AN: Hi, peeps! I have been gone a long looooooong time. Wanna know why? Not really? No matter, I'll tell ya anyway. The reason I've been away is, mainly, I'm super lazy. Which is normal lazy, except with a mask and cape. Thing is I have LOADS of ideas for new stories of different pairings in the HP fandom, and I just cannot bring myself to write them. Well, one of them is here, to be continued (SOON, I PROMISE). Also, many songs inspire me to write and create a whole plot in my mind. This one was inspired by Jar of Hearts. IT IS NOT A SONGFIC. It's only inspired by the song.
It's rated T for now, even though it could probably be K or K+, I don't really know.
So, please review, it makes me smile (and write faster).
Disclaimer: I'm clearly not making any money, and if you don't believe me, check my fridge.
Jar of Hearts
Lily Evans was proud to say she knew how to be a housewife when she wanted to. Of course, she would never give up her job as an auror, her position in the Order of the Phoenix, the independent and feisty behaviour she was known for, or her thoughts on men-women equality; but that didn't mean she couldn't cook once in a while.
Especially if she could do it as she had been for the last 40 minutes: reading. The book was held magically still to her left, at eye-level, and every two minutes or so, she ordered the page to turn.
The smell of the mustard dressing filled her nostrils much to her pleasure, and she couldn't help but think of the time when the food would be ready. Smiling to herself, she left the pan and searched for a bottle of white wine to go with the meal, returning quickly to the stove when she found it. It was a light, soft, pleasant wine to her taste. It was one of James' favourites, for it was "gentle, and yet enticing - much like one Lily flower," as he liked to say.
Well, 'Lily flower' had a personality on her. She could speak her mind and stand for what she believed in, but there was a softer side to her, which a select few got to know. Ever since childhood, the younger of the Evans' girls had had a strong motherly instinct. Thus, she had always been caring, compassionate and tolerant, even - and perhaps most especially - towards those who needed the most.
She liked Remus a lot, for instance, for which he was always grateful, but she couldn't begin to fathom why anyone would bully him just because of what the Marauders liked to call "his furry little problem". They were really close friends and could talk for hours straight, as he was one of the few people whose intelligence permitted him to pick her brains. She had an excellent relationship, a strong friendship even, with both Remus and Sirius.
The pureblood, however, had never been rejected, if not by his uptight family - which actually turned out to be a blessing. On the contrary, he was always cared for by his friends, by the Potters and by the numerous strings of girls that ended up in his bed. Lily seemed to be one of the few girls the Hogwarts Don Juan had not pursued. He'd welcomed her as a part of James, who was, in turn, a part of Sirius, and she also accepted that.
She welcomed Peter, for another, but never knew much about the shy and reserved mouse-like young man. Searching her mind for more such examples, her thoughts took her back to the memory of the first 'lost boy' she had ever welcomed into her heart. That was dangerous territory, and she tended to get annoyed when treading there. So she shook her head almost imperceptibly to get rid of the images of the riverbank and the Hogwarts Library.
The redhead turned her attention back to the task at hand and kept stirring the food, twisting her hips slowly on the spot, absent mindedly making her white cotton skirt flow loosely around her knees. That's when she started thinking of James. How he loved that simple light green top she wore. He said it brought out her eyes, hair and skin. He would trace the lace lining with his finger without really paying attention when they read together on the sofa. She missed having a romantic night with him; the last week had been so busy! But now that she was conceded the two weeks' rest that aurors were allowed every six months - even though, unfortunately, hers hadn't coincided with James' - she decided to put an effort into luring him into such a mood.
Suddenly hot from the fire beneath the pans, Lily was just pulling her hair up in a ponytail with the white band that always rested on her left wrist, when she was startled by a ball of light that dropped to the kitchen floor from the outside the window. The silver form soon became James' patronus, his beautiful stag to her lovely doe, and delivered its message.
"Darling Lily," it intoned the age old endearment in his voice. "I'm sorry I won't be home for dinner. Sudden urgent night-long mission to unmask some Death Eaters. Might be over by dawn. Will let you sleep, I'll crash at Sirius. To be safe, we don't want to go home on our own and he's tired of sleeping on our couch. Love you forever."
