DISCLAIMER: All characters seen here are the exclusive property of JK Rowling. She's the genius, I'm the fangirl who can't resist playing with her creations.
Chapter 2: The Prince and the Potter
He was lying on the floor outside the Gryffindor common room as the portrait of the Fat Lady swung closed and separated him from Lily with a finality that rent his heart. As soon as he was certain that the portrait hole had closed completely, he let go of all his self-control. He sobbed miserably, not caring who heard. If he did not cry, he knew that his heart would explode and he would die where he lay.
"Didn't you hear her?" he heard the Fat Lady saying, her voice full of disdain. "Go back to your dungeon and your Dark Lord. You're not wanted here."
He dragged himself to his feet, wiping the tears from his face and once again forcing himself into silence. With a last scowl at the Fat Lady, who was glaring at him murderously, he fled down the stairs. As he ran towards his own common room, he wondered if he would ever be able to talk to her again, or if that had been their final goodbye. He suddenly felt unequal to facing his fellow Slytherins, and took a detour outside, slipping past Filch to do so.
As soon as the cool night air hit him, he drew a deep breath. Darkness enclosed him and he was blessedly alone. He found himself wandering across the grounds, retracing the steps he had taken so many times that led him beneath the willow tree.
The place where it had happened. Where he'd ruined everything. It only made sense that it would have happened there, he supposed. Everything happened there.
He placed one hand on the trunk of the tree, gazing up into the leaves. They were dimly lit in the full, bright moonlight. Somewhere in the distance he fancied he heard Lupin's howls as he lay in the Shrieking Shack. He closed his eyes and thought back.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Lily was saying as she gazed into the tree. He was staring at her red hair, wondering what she would do if he reached out to touch it. He had often wondered that, ever since the first day he saw her and Petunia in the playground. The sunlight was glinting in it, making it look like it might at any moment catch fire. He tore his eyes away and looked at the tree. It was massive, and the boughs were heavy and hung down so low that in places they brushed the ground, creating tiny enclosures fashioned of leaves and silvery, graceful branches.
"Yes," he agreed. It was only to her that he would ever have admitted to appreciating the beauty of the huge, graceful object that stood before them--but with her, he didn't mind. They had spent the last week exploring every inch of Hogwarts between classes, and somehow they always ended up back here. She seemed transfixed by it. Nothing in the neighborhood where they grew up had even come close. She turned to look at him, and there was laughter in her eyes.
"I bet you can't climb it," she said. He looked at the tree again, coolly. He was stronger than most people gave him credit for, although he knew Lily didn't underestimate him.
"I bet I can," he retorted, and in seconds he'd found handholds in the rough bark and pulled himself up, clambering onto a wide, low-hanging branch. "Won't you join me, Lily? The view is incomparable," he murmured silkily, in a fair imitation of the Slytherin prefect, Lucius Malfoy.
She burst out laughing and the sound was like music. He reached his hand down to her and she took it, letting him pull her up beside him. They sat there for a long time, gazing through the branches at the glittering lake that spread out beneath them...
He could reach that lowest branch without climbing now, and he did so, wrapping his arms around it and hoisting himself up. He got to the next branch with a small, much-practiced jump, and from there he could see their secret place.
The trunk of the willow branched out and created a platform that was nearly flat, and more than large enough for two. They had discovered it in their third year, he remembered. It was tricky to get into, but once you were there, it was safe and comfortable and hidden. He began to crawl towards it, knowing the way there intimately, even in the darkness.
…They were sitting on their branch, talking. Lily had a copy of Moste Potente Potions in her hands and was poring over it, absolutely fascinated. From somewhere below, they heard James Potter and Sirius Black approaching. Lily looked up and her face twisted into dislike.
"Let's go, Severus, I don't want them to see us." He clenched his hands into fists, and she must have seen the hurt expression on his face, because she reached out and placed her hand on his arm comfortingly. "Don't be a git, Sev, I only mean I don't want them to find out about this place and spoil it for us. You know we'd never be able to come back once they knew we like coming up here."
Reassured, he relaxed again and furrowed his brows, staring through the thick leaves and trying to see where they were. Judging from their voices, they were so close that if he and Lily simply jumped to the ground again, they would be seen. He looked up. There was a branch that he thought they could reach if they jumped, carefully.
