Severus Snape pressed his long fingers against the pages of the oldest, most marked-up book he owned, staring down the index page, trying to decipher the original text under the hundreds of scribbled notes he had made over the years.
"The Draught of Living Death - Polyjuice Potion - ahhh -" he released a sigh of frustration, and pushed his long black hair out of his eyes. "Amortentia… why isn't it -"
A stair creaked, and Snape's head jerked up, his dark eyes scanning the door that led out into the stairwell, and the common room of Slytherin house. It was opening - the carved silver doorhandle was turning –
He snapped his book shut, but not before a large, thuggish boy squeezed through the narrow stone doorway, and caught the action.
"Blimey, Sev, reading school books again?"
Snape's fingers crept under the blankets on the bed he was sitting on, reaching for his plain black wand.
"Don't call me that," he said in a low, quiet voice. "I told you not to call me that."
"And I told you not to act like such a suck-up. Put away your schoolbooks, the teachers don't deserve our homework. Come out in the common room. Avery bullied the route into the kitchens out of a Ravenclaw first-year, and got some sweets and pumpkin juice. Come out and have some fun!"
"Leave me alone."
"No, I'm done with this, this skulking around in the dormitory, reading all night - scribbling notes in your stupid potions book - you're coming out. Right now."
When Snape made no move, the large boy motioned toward the door. "Come on, Sev," he said forcefully.
Snape was out of bed in a flash. Robes flapping around him, wand drawn and pointing straight at the other boy's heart, he stared straight into his opponent's face and growled, "I said, 'Don't call me that,' Nott."
Nott drew his wand, twiddling it between his fingers, making a show of casualness, and pointed it at Snape unconcernedly.
But his eyes gave him away. Snape's sudden burst of temper had frightened him.
"Put that pathetic thing away," Snape spat, looking at Nott's wand.
Nott grinned. "I could take you in a duel, I could lay you flat on the floor in no time at all."
Snape made no reply - both the boys knew Nott was the better dueller.
After a few seconds of silent staring, Snape dropped his wand hand to his side.
Nott's smile grew wider.
"Come out, stop poring over your stupid books, and I'll never call you by that nickname again."
Snape blinked, and then followed Nott out of the dormitory, resignation in his deep, dark eyes.
The shimmering, green light that filled the Slytherin common room highlighted a few boys lounging on viridescent leather couches. They were tossing around a small object with rough, crude laughs, their guffaws accompanied by shrieks of worry and terror from a tiny, scared looking first year girl with huge emerald eyes.
"Please, please," the girl gasped, almost crying, "Give it back! Please!"
"Who gave it to you? It's a pretty little thing," one of the older boys asked, throwing the object to one of his friends.
"My f-father," the girl sniffed, "It was m-my mother's ring, before she -"
"Before what?" One of the older crowd grinned, catching the ring but almost missing…
"Stop it!" Snape cried, as the little girl went into hysterics. "Avery! Stop it! Give it back!"
Avery smiled at Snape, and tossed the ring to Nott.
Snape lifted his wand again, and the ring stopped in mid-flight and zoomed back into the small girl's hands.
The child shot Snape a furtive, haunted look, and then darted out of the room, clutching her treasure.
Snape looked after her with a blank gaze.
Nott looked disgusted as he dropped into a leather chair. "I swear, Severus, being in the same dormitory as you, it's like hanging out with a Gryffindor - it's pathetic -"
Snape retreated to an empty couch, and Avery threw him a nasty look, and then struck up a conversation with the other boys around the polished black coffee table.
Snape stared into nothingness as the talk meandered from Quidditch to girls to –
"Have you heard Evans is dating Potter?"
Snape sat up straight.
"Knew that'd bring you back to earth, Snivillus," Nott said nastily, as Snape's pale skin lost all its colour.
"She's - she's going out with Potter?" Snape gasped.
"Yeah, that's right."
"I thought she -" Snape choked on the words. "I thought she hated him."
"That's what we all thought, isn't it?"
Snape stood up.
"Yeah, that's right," Nott said again, "I forgot, you can't stand the mention of her name, can you - Sev?"
Snape whirled around and strode to the door out of the common room.
"You hate that name because it's what Evans used to call you, isn't it?" Avery called after him, and he felt his eyes fill with tears.
