Blood bubbled bitter and coppery-tasting in the mouth of Severus Snape, and the agony of his wounds began to fade. He was dying, he knew. How could it be otherwise? Lord Voldemort showed no mercy. Lord Voldemort took no chances. When Lord Voldemort wanted somebody dead then their fate was sealed – there was no hope that Nagini might not have been thorough enough in her task. He was as surely doomed as those now fighting in the castle for the cause of Harry Potter, the boy to whom he had failed to fulfil his last obligation.

The cool of the Shrieking Shack enveloped him as the room hazed and paled around him. His mind whirled, awash with memories. One face floated to the surface – green-eyed, framed by dark red hair. A desperate aching hunger filled him even as life slithered from his limbs, but shame was quick to swallow it. He had not done as he had sworn. He had not protected the boy. He had failed her. Frantically he tried to staunch the flow of blood from the holes in his neck as her image threatened to slip away; he had to stay, he had to explain that he had tried.

Suddenly the green eyes he loved so dearly were floating right above him, and his own black orbs widened in shock at the disgust and disappointment they held. I'm sorry, he mouthed, unable to speak. I'm sorry...

The eyes came lower. Jet black hair fell into them. Realisation jolted him temporarily back towards life.

These eyes were not hers – and yet at the same time they were. These eyes had tormented him for six long years up at the school. These eyes belonged to Potter.

Snape's arm flailed outward and he seized a fistful of robes. He dragged the boy down towards him. He knew what he must do; there was no other way now, no time to explain. "Take...it...take... it..." he choked, disgusted by the rasping gurgle of his voice.

His memories danced before his mind's eye once again as they leaked out of him in a silvery flood – a pretty red-haired girl flying off the swing in the park and lingering for far too long in the air, the Sorting Hat screaming "Slytherin!" as he slipped it onto his head, those long sun-drenched afternoons walking in the Hogwarts grounds with her at his side, the bullying at the hands of the so-called Marauders after the Defence O.W.L., the kiss...no, he thought, no, not that!

With the last remaining tendrils of consciousness he clutched back that bittersweet moment, that most precious of memories. That was something no-one must ever see, especially not Potter. He let it nestle back into his mind, and as the world around him faded into a greyish blur, he allowed himself to revisit it one more time...

*

"So the five signs that identify the werewolf are?"

"Frankly, Sev, I'm past caring." Lily Evans stretched out in the grass, letting the sun soak her limbs.

"The exam's in twenty minutes..."

"...so if we don't know it now then we never will. Let's just relax for a bit." She opened one eye and grinned mischievously at him. "It does you good, you know."

"It's alright for you," he grumbled, sprawling out beside her. "Prefect...teacher's pet...you don't even have to work hard and you still do well."

She didn't answer. He gazed at her lean pale form, red hair fanning out behind her, and not for the first time wondered what on Earth he had done to deserve her as a friend. His stomach twisted into an uncomfortable knot as he thought of the jeers he endured from Mulciber and Avery on the subject of her parentage.

"How's your little Mudblood girlfriend, Snape?"

Anger prickled along his skin and he balled his fists.

"Sev?"

He smiled, as he always did at the diminutive that she alone was allowed to use. "Yeah?"

"Kiss me?"

For the briefest of instants the world seemed to lurch around him; he felt a peculiar bucking movement in the region of his stomach and his throat suddenly constricted. "Wh-what?"

"You know. For luck."

"Oh. Right." Never in his life had he been more desperate for a drink of water. His mouth was as dry as old parchment – and then a thought suddenly struck him. She might not have meant what he thought. "Er...where?"

She opened her eyes, looking confused. "What?"

"Where," he repeated, sallow skin flushing dully. "Where do I kiss you?"

Confusion turned to bafflement. "Where on Earth do you think people normally kiss?"

"Well...I wasn't sure if you meant...you know...on the cheek, or..." His nervous mumbling trailed into silence, and he stared at the grass. Not far away, he heard James Potter and his friends laughing. They couldn't be laughing at him, they weren't nearly close enough to hear the conversation, but even so he flinched at the sound. "I'm sorry," he finished pathetically, his blood burning in embarrassment.

"Severus, look at me."

