AN: This will be my first published story, go easy on me guys. I am aware that I am bad at spelling, formatting and the basic English language. So I apologize if there are words or sentences that don't make sense.

These are JK Rowling's toys, I'm just playing with them. I OWN NOTHING.

I am dying. I can feel the pain that Nagini inflicted on me, my life slipping away. I am not afraid of my death, I am afraid I have failed. I failed Lily. I could have done more… I should have done more.

Then he was there, the physical copy of the person I hated growing up. Harry Potter. A slew of memories hit me, all of them of me growing up. His eyes are Lily's. Merlin... Lily. Her kid was right in front of me and I can't save him. Just like I couldn't save her. Harry collected the tears of a dying man, my tears. A man with no more reason to live. The reason I lived for would be dying soon. There is no point.

I wish I could have saved her. I would do it all over, if I could only save her. I'm sorry Lily. I wish...

The earliest memory I have was when I four, wandering around the Snape house. I rounded a corner to our kitchen and there in the corner of the room staring out the lone window was the tall figure of my mother. I walked closer, probably to get her attention. It was raining, and the soft thuds of the water hitting the window pane calmed my uncertainty at her stillness. the sun took that moment to shine through the clouds and hit my mum. Throwing her darkened form into the soft light of the sun streaming in through the window, I saw each tangle of pitch black hair matted to her scalp, her porcelain skin shimmered in the soft light as tears fell down into her sunken cheeks. Her lips were worried down and scabbed. Her eyes were closed and her features clouded in pain, a dark purple bruise stood stark out against the paleness of her neck. my first memory was of my mother crying for the man who hurt her.

Tobias Snape. My father.

You are probably wondering why? Why tell this depressing dismal little tale of your first memory? Well, I only mention this because here I stand in the middle of the Snape kitchen looking at that same woman. The same woman who died in 1977, Eileen Snape, my mother.

My first thought, as I gazed at her thin shoulders heaving from her silent cries was This is Impossible. This is impossible. She is dead, I am DEAD. It feels as if I am trapped by my past. Trapped by my memories.

How? Is this my eternal punishment?

I am not a stupid person, in fact I consider myself above average intelligence. So the only conclusion my mind was coming to. The only reason that made any sense-

"Oh, I'm sorry darling. Mummy's not having a good day. You will have lessons at a different time." The proper lady like voice came from my mother, a voice that brought back thousands of memories at their cadence, but yet sounded so foreign. Her face clouded over as she looked at me. her eyes darkening in sadness as she gazed at me. I had a the feeling that this was not the adverse effects of a potion or a curse. My stomach twisted uncomfortably as I stared at the impossible picture.

"Severance? Darling, go and play."

Severance…? not once has she ever messed up my name, not even after her years of abuse had she ever called me anything less than Severus. I felt my face fall into the familiar setting of my trade mark sneer, I was confused and highly uncomfortable at the situation; but I would be damned if I let her know that. She turned back toward the window, missing the look of complete spitefulness on my face. I was hurt that she would mess up on my name, even though this wasn't real…

That ruled out several things. This wasn't a memory spell then. It felt too real to be a memory. Maybe it is a figment of my imagination, not a magic memory occurrence. If i was not taken to Madam Pomfrey immediately after Nagini's bite then I could be suffering from acute blood loss.

You would think that my mind would at least produce a correct hallucination of my own mother.

I turned to leave the room, and hopefully, enter into a new memory. This one was sadly lacking. I jumped as I felt something brush against my bare legs. I looked down in horror and confusion because decorating my body was not the sight of black billowing robes that I was used too, no it was a blue monstrosity. It was tight on my chest where there was frilly little white lace which wouldn't be so bad (for a clown), except it was paired with blue cotton that swung around tiny bare feet.

I'm in a dress.

Why the fuck am I in a dress?

I held out my arms and turned my hands around in front of my eyes, hoping it was all just an illusion. My hands had none of the calluses that came from years of working with potions and waving around my wand. I rubbed my hand up my bare arm, the arm that had- that should have had a long raised scar from where Voldemort used my own spell against me. If that is not there... I turned my wrist over, the wrist which I took every pain not to look at, and I brushed small fingers over the mark less pale skin. There was no dark mark… That is impossible. I researched for years on how to get rid of it, scoured every library available to me for a spell, curse or a potion just to get it vanished from my skin. Just so that there wasn't a constant reminder of my utter betrayal.

My eyes went back to my small hands, childlike hands. An aging potion wouldn't get rid of The Mark, the calluses or my scars. The potion was aptly named in that it only aged you (or in this case, DE age you) it did not erase the scars.

I felt a rock slide down my throat and lodged itself in my stomach, my mind scrambling for a logical conclusion was leaving me queasy which I tried to push down on.

My name is not Severance. I do not wear dresses. I do not have The Dark Mark or my scars. This is not adding up.

This must be a curse or spell. There is no potion that I know of that would cause such a real hallucination for an extended period of time. I am sure I can wait this out. This is not reality.