He definitely wasn't turning around now - if his friends found out he was crying –
"See, I told you. Like being with a Gryffindor."
Snape closed the heavy black door behind him, blocking the cutting words, and leaned against it, feeling the comforting ripple of stone and wood against his back as the door blended in with the wall.
Tears wet his eyelashes and seeped out from beneath his closed eyelids.
But the grief was tempered with resolution.
He wasn't a Gryffindor - and he wasn't going to be the boy who lost Lily Evans, not anymore. He might not be the most skilled boy in his house when it came to spells, but he knew potions - and they knew him, and obeyed him. He could bottle fame - brew glory - and even put a stopper in death - if he wanted to.
And he knew there were potions that counteracted this feeling, this pain that was worse than death - potions that could heal him, sew up the gaping gashes in his soul, and melt the hardest heart - even one like Lily's.
The library had always been one of Snape's favourite places. The wealth of knowledge packed away in the place, the gems of information and wisdom waiting to be discovered - the possibilities intrigued him. Books were special, they had taught him much of what he knew, been comforting friends in times of anger, sorrow, or fright.
He ran his hands along the bindings of the old tomes, breathing in their scent, fingering particularly dear books with affection.
When the new librarian, Madame Pince, stalked past him, he quickly removed his hands from the shelves. He had already had one stern lecture about the respect books deserved from her, and he wasn't keen to have another.
And so he slipped his hands into his pockets and walked purposefully across to the restricted section of the library.
Only sixth- and seventh-years were allowed in here.
He clambered up a rickety ladder and slipped a glossy volume from a high shelf. He was ready for its weight - he had taken it down many, many times before, and he tucked it under his arm with a silent word of welcome.
Welcome back. I'm going to read you again. I'm going to use you. Use you to turn my life around.
The trunk under Snape's bed was filled with all sorts of things, mostly broken, sharp items and mismatched socks. He didn't use it much, except as a rubbish bin for possessions of his that no longer worked - the real place he kept his treasures was a bag deep under his bed… the one filled with potion ingredients.
He normally only took what he needed from the bag and left the rest where only he, the skinniest boy in the dormitory, could reach it (the rest of the boys couldn't wedge themselves far enough under the bed to steal anything from it), but today he took the whole bag.
He didn't know what he'd need - and this potion had to be absolutely perfect.
It was a small room, a lost little room, that he set up his cauldron in. He liked to think of this room as a room that had gone missing in the vastness of Hogwarts castle - a shy room that no one remembered, that only came out for him.
It was on the seventh floor, opposite a tapestry of some batty old wizard attempting to teach trolls to dance ballet, and it always turned up the same way for Snape - cosy and comforting, with a large fire burning in the corner and a smaller one, perfect to put a caldron over, in the middle.
There was also a bookshelf with rugs piled up in front of it. Sometimes on rainy days, when he had been depressed, and life had seemed too much of a struggle to carry on with, he had found this place a perfect solace from the storms that surrounded him.
He set his book on the floor, and flipped the pages until he reached the potion he needed. It was simple, but improvable. He loved improving potions. Just like an editor loves pointing out grammar issues and crossing out spelling errors, so Snape loved adding and taking away ingredients from potion recipes, until he felt they were perfect.
This one needed just a sprig of peppermint.
Even though it was a relatively simple potion, it took him an hour to complete. When he was finally satisfied, it was only because the smooth mother-of-pearl sheen the potion book described was picture perfect in his own potion, only because the shimmering fumes curling up from the cauldron were exactly as the textbook said they should be… and because he could smell, wafting through the room, the heady scent overpowering him -
Lilies.
He took a crystal flask and dipped it into the Amortentia. The pink liquid flowed smoothly into the container, and he put its stopper in with a feeling of immense satisfaction.
There would be no mistakes this time.
When dinnertime finally came, Snape's hands were shaking with nervousness and excitement. Every dream he ever had was on the verge of realization - if he could just slip the potion into Lily's drink without her noticing.
If Potter was any thicker, I could give it to him to pass on to her, Snape thought, eyeing the sitting next to Lily at the Gryffindor table with disgust. But unfortunately a tiny brain cell managed to grow inside his head… so I can't.
He clutched the flask in his pocket, heart pounding.
The headmaster, Professor Dippet, was getting up to speak, but most of the students were still intent on eating, not noticing anything. This was his chance!