Reluctantly, he lifted his eyes to meet hers. The intensity of her stare was uncomfortable, her irises a shade of bright green that was almost unnatural. Blood pounded in his throat. Merlin, she was perfect – her skin glowed gently, and the sun shone against the soft curve of her red hair as it framed her jaw. She smiled.

"Close your eyes," she instructed.

He obeyed, and a second later felt the touch of lips against his own. They were dry and still – she was nervous too, he realised. Emboldened by the thought, he reached out to where he thought her face should be and accidentally brushed against her ear. He blushed, but she didn't react.

This is it, he thought as her mouth softened against his. Never mind Spinner's End, or my stupid parents, or any of that Pureblood rubbish. I'm home. I love her. She's my whole world.

She pulled away and giggled. He smiled uncertainly, his head spinning, joy and nerves leaping inside him in equal measure. The grass prickled against the palms of his hands as he sat back and looked at her, trying to read her face. Her cheeks had flushed pink.

Suddenly whoops and hollers erupted around them. Fury exploded inside him and he snatched his wand out of his robes as he picked out Potter's voice in the cacophony.

"Snivellus has got himself a girlfriend!" he heard him crow.

He spun around and picked him out, flanked by Black and Pettigrew. Lupin hovered nervously some feet away. He raised his right arm with a flourish, Sectumsempra on his lips, and then cool slim fingers gripped his wrist.

"Leave it, Sev," muttered Lily. "He's not worth the trouble you'd get into."

"But I could just-"

"No, Sev." Prefect authority touched her voice. "Come on."

James Potter lounged against Sirius Black, his own wand resting casually in his hand. "Chickening out, Snivellus?"

"Be quiet, Potter," Lily snapped. "If you had any sense, you'd already be walking up to the school. You've got a Defence exam to take, same as the rest of us."

" 'You've got a Defence exam, same as the rest of us,' " he snickered, mimicking her lofty voice.

"Careful, Potter!" Her voice was sweet enough, but with one swift movement she produced her wand too. Potter eyed it uncertainly, clearly wary of her in a way he wasn't of Snape.

"Come on, Evans, it's just a bit of fun," Black interjected.

"Really? Who's laughing?" She tucked her wand away and turned her back on them. "Let's go, Severus."

Severus followed her, admiring the swish of her red hair against the back of her robes and the unmistakeable self-confidence in her walk. It lacked the arrogance of Potter's strut, but there was a certain swing of the hips, a particular rhythm to the stride, that suggested this young lady was not one to be crossed. All at once he felt rather like a puppy-dog trailing at the heels of his master. The thought grated within him.

"Hey! Hey, Evans!"

It was Potter again, haring after them. Severus clenched his fists as he approached.

"What now?" Lily turned to face him with her hands on her hips, her face set in an icy mask that Professor McGonagall would have been proud of.

"Are you...are you and him...are you together now?"

She tilted her head. "What's it to you if we are?"

"Me? Well, nothing, but-"

"Then don't ask questions if it's none of your business."

She turned smartly on her heel, and Severus hurried to catch her up. He sucked on his tongue, uncertain how to phrase the question he so desperately wanted to ask. The words seemed to be tying themselves in knots in his mouth.

"Spit it out, Sev," Lily ordered, glancing sideways at him with a grin.

He nodded, abashed. But then, she'd always been able to read him like an open book.

Perhaps that was why he loved her.

"You know what Potter said?" he asked.

"Which bit?"

"When he said..." He paused and swallowed. "When he asked if we were together."

She shot him another glance. "Go on."

"Well, are we?"

They were inside the Entrance Hall now, and its coolness washed over him as they stepped out of the sun. She stopped and turned to face him, and sighed. "I don't know."

Bubbles of panic formed in his stomach, but he tried to squash them and make his voice sound normal as he asked, "What do you mean? Didn't you like it?"

"Well, yes, but..." She reached up and tugged her fingers through the tangles in her hair. "Didn't you think it was a bit weird?"

He must have looked stricken, for she instantly put a hand on his arm. "Oh, Sev, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that!"

He jerked away. Something hot and damp was clogging his throat. Don't cry, an insistent voice in his mind chanted. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. "So you think I'm weird, is that it?"

