Snape slowly passed down the hallway of James and Lilly's house.
The very last room he would search; he had not found her in any of the others, and the hope that she had gotten away sprang in his chest like a wild beast.
Lilly.
James's body lay on the first floor, glasses broken, the crushed lenses and snapped frames pathetic as they clung to his twisted face.
Severus had kicked it aside, relishing the meaty thud as his boot made contact with Potter's side.
Snape's hand fastened on the doorknob, and he closed his eyes, praying to whatever God there was that Lilly had been saved.
He yanked it open.
A child's room, solid, colourful toys littering the carpet.
Curtains patterned with some inane, cartoonish animal theme.
And-seeming totally out of place in that cheerful room- Lilly's body, lying sprawled on the rug, her arms wide and her face filled with pain.
He fell to his knees, pain filling his chest, physical and horrible.
She was still warm as he gathered her in his arms, pulling her closer than he ever would have dared had she been alive.
Screams filled the room, screams of animal grief and pain, tears spilling down his face.
He had killed her, and she had died thinking that he was in league with him.
Her red hair spilled over his hands, soft and beautiful.
Snape was startled by a soft cry from the crib in the corner of the room.
The child. The child had survived.
He had James's features, his long black hair and handsome face.
But springing out of that face- perhaps the only thing that stopped him from flinging Avada Kedavra at him - were Lilly's eyes, bright and alive and glowing the green of spring.
He laid Lilly's body down, very gently.
The light of dawn crept in the window, but Severus Snape turned away from it.
For him, there would be no morning.