"I'm going to try something," he said with sudden determination, and he got to his feet, balancing carefully on their branch. He was almost tall enough to reach it, had it been directly overhead, but it wasn't, quite. He tensed the muscles of his lithe body, prepared to spring, and then jumped. For a moment, there was nothing but air beneath him, and he wondered if he was going to fall. Just what he needed, for Potter and Black to see him tumble ignominiously out of a tree.
But then his arms were wrapping around the thick branch and he was hoisting himself up, and then he was standing on it and Lily was gazing at him with that look of admiration that made him want to puff out and crow. "Come on," he urged, glancing down again to see if Potter and Black had made it under the tree yet. She looked doubtful. "Trust me, Lil," he whispered, "I won't let you fall."
That was enough for her. She tossed him the book first and he caught it deftly and set it down. Then she jumped. He caught her as well, by the arms, and pulled her up. For a moment, his arms were wrapped tightly around her, as she got her balance back, and then he let her go. His heart was pounding, but he made himself ignore it and look around as nonchalantly as he could. He could see an opening in the tree where the branch met the trunk, and it intrigued him.
"Come on," he said, and slipped through the crack. They were practically inside the tree, branches forming thick walls around them, although if he looked up, he could see the sky through the leaves. Lily had followed, and there was a look of pure delight in her face. Again, he felt that surge of pride. This was her favorite tree, and now he had found a secret place where he felt sure they would not be detected.
"It's wonderful, Sev," she breathed, clasping her hands. Her green eyes were sparkling, and again, he wanted to touch her. Instead, he picked up Moste Potente Potions and, sitting down, leaned against the rough, warm bark and flipped open to the page they had been studying.
"So," he said, "Polyjuice potion." He looked around the platform appraisingly. "I bet we could brew it up here."…
He was sitting in the same spot now. The leaves were thick and moonlight was barely penetrating. He considered sitting in the dark, but then thought better of it. "Lumos," he muttered, and the place they had come to think of as 'their room' suddenly filled with wandlight.
It cast strange shadows over things. They had figured out how to ward it so nobody else could enter, and had long ago begun leaving things up there to save the trouble of carrying them every time. A spare cauldron, a few stolen potions ingredients, bottles of butterbeer—bits and pieces of a life that, until now, he had always assumed would be full of Lily forever. He felt tears welling up again, and wondered how it was possible to feel such agony and not be killed by it...
...Fifth year. Only a week into the year, and he was in their willow room alone. He'd flung himself to the ground, lying on his stomach with his potions book propped open in front of him, brow furrowed. He turned the page back and then forward again, studying the instructions, lying perfectly still.
Only when he heard a noise behind him did he move, and then only to glance over his shoulder. Lily was there, beaming at him.
"I knew I'd find you here," she said, and he suddenly felt very warm. He smiled at her and turned back to the book. "What are you doing?" she continued, kneeling beside him and leaning over his shoulder to look. Her long hair brushed against his cheek and he shivered. He could smell her shampoo and amused himself by trying to identify each element in the scent. She made it herself, he knew, and it smelled strongly of almonds.
"Studying," he answered her, his brow furrowed. "The Draught of Peace. I don't understand this." He pointed with one long finger at the instructions. She peered at the page and then sat down, pulling a piece of parchment and a quill from her bag.
"It's like this," she said, and launched into an explanation of the theory. She's so beautiful, he thought, his mind wandering from the explanation. She was brilliant at potions, helping him through time and again, explaining the theory, the nature of the ingredients and why they worked together the way they did. Eventually she noticed that he wasn't listening.
"What's wrong with you?" she said abruptly, gazing curiously at him. He blushed. He wasn't really embarrassed to be caught looking—he was relatively sure that she knew how he felt about her. But he was never quite sure if she reciprocated, and looking too openly would only remind her that he was vulnerable. She had kept her feelings secret and he had not been able to do so.
"Nothing," he mumbled, "I was just a little distracted."
She put her parchment and quill down, looking at him very oddly. He thought he knew her so well, but he couldn't read the expression on her face at all. Fear seemed to gather into his stomach like a ball of ice. "By what?" she said slowly.
