand, shoves his own into his robe pockets, turns his back, and walks away, a jack knife silhouette whose feet crunch through the fresh snow and leave vague pockets of shadows.