He strode along the house tables, pretending to be headed for the entrance hall –
And just as he reached the Gryffindor table, the headmaster began speaking.
He stopped, pretending to listen as Armando Dippet announced something. He couldn't tell what it was, he couldn't think straight.
As Lily Evans looked toward the headmaster, he slipped the flask out and let a drop of the potion he had prepared slip silently into her glass of pumpkin juice.
As soon as the headmaster was done speaking, he continued up the hall.
He had done it many times before, sneaked potions into cups, but this had been the hardest - the disillusionment charm on the bottle of potion had probably saved him.
He felt happier than he could remember feeling in a long time.
He meandered down to the dungeons with no real aim, it was up to Lily to find him, now, and he had absolute confidence she would.
When he had left the crowded upper floors far behind, and was down in the deepest parts of the school, he let out a long breath and sat down against the wall.
He could let out all his feelings, all his thoughts, about the day now, let them out of the secret, dark place he kept them, far back in his mind.
Sev. The name Lily had called him, Lily and only Lily. No one else was allowed to call him that - especially not Avery and Nott, the brutes he had once adored and now loathed.
And Snivvilus. The nickname Potter called him, Potter and only Potter. The name that cut deep, the name that people called him in his nightmares.
And the comment about he being almost like a Gryffindor - should he take that as an insult? His classmates had certainly meant it as an insult - but did he consider it one?
Potter was a Gryffindor. That was enough to make him hate it forever and ever.
But Lily was a Gryffindor, as well, and that was enough to make him love it and admire it and wish he had been sorted there. Always. Forever.
A soft footstep interrupted his thoughts.
He looked up, his heart hammering in his throat.
There she stood, smiling down at him like he had never thought she would, her wide green eyes lit with - lit with –
He couldn't think the word… it hurt him. But if she was his, now - then was it safe? Safe to let out the word he guarded so secretly, so far down in his heart?
Love?
Her wide green eyes lit with love. He liked the sound of that - he loved the sound of that. He adored the sound of that.
He stood up, and she took his hands.
Her eyes worked like twin charms - he found himself melting inside, wanting only her, and her good, and her pleasure.
"I'm sorry - f-for everything," he said, and was not ashamed to find tears in his voice. "I never meant to call you - call you -"
"Shhh -" Lily put out a finger and laid it on his lips. "I forgive you."
"Please," he said, leaning closer, "Say it again."
"I forgive you," she said, and he wept with joy to hear those words.
"Say you love me," he whispered.
"I love you," she said.
His heart was beating so fast it hurt, adrenaline making him ache inside. Could you die from happiness, from anticipation? He felt sure you could, and that he doomed to that very fate…
"Lily," he said, "Lily, I missed you. I missed you so badly. I love you, sweet…" he had to stop, he was crying too hard.
She waited patiently for him to stop, to regain his composure, to wipe his tears away.
He caught his breath. "I love you," he continued. "I've loved you forever."
"I have, too," she said.
It brought him back to his senses.
No, she hadn't. She'd never loved him until this moment. It was the potion working.
And somehow, deep in his heart, he didn't like it.
She put her arms around him, and he leaned against her, his mind working furiously.
Somehow, the question that haunted him, right now, was the one of his house.
Slytherin, and let Lily continue in her deceived state - or Gryffindor, and release her - he knew how to make the antidote.
What was he thinking? Hadn't he had hours to ponder this, as he was brewing the potion? And now, so suddenly, he was giving up?
Wasn't this what he had always wanted?
No, it's not, he thought. I wanted her to love me of her own free will.
Somehow, seeing her subjected to him was worse than he had imagined it. Much worse.
He had thought he could bear it, the knowledge that she was actually being manipulated by a potion. But the more he thought about, the more repulsive it seemed.
He looked into her pretty green eyes, and a rush of love flooded him - as well as something purer, more gentle and noble - something that could've only come from the joy of seeing Lily again, not angry or sad, but smiling and radiant like she used to be around him.
A wish for her well being, for her happiness consumed him - overpowering even his own selfishness and greed.
She wouldn't want this, not in her right mind. This would hurt her. She hated him. And that - that was her choice.
He should let her go.
On the spur of the moment, before he could change his mind, he spoke.
"Come with me." He took her warm hand.
"Alright," she smiled, and together they ascended staircase after staircase.