"You," he whispered before he could stop himself. She looked like she had been turned to stone. Her face, always a little pale (like cream, he thought distractedly) was completely white. Her eyes still held that indecipherable expression. He tensed, preparing himself to flee.
"Me?" she said, her voice very small. With a sudden surge of hope, he wondered if he had guessed wrong as to the source of her reaction.
"Well… yes," he said, rather lamely.
"What do you mean?" her eyes were huge and bright and he imagined getting lost in them, gazing into them so deeply that he could see nothing else. And still, that expression he didn't understand how to read.
"You're--well don't be ridiculous, Lil, you know you're beautiful," he muttered, blushing again. He turned his head away, but he could hear the soft hiss of her breath as she sucked it in sharply.
"I—I am?" she whispered, her voice even softer than his. He chanced another look. Her eyes were wide and heartbreakingly lovely. He wanted to kiss her, he realized. He wondered if she would let him. She wasn't running away, wasn't screaming, wasn't accusing him of destroying their friendship as his mind had told him so often that she would. She looked, in fact, incredibly happy. He sat up, looking straight at her, his black eyes locking with her green ones.
"Lily Evans, don't be an idiot," he said smoothly, sounding far more calm than he felt. "You're the most beautiful girl at this school, and everyone knows it." She made a noise that, if he hadn't been feeling less caught up in the moment, he probably would have mocked as a squeak. "And," he continued meditatively, feeling very brave all of a sudden, "I think I'm going to kiss you."
And he had done it. Shyly? Yes. Awkwardly? Of course. But he had done it—had reached for her and drawn her close to him. And she had closed her beautiful eyes, and tilted her head back, and there had been nothing for him but her soft, white skin and her lips, and those were soft too, softer than he could ever have imagined. It was, perhaps, the most beautiful moment of his life…
With a flick of his wand, he extinguished the light, and there was nothing to see but blackness, and nothing to hear but the sound of a boy, sobbing as though his heart would break, and sounding younger even than he was.
For a while after that, he kept trying. He passed notes in class, even borrowed school owls to send her letters. He scribbled apologies on bits of parchment in the tree, convinced that she still went up there sometimes, when she was sure he wouldn't be there. He found them crumpled up sometimes, or burnt into little piles of ashes. Never a reply. Eventually he gave up. There were only so many times he could apologize, so many times he could say he was sorry, that he didn't mean it, that it really had just slipped out. She refused to listen. He didn't really blame her.
He never said the word 'Mudblood' again.
He told no one about it, but everyone knew that Lily Evans and Severus Snape were no longer friends. It hadn't taken long for the story to get around—that the Snape boy had finally justified all of the Gryffindors' warnings to Lily and shown his true colors. He took refuge in silence, cultivating it like he might do with a particularly valuable potions ingredient. He threw himself into his studies, resolving that losing her help would not cause his grades to slip. If anything, he was determined to best her. He spent hours poring over every potions book in the library, memorizing lists of ingredients and their properties, preparing for the final OWL of the year.
At the practical examination, it paid off. The Ministry potions examiner was making his rounds through the room. He'd already stopped at Lily's cauldron and exclaimed in admiration, pointing out how closely she had approximated the proper shade of azure that the potion ought to have reached at that stage. Severus had barely heard it, working feverishly. He'd run a risk, improvised slightly, because based on his newfound understanding of the ingredients, he'd thought the recipe was missing something.
A shadow shimmered over the cauldron as the examiner gazed down at him. He didn't notice. The potion looked like liquid sky, and he was stirring it carefully with one hand and using the other to prod the flames with his wand, raising them a fraction. The Ministry wizard didn't move, didn't speak, for a long time. Finally, Severus glanced up at him. The examiner was looking at him oddly.
"My dear boy," he finally said, and he sounded a little breathless, "in all my years as an OWL examiner, I have never seen a student achieve results like this. Extraordinary. Truly extraordinary." Severus straightened a little, reaching up to push his hair from his eyes with the back of his hand. It was hanging lank and damp, the vapors from the potions making it feel heavy and a bit greasy.
"And to think," he continued, beaming, after he'd taken a glance at his student list, "a student from my old house. Naturally, of course, naturally. I shall recommend to Horace Slughorn that he award ten points to Slytherin for your excellent performance, dear boy. You are a credit to your house. Carry on, carry on. Splendid, splendid!"
