The following story takes place in 1980, a year before the Potters were murdered. Severus Snape is still a death eater, and here's what would happen if things had happened differently. Please feel free to leave me a review on your thoughts, as I was hoping to continue this with (hopefully) more happening in future chapters. Now off we go!
A dimly lit fire crackled, poorly illuminating the tattered wallpaper that clung loosely to the walls. The streets were nearly empty, with the rare muggle passing by the run-down home; the last one on Spinner's End.
A man shifted, flipping the page of the newest edition of The Daily Prophet, the front cover's black and white image moving beneath pale fingertips.
He had greasy, shoulder length, black hair, which stood out against his pale, sullen face, and protruding nose.
Black eyes skimmed the article, which was more of an alert to the families who were potential targets of the Dark Lord's followers. Muggle-borns were advised to stay inside, to never travel alone, and to avoid alleyways at all costs.
Closing the paper, Severus tossed it atop the starving fire, which roared hungrily as the pages were consumed. It was all rubbish, really.
Muggle-borns were being attacked in their own houses now; being abducted in an alleyway was particularly uncommon anyhow.
He sat there momentarily, before putting his head in his hands. He'd been out nearly all week, complying to his duties as Death Eater, under none other than Lord Voldemort himself; who had begun to grow quite a liking to the dark-haired wizard.
Standing, he passed a dusty, worn shelf of books before reaching a cracked mirror, which hung on a rusty metal wire on the wall. Severus's eyes were surrounded by dark circles, and his appearance indicated that his caring in how exactly he looked was sorely lacking.
Exhaling softly, Snape traced a finger over a long, uneven crack in the glass. By now he was used to the silence, having nothing but himself. No one but himself.
Pulling away from the glass, he turned and left the room, opening the front door before disappearing down the alleyway. Midway, there was a 'crack,' and he was no longer home.
Severus reappeared in a lightly snowed on town, which radiated with a strange warmth, despite the cold breeze that tugged at his hair. Quietly, he walked along the sidewalk, blending in to the dark shadows and occasionally pressing his back against the wall of a building when merry people passed, laughing and chatting amongst themselves.
He stopped when he saw the side of the quaint cottage, his eyes scanning along the fence until he saw the back gate was open.
Hesitating, dark eyes darted from the gate, back to the quiet home, the windows lit to indicate that the residents inside were still awake.
Slowly, he crept through the opening of the fence, cautiously making his way across the backyard before resting his back against the side of the house, right beside a fairly large hedge.
It took him a few minutes of standing there and breathing unevenly before he finally worked up the courage to peek into the window. And what he saw made his heart sink to the pit of his stomach.
A red hair woman sat on the rug, just beneath the Christmas tree, beaming at the little infant in her arms that couldn't have been more than just a few months old. Beside her was a man with jet black, messy hair with rounded glasses, looking onto the pair with a swelling pride.
Shifting away from the window, he pressed the back of his head to the side of the house, his eyes shut tightly, and lips curled into a pained frown.
It must have been Christmas Eve. And there was James and Lily Potter, happily enjoying the holiday as a family.
Jealousy coursed through his veins in an overpowering way at the touching sight; one that he desperately had wanted for himself.
It had been years since he had spoken to Lily, obeying her wishes that he stay away from her. She hated what he was...more so, what he'd become.
She'd defended him so often in school from her now husband, James, and his friends, as they took great joy in making Severus miserable.
However, after a few unforgiveable events, they were no longer on speaking terms, and much less friends like they had been. He could no longer seek refuge with the flaming haired witch.
Turning his head, his eyes scanned for any signs of other people before he moved from his place against the wall, and making his way out of their home.
He should have been happy for her, that she had someone to love and protect her; that she had a child, and the perfect Christmas as just the three of them.
But he wasn't a part of her life. He didn't fit into the portrait she'd painted, due to his dedication to the Dark Arts. Perhaps if they'd been on friendly terms, the ache wouldn't be so overwhelming.
Severus didn't look over his shoulder as he continued down the street, leaving the beaming further and further behind as his long legs covered more ground as they went.
He was doing what he did best; what others had called him cowardly for. He was running away from his problems once more, wishing nothing more than to dessert them for good.