It was late, so not many people were about, but those who were stared to see Severus Snape and Lily Evans walking serenely up the grand staircase as if they were a happy couple - Severus clutching Lily's hand as if he was holding on for dear life, Lily smiling and throwing Snape loving looks.
Floor after floor they ascended, until they were standing in the seventh floor corridor, looking at the small black door that appeared for Snape alone.
His bag of potion ingredients was stacked neatly in a corner.
The antidote he needed was a very quick potion - he wouldn't even have the advantage of time he could not help stealing from Lily.
He brewed it quickly and efficiently, the expert hands of a skilled potioneer whipping up the potion with capable, businesslike precision.
Every time he lost his nerve – and there were many of those times – he would glance at her and – after a moment of inward struggle – admit to himself that he hated seeing her a slave to the potions that they were both so masterful at producing.
The antidote was almost ready when Lily spoke.
"You're very good at brewing potions."
A smile flickered on his lips. "Thanks."
"Exceptionally good," she said. "Would you teach me something? Something simple?"
He looked at her, his heart beating too fast again.
"I - I would… but Lily, you're already so good at potions, I don't think you need -"
"Come on, Sev. Please?"
Sev. How could he resist that?
He had to try. "Uh, no, I don't think so."
"Okay." she sat back. He stole a glance at her, and was relieved to see she didn't look too disappointed.
He reached for the small crystal flask he usually kept in his pocket.
"Lily -" he stopped. She was much closer than he had thought - almost touching him.
He froze.
She brushed aside his curtain of thick black hair, and gazed into his deep brown eyes. His firm resolution wavered.
"Lily," he tried again, and she silenced him with a single finger on his lips.
Just one, he thought. Just one, for the rest of life… one I can remember…
And he let her kiss him.
Something jumped inside him, something he had never known existed, something long dormant - something that had been wounded so many times it had barely survived.
He put his hand up and brushed her cheek, gently touched a lock of her pretty red hair, his eyes closed, savouring the feeling –
It was his first kiss, and though he didn't know it, it would be his last. The last of his life.
Lily drew away and smiled at him, laughing a little.
Severus' lips twitched, and then he drew out the vial he had been holding, dipped it in the antidote he had prepared.
He froze, unable to go on. He didn't know how long he knelt there, stuck between Lily and the right thing to do… it could've been five minutes, or fifteen - but finally, he worked up the courage to speak.
"Drink this," he whispered.
Lily shook her head.
Severus sighed. "Please. For me. It's just - it's just pumpkin juice…"
"Ah, Sev, you can't get me with that one. I know what it is. It's the antidote to the Amortentia you slipped me at dinner."
"What?"
"Mmhmm. It's already worn off."
"What! How long has it -"
Lily stood. "Well, James is expecting me in the common room. Bye, Snape."
Severus felt devastated.
It was an irrational feeling - he had been intending to release her, anyway - but he had to wipe the tears off his cheeks as he stood and picked up his bag of potion ingredients.
"Bye, Lily," he breathed, and then walked out after her, heading down to the dungeons where the Slytherin common room was situated.
But - how long had the potion's effects been over her? Did he dare to hope that they had worn off before the kiss? That she had somehow, even if only for a moment, forgiven him for calling her "mudblood", all those months ago?
He pushed through the crowded common room, head down, not looking at anyone, and slipped into bed.
But sleep would not come to him. The night grew older - and he tried everything he could think of. He just wanted to close his eyes and slip away to a world where he could be with Lily without potions and deception. But he couldn't.
What had he been thinking? Release her? It wasn't like him, was it? Was it? The boys in his dormitory had called him a Gryffindor, hadn't they? Why had the urge to do the right thing come over him, so strong and irresistible?
Was it because of her eyes? They cast a charm over him already – perhaps they had cast another. And he wouldn't understand his own reasoning until he saw them again.
And it hadn't mattered, in the end. She had woken up, revived, without him – come to think of it now, he hadn't given her much Amortentia.
The night wore on – he tossed and turned, flipped his pillow over to expose the cooler side, lit his wand and read under his blanket. But nothing helped.
When he was sure all the other boys in his dormitory were asleep, he pulled his pillow out from under his head and hugged it to his chest, trying to imagine he was still holding Lily.
He fell into dreamland still clutching the tearstained pillow.