"No! No, of course not, that isn't what I said! All I meant was that...well...we're friends. I was confused, so I thought that maybe if I kissed you..."

"It wasn't for luck, then."

"Yes it was – sort of." She stepped forward and took his hand. "Look, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you or mix you up or anything like that. I do like you, Sev, I honestly do." She licked her lips. "I have for a while. But...even if we weren't friends already, there'd still be things we'd have to talk about. Mulciber and Avery, for instance. I caught Mulciber trying to practice the Cruciatus curse on a First Year the other day. Some of your friends...they're just evil, and I don't know why you can't see it, unless..."

"What?" Part of him to pull his hand away, but having her soft palm resting against his felt wonderfully, inexplicably perfect, in spite of their conversation.

"Sometimes I worry that you're going to turn into one of them." Her green eyes regarded him steadily. "I know what they're hoping to become. Death Eaters. They want to join You-Know-Who. Don't they?"

He gave a short stiff nod.

"Do you?"

"I..." He hesitated. He'd never talked about this with Lily before. It was a subject he preferred to avoid. "I'm not sure."

Instead of the condemnation he expected, her face softened, and she slipped even closer and rested her head on his shoulder. "I know it's hard for you, Sev. I know your parents are...well, I know what they did to you. I know you've been brought up to believe that people like me – Mudbloods –"

"Muggleborns," he corrected her automatically.

"Makes no difference," she shrugged. "According to your parents, and according to You-Know-Who, people like me have no place in this world. Muggles even less so. They're happy to kill us all. Whatever you've been through, Severus, whatever beliefs you've had drummed into your head, is that really what you want? Do you want me to die?"

"No!" He clutched her desperately to him. "No, of course not!"

"Then isn't it obvious whose side you should be on?"

"If you were with me then they wouldn't dare! Being with me would protect you –"

"You're sure about that?"

His mouth formed a "yes," but he felt a twinge of doubt in his mind. The truth was that he knew little about the ways of the Death Eaters. All he heard were second hand stories about the power and the glory that awaited those who would aid the Dark Lord in his rise to power – stories that sounded very appealing to a boy who had spent his childhood in fear of his father's fist.

"Think about it, Sev," Lily said softly, stepping back. "You think, and I'll think too. We can't keep avoiding this much longer."

"So it's a no, then. You don't want to be with me."

She shook her head, a trace of impatience appearing at her mouth. "It's not a "no." It's a "maybe." I'd like it to be more than that – but it's up to you." She smiled, and as the rest of their year began to wander into the hall, eyes feverishly scanning notes, she stood on tiptoe and pecked his lips once again. "That one was for luck," she whispered, then went to join her Gryffindor friends.

*

Now, as then, he felt the touch of her lips on his as though a ghost of the kiss still clung there. Even as his other memories trickled out of him, he was assaulted by the confusion that had muddled the thoughts of his fifteen-year-old self as he tried to focus on his Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. Lily liked him – maybe. That had been all he could think about. His initial joy at the possibility had given way to uncertainty and eventually anger as all his carefully memorised facts had flooded out of his mind in much the same way as his memories were doing now. What did she mean by "maybe"? And who was she to tell him who to be friends with or whose cause to pledge himself to? But Lily liked him – he had clung to that tiny golden fact for the duration of the exam. He had sought solitude afterwards to sound out his feelings, and what had followed he didn't want to remember...the unprovoked bullying from Potter (although he had almost expected it, after the kiss)...the way his already-fraught nerves had snapped...Lily rushing to his defence, and the terrible name he had called her in his humiliation, the name that had ended their friendship forever...

But she had liked him. If things had been different, then perhaps one day she might even have loved him. He clung to that thought like a talisman against the cold damp of the Shrieking Shack as Harry Potter's form began to swim before him. The clear green of his eyes – Lily's eyes – was merging into the dark background. This was it. It had to be.

He felt his grip on Potter's robes slacken, and with one final bubbling breath he begged, "Look...at...me..."

And then all around was blackness, and the last thing he thought he saw was Lily's face taking the place of Potter's – though how could that be? Her lips curved in that loving, knowing smile, and her eyes locked on his, anchoring, watching, keeping him safe.