The stag deformed into a silver shapeless mass, then to a gradually smaller ball of light and disappeared. She sighed, her back to the stove and marched over to the table she'd set, putting the cups, plates and silverware away with a wave of her wand, and putting out the two candles she had lit. Back to the kitchen, she turned off the stove, picked up a beautiful dark wood tray and set the dinner for herself on an intricately patterned porcelain plate, adding a big crystal wine glass to the ensemble along with finest flatware in the house. Alas, she wasn't eating with James, but she was going to treat herself to a fine dinner.
Taking the wine bottle on her way, she levitated the tray with some crackers and cheese on it and headed up the stairs to their bedroom. Realizing she'd left it on the counter, she summoned her book and sat cross-legged on the bed. Wandlessly she turned off the main lights, deciding the lamplight was enough. It wasn't so bad after all, having a relaxing evening to herself.
Lily did not know how much time had passed, but the crackers were gone and so was the wine that had filled her glass, when her war-trained senses registered a noise downstairs. Instantly, she froze. Her eyes shot to her wand on her bedside table and held tight to its handle. She refrained from foolishly calling out James' name, mentally slapping herself for even thinking of it. He would not be home yet; it would have been extremely unwise to reveal both her presence and the fact that he wasn't there, not to mention it would have gone against everything she had learned in her two years of training with Alastor Moody. It wouldn't do to send her fiancé a patronus, firstly because she did not know where to send it, as she did not know where he was; and secondly, she did not wish to worry him. She was perfectly able to defend herself.
Afraid as she was, the witch knew this was a war and that she and James were sought out not only for being talented aurors and high members of the Order of the Phoenix, but, in her case, for being muggle-born. She stepped carefully off the bed and thanked Merlin for the comfortable clothes she wore, which made moving stealthily a lot easier. Barefoot on the wooden floor, she tied her hair again, this time into a lopsided bun. Wand at the ready, she descended the stairs on her tip-toes, bending her knees to avoid creaking any step. Upon reaching the living room, she searched it and didn't find a living thing.
Heading to the sitting room, she heard the noise again. There was definitely someone in the kitchen, because she heard them open the tap and drink some water while she stood against the wall separating both rooms. Whoever it was, she reasoned, they must be familiar with the house to know where to find cups without making much of a racket.
Now, they opened the fridge. She knew its door was high enough so that they would not see her enter the kitchen. So she turned quickly to her left and slid into the room. Pointing her wand at the door of the fridge she called out.
"Remus?"
"No," said a known, deep baritone voice.
"I am most certainly not your beloved furry little friend".
The door slammed shut and the black haired and black dressed figure turned to her.
"Severus!" she gasped.
He didn't move. His mouth was agape. Of course he remembered how she had looked the last time they had seen each other, but that had been over a year ago. She hadn't changed much, but he had underestimated the power of her presence and the intensity of seeing her face to face again.
Of course he should have known that no memory, not even his own idealised ones, would have done her justice. She never failed to take his breath away. He could not conceive a sound more comforting than that of her voice, even when cold or irritated. And his name as she gasped made him momentarily forget how to speak.
Recomposing herself from her bewilderment she shouted "Expelliarmus!" and his wand flew to her hand for good measure.
"What are you doing here? How did you get in? Why are you here?" she asked all very quickly.
His wits properly gathered, he crossed his arms slowly and studied her, ignoring her questions. Her big bright green eyes shone with suspicion, her amazing flaming red hair fell in loose strands from her pathetic attempt of a bun. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her tiny delicate feet were steadily planted on the floor. He was wrong when he thought she hadn't changed much - she hadn't changed at all. Just as pretty, just as fiery, just as enchanting as always.
He was pulled from his musings when she shouted at him.
"SPEAK, Mr. Snape! I don't want you here. I have no reason not to hex you out of here. If your master has any message for the Order, speak up right now or leave!"
Noticing that she had made sure to point out that they were enemies in the present war, he spoke slowly.
"The Dark Lord has nothing to do with my paying a visit-"
"Trespassing," she corrected him.
"-to an old friend," he finished.
"And we haven't been friends for four years now," she quipped, still staring hard at him.
He pretended not to hear her, but mentally registered that she did keep count, just like he did. That could be really good or terribly awful.
"I came to see you, to talk to you," the tone of his voice always low, the rhythm always deliberately slow.
"I'm not interested in anything you could possibly want to talk about".
Again, he ignored her.
"I heard you had gotten engaged."
His tone was cold and indifferent, but even though he'd changed so much, she remembered it meant hurt, or sorrow, or any sort of pain.
"So is that it?" she spat, "after all these years, after all that's happened, you come to me for a casual chat? As in 'how's your life been?'" she mimicked his deep voice.
"'Hiding from death and fighting a despot; in other words, fine. You?'" Lily said in her own voice.
"'Oh, not much,'" she added in the same mocking manner, "'aiding said despot by becoming a Death Eater and spreading terror and fear by murdering innocent people. See you in battle!'"
Her voice was gradually rising from the mockery of his getting more high-pitched at every word, until it was nearly a shrill. The distance between her eyebrows was becoming smaller in her anger and disbelief.
He was shocked by how simple she made it all sound. How very Gryffindor, very 'black on white', of her. Maybe it was indeed simple for her, he mused.
Faced with his lack of an answer, she sighed and calmed herself and looked at his wand in her hand. He caught the direction of her gaze. His eyes drifted to her right hand and saw the ring. It was a white gold band on which rested a square emerald with two smaller diamonds at each side. She remained silent staring at him with her head held high. He stepped forward slowly, minimally, and touched the ring lightly.
"So it is true, after all?"
His left eyebrow quirked upward.
"I love James," she said while retracting her hand and stepping back, unwavering.
"How touching," he sneered.
"He will be home anytime now, so you better leave. And don't ever come back."
She turned her back to him and marched to the living room. He followed her. As he always did. Even if only in thought.
"I miss you, Lily, and you will miss me," he said in a knowing way which annoyed her to the brink.
"No, Severus," she said, fiercely turning to face him, which surprised him to a halt just a foot away from her.
Letting her hair loose she breathed in to calm herself and spoke with as much serenity as she could muster.
"I still miss my best friend, but I'll never miss a Death Eater - do you understand? - never!"
Her eyes welled up with rage, but other than that, her expression did not betray her.
"Lily, are you sure about this marriage?" he asked calmly.
"What do you care?" she asked angrily. "Why am I even talking to you? I hate you, Severus! Get out!" she screamed, throwing his wand at him.
"You don't hate me, Lily," he stated, pausing at each word. "You said yourself you missed me."
"No! I miss what you were, what I thought you were, but I hate what you have become!"
"I'm still the same man, Lily. I was never anybody else."
"I know, Severus. It's just hard to accept that deep inside, that's who you always were. You were never really my friend. I was just an outlet, a token, reminding you of better days when you suffered in Spinner's End, for example. There, I was your rock, a reminder of the existence of magic, of another world where you could be happier."
She sighed.
"And at Hogwarts, I was the only one who accepted you and stood up for you like none of your older mates, Malfoys, Rookwoods ever did; but I was always the mudblood. By accepting you, I was in the way of the acceptance you really wanted."
After a short pause to search his features, she breathed in deeply and drove the final blow into the sweet memories she nurtured of her first 'lost boy'.
"I was only ever Magic or muggle-born, Severus. I was never truly Lily, never simply a friend in myself. I don' want to be hated, or adored either, for what I merely represent to you. You don't find friendship in blood-status. It's in yourself and in every day's actions."
He closed his eyes for just a fraction of a moment longer than one usually blinks.
"That's not true," he stated, quite simply, and she didn't know what he meant precisely. All she knew is that she understood exactly what he was talking about.
"You can still remember our friendship, Lily. You're talking to me because you still feel something for me."
"Yes, I do," she replied with a straight face and he was shocked, until she went on to say "What I feel is called disgust. You and your master, and your Death Eater friends all disgust me."
His expression turned stern again.
"I won't go away, Lily, not until you realise you want me to be here. With you."
She was getting tired and let out an exasperated sigh.
"I don't. In any way, Severus. You weren't there for me when I needed you years ago. I needed a friend, but you gave up on our friendship. I'm not willing to fight for something that doesn't exist anymore. Now please, go away, while I'm still asking nicely."
"You're right. I did give up on our friendship."
Now, he was tired of it too.
"Nice that you finally admit that you chose the Dark Arts over me. I said before: I don't have a reason not to hex you."
"I most certainly did not make any such choice. I simply could not stand being your friend any longer."
Silence fell in the house. Hurt, she turned her head and hugged herself.
Why did she always have to be the brave one? She was the Gryffindor, true, red as her hair. He was the Slytherin, even though the green was in her eyes. Much like himself; so much of him was solely in her…
Turning back to him, she murmured "You don't have to be hurtful. Why did you come here to make me feel bad? What did I ever do to you? Why are you here?"
He stepped closer to her.
"I am here because I miss you, Lily Evans."
"Soon to be Potter," she managed, even though his scent had suddenly invaded her. She inwardly cursed her sensory driven memory for having stored that well known uncertainty-and-security-inducing smell.
His right hand tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and was not - as cliché demanded - surprised it "didn't burn, even if it looked like fire," because he knew from experience how it felt to the touch. It never looked like fire to him. It never looked like anything he'd ever seen. It looked like her hair.
He held her firm gaze when he murmured, and his voice was like another caress.
"Not if I can help it."
Her breath caught in her throat when his fingers brushed the shell of her ear. His hand stilled, framing her jaw, his fingertips reaching behind her ear, to her hairline.
"Severus, don'-"
He cut her protests short by stretching his thumb from the hand that already held her face, to touch it to her lips.
"I couldn't bear to be your friend because I wanted so much more..."
His deep voice rang in her veins as he stepped closer to her.
She closed her eyes briefly to regain control over herself and whispered "Please go, Severus, James will be home soon and I don't want any of you dead."
"I think that's the nicest thing you've said to me tonight," he said too close to her ear, with a small, barely noticeable smile. "But I know he won't. I set the aurors on a cold trail. They're trying to break into Malfoy Manor. Not to worry, Lucius is out of the country."
His lips brushed her ear. He couldn't believe what was happening. Talking seemed of second importance in comparison to the /way/ he was talking. It seemed that her proximity was affecting him to such an extent, that he found himself speaking closer and closer to her ear, so that the perfume of her hair became nearly overwhelming. That scent was something he would never forget. No matter how many different shampoos she wore, it was always the same.
When he thought of going to Godric's Hollow, he never thought things would turn out so well. Most 20 year old men hardly know what they're doing when trying to seduce a woman. Severus Snape knew even less than average, considering the fact that he'd been 'the weird kid' that was bullied by the cool guys in school and never really had a chance with - or a mind for - the opposite sex. Turning to the dark side had lent him an aura that attracted a certain sort of women who had gladly laid themselves for his entertainment (he was only human), but they weren't enough to teach him much. If he weren't so intoxicated by her, he might have been worrying about doing something wrong, but his mind seemed to have, for once, surrendered to the command of his body and the will of his heart.
"Severus, I'm serious," she stated, holding his wrist away from her, trying one last time to resist him and the attraction she felt. (It so strong, and yet it seemed to come from nowhere! Yes, they had been friends, but she had never thought of him that way until now! There was something, though, about his sneers, his sarcasm and head-to-toe black that she knew to be distinctly his. That might not have been the Sev she remembered, but inexplicably, at the same time, he still was). She would never know if what she felt at that moment was simply attraction to a man; if it was lust for him specifically; if it was a strange manifestation of a nostalgic yearning for simpler, easier, peaceful times she'd lived; or if it was a way of defying chance's devices.
Devices that had worked with human nature in so many different measures to create circumstances that would drive even the youngest and most naïve against each other in a war that demanded the carrying of the burden it was to have to pick a side and suffer the consequences of such a choice. It was cruel that such things should worry people who had lived through less than twenty winters.
Unaware of her swirling thoughts - of which she herself could understand very little -, his hand then twisted, gently, but firmly holding her own down beside their bodies. He had come so far, he would not let it go now.
"Me too," he whispered, pulling her to him by that same wrist. He would have what he wanted for once in his life.
His left hand shot out to cup her neck, his thumb caressing her cheek. The fathoms of his black eyes bore into the green vastness of her welled-up ones and she felt the familiar melting of her limbs; the very same one she used to feel when they were even younger and he used to look into her eyes like he was staring at her thoughts, at her very soul.
Then, after a second, because he did not know what else to say, his mind let go completely, and his lips touched hers.
Barely, but they did.
As her left hand was still tight in his grasp, her right one came to hold his arm. When he pulled away a tiny bit, she threw both arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. She let out the breath she didn't know she was holding when he crushed her to him like he never wanted to let go ever again. It was joy like he'd never felt before, even if accompanied by a tightening in his heart. In that moment he felt like they could be forever in that very instant, holding that same position, and he'd be eternally grateful. In that moment there were just two people. There was no war, there were no sides, and human nature was too good and too strong for Chance to play with it.
But then Lily pulled back and he was suddenly afraid she'd back away. However, her fingers speared into his hair and pulled him down to kiss her, which he did most willingly, trying to be gentle, but his hands were strong at her waist. When she gasped a breath, his tongue darted into her mouth and moans sounded from each throat.
In that moment, there was raw instinct; there was true humanity.
When he breathed out "I love you," in the back of her mind she realized that that velvety voice had, apparently, reached its final developing stage since those teenage years when she used to hear it changing. And then, as if someone had dipped a bowl of warm water from her neck down, the ring of his voice fled her mind when the actual meaning of his words hit her. Immediately, she seemed to weight more in his arms, her eyes flying open. Lily could not hold back the tear that rolled stubbornly down her cheek against her will when she closed her eyes again. It was the result of an onslaught of emotions she couldn't discern. And so was her hasty, automatic answer.
"I love you too."
It seemed the natural thing to say back at that moment. She didn't know if he'd meant it, and she did know if she'd meant it either. But how could anyone at that age know what love is? How can any living thing?
His lips tightened for a moment against her own before his shoulder fell in what she took for relaxation, but was, in reality, despair. Hearing her say those four words sent an unforeseen pain through his guts. It was obviously beyond any hope to hear her say it, but perhaps in a sudden flash of reality, he knew they could never be. He could've lived, as he had, with the suffering that was being away from her. He didn't know if he could go on with the pain of knowing that she too had to live without him; that if circumstances were diverse, that may not have been their fate.
But such is destiny. It is only the consequences of our actions - always so complicated, so diverse - that shape it. Because it is not really "fate", but merely the future.
When they parted, mere seconds or intense hours could have gone by. It was all very hard to determine. When up and down were established in their brains again, they could finally understand the real meaning of bittersweet. That was it and nothing else. Both had a chance to escape frightful prospects, but all was an illusion, and the course of things was, as ever, unforgiving.
There was a mutual understanding that nothing more was to be said. The silence was greater than the both of them. It was as if the uncertainty of what lay in store surrounded them.
They walked in silence to the front door, and from there he left, walking backwards as she leaned on the door frame, their gazes locked on each other's for what they did not know was the last time.
When he reached the middle of the street, his cloak swirled as he apparated away, and she shut the door at almost the same time. They didn't want to see the other leaving, but also wanted nothing more than to be away.
She forced herself to think he was history with the slamming of the door as she showered to get the smell of him off of her, scrubbing her skin hard in an attempt to cleanse herself of her folly while at the same time trying to feel something that would take away all that she felt that night, even if that something had to be the pain of nearly raw skin on her arms and stomach.
He drank, as he had taken the habit to do lately. But this time, as he stared at the flames in his fireplace, he knew that no amount of firewhiskey would take away the taste of her that would remain imprinted on his palates for the rest of his life.
She knew she wanted to forget.
He knew that if he had had a chance to before, it was gone now.
She knew that she wanted her future to be James, and perhaps a family with him.
But most of all, she wished the future would bring peace, and peace would bring reconciliation.
He didn't wish for anything. His mind was a blank filled only with alcohol and Lily.
Fate, chance, future, destiny, no matter. Call it what you may.
Lily had no way of knowing that she'd have a son and finally feel sure that what she felt toward someone could undoubtedly be called love. She could tell that James now knew that same peace in his soul. She saw it in his face every time he slept; he understood love. Lily felt capable of recognizing it now, because she somehow knew that being a mother was the purest form of love there was and so made her apt to spot it elsewhere.
Severus, in his turn, had no way of knowing that his reckless attempt to dutifully serve his Lord would bring them all to ruin. He had a side to serve in the conflict that took the country into a state of growing fearful suspicion. And spying was his part. He had no way of knowing it wasn't just one more piece of information like any other.
It was a war and they both knew it. The whole of wizarding britain knew, that is, if the muggles themselves did not suspect it. How could they not? With such disasters and so much death and darkness looming?
Even so, the human being has difficulty conceiving its own frailty, and then accepting that it's not invincible. When harm comes, it's always a surprise, no matter how ready one thinks one is for it.
Thus, they could not have known she'd be dead in less than 2 years.
They couldn't have known he'd have to learn to live half a life for eighteen years, until the moment when, lying in a pool of his own blood, he glimpsed her eyes on her son's face for the very last time, as he let out his last breath.
THE END
AN: I hope this wasn't too angsty. I was maybe in a drama vibe. Anyway, it's really out of my comfort zone, so PLEASE review and let me know how I'm doing. Thanks!