As the examiner walked away, Severus threw a triumphant glance over to Lily. She wasn't looking at him, but he could tell she had heard. She was frowning, bending over her cauldron with exaggerated concentration. He smirked. He knew now that he didn't need her. Lucius was right. He needed nobody but himself, needed no power but his own. And he was indebted to the man who had shown him the way.
It was the longest summer of his life.
In spite of Petunia's disapproval, Lily had always invited him to the Evans' home nearly every day during the summers. She knew more than anybody else did about his home life, and with her typical gentleness, she had done everything in her power to help him escape from it, without ever saying openly that she was doing so. He had appreciated it deeply, but he didn't really understand how much until that summer.
In the end, it was not Lily, but Petunia who sought him out. She arrived in Spinner's End one day, looking sourer than ever, and knocking on his door. It was nearly the end of August, almost time for school to begin again.
"What?" he said sullenly, glaring at her with all the malice he could muster. "I hope you don't expect me to ask you in. We aren't used to entertaining such—fine company here." His lip curled disdainfully as he looked at her.
Her eyes narrowed. Lily had long ago got used to his sarcastic comments and learned to ignore them, but he could always get a rise out of Petunia. "Shut up," she hissed. "Wild horses couldn't drag me into that hole you call a house." She appeared to hesitate, and then said, "Will you come out and talk to me for a minute?"
"Why?" he asked sharply. "Did Lily send you over here for something? Is she out there?" He opened the door a little wider, as though to look around.
Petunia gave him a penetrating look that he didn't like. "No, she's got no idea I'm here. She's out somewhere with James Potter, I think." His face darkened, and she smirked nastily. "He's been coming by quite a bit this summer."
Severus kept his mouth shut, but he did step out of the house and close the door quietly behind him. He didn't need his parents to hear what they were discussing. His mother had liked Lily quite a bit, and had already been asking enough questions. Her pity would be unbearable. His father would only use it as ammunition to torture him with. He scowled darkly, crossing his arms and glaring down at Petunia. He was in Wizarding robes, which he had taken to wearing at home, rather than ask for money to buy muggle clothes that fit. The posture and the robes had the desired effect on Petunia, and she seemed to shrink a little.
"You did have a fight, then? Mum and dad have been asking Lily all summer and she wouldn't say," Petunia said. Severus just kept looking at her, waiting. "Look, Severus, you know I don't like you, but I like that Potter boy less. He's a stupid ass and I don't like the way he hangs around my sister all the time. She was miserable and insufferable all July and then Potter started hanging about and she's just as insufferable now, only it's worse, because Potter's following her around with his tongue hanging out. I just want to know what happened. Lily won't tell me, I thought you might."
Severus scowled. If information about Lily and Potter was all she had to offer him, he wasn't going to give her anything worthwhile in return. "Why don't you ask your sister, then?" he hissed venomously. "I'm surprised you haven't heard all about it, if Potter's really been hanging about; I'm one of his favorite topics of conversation, you know." Petunia took a step backward, surprised by the force of his loathing. "You're good at trying to insinuate yourself into places where you don't belong, aren't you? I'm sure they discuss it when there's no filth around to overhear," he hissed. "Surely you haven't forgotten how to listen at doors, Petunia." She stared at him in shock. He turned on his heel and went back into the house, slamming the door.
Sixth year was torture. Everybody knew what had happened, and the Slytherins took great joy in tormenting him about it. What he couldn't observe for himself, his housemates informed him of with malicious glee.
He crawled into the willow, after casting Homenum Revelio to be sure she wasn't there. Bellatrix Lestrange's taunt was still ringing in his ears. "They say your Mudblood girlfriend's dating Potter now--didn't you hear, Severus? You ought to teach her a lesson, whoring herself about like that. Still, I suppose dirty behavior is all you can expect from a dirty Mudblood."
He'd stood there and listened in silence, gritting his teeth. He hated Bellatrix. He was relatively certain that he hated Lily more, as long as he didn't see her. When he did see her, though, he knew it wasn't true. Her hair was longer than ever, smooth and red-gold. It cascaded like