This is the second installment in my MEM project (see my profile for details). Snape finds Lily dead in her home.


"And where would the Dark Lord be at this time?" Severus Snape sat in the Death Eater headquarters, merely lounging at the moment, and facing Avery.

"You don't know? I thought everyone knew by now, though I suppose you have been away. He has gone to kill the Potters."

Snape's eyes bulged. "He- he found them?"

"Word is their secret-keeper betrayed them. You must be ecstatic, Snape. Everyone knows how you loath Potter. And of course the mudblood is no loss either."

Snape jumped up, his wand out and his eyes wide with fury. For a moment he seemed on the verge of attacking Avery, then, without warning, he Disapparated.


Snape reappeared in Godric's Hollow, right in front of the Potter's house, which was now no more than a smoldering ruin.

"No! NO! Lily! Lily!"

Snape tore through the house, stepping over James' body without a thought, following a trail of wreckage up the stairs to Harry's bedroom. There, in the middle of the floor, lay Lily's body, her limbs spread at awkward angles, her eyes staring.

"No," he breathed. He sunk to the ground beside her, sobbing, overcome with such a grief and despair that only comes when a loved one is dead by your own hands. Many a man has killed himself for less grief than Severus Snape was suffering right now. But he was not such a man.

Instead he gathered her limp and lifeless body in his arm and whispered: "I'm sorry, Lily. So, so sorry. I had no idea. Please forgive me. I swear by every god known to man, that I'll do whatever I can to make this right. I'll fix this."

Then, to seal his vow, Snape brushed her vibrant hair back from her face and stole a soft, sweet kiss, the one he could never have in life. He was deaf and blind to all but her. He still hadn't registered the baby crying in the background, so caught up was he in the feel of her. Her lips were still warm, and he lingered over them, eyes closed, imagining that she was only asleep. He was breathing hard, panting as though he could blow the life back into her.

But no. She was gone. Dead. He curled up around her, the very epitome of wretchedness, and howled. Moaned for heartache and anguish, for remorse and shame. For guilt, because he himself had killed her, as surely as if he had cast the spell. And there would be no escape from that, for the rest of his miserable existence, he knew it. He knew that if he continued living, he would surely be swallowed up by grief and guilt. Who could live like that?

But he had to live. He had made a promise to her. And for the rest of his life, until his very dying breath, it was the only thing that kept him living. The only thing that made him able to look into those green eyes of her son, without breaking down into pitiful sobs. He had to keep living. Even as he closed her blank, staring eyes with forefinger and thumb, he knew that he couldn't take his own life. That was someone else's job, he was very much aware. The chances of him making it through this alive would be miniscule, but he didn't care. He relished the idea, in fact. He would die avenging her; he would die for her, even though she was already dead. And then she would know that he loved her, truly, and he could finally, conclusively, be with her.


I know it was short, but that's really all there is to it. Review if you liked, or if you have constructive criticism on how I could make this or future ones better. NO flames, please. Also, if I made you cry, let me know. It's really what I was going for, so it would make me happy. That I achieved my goal, that is, not that you're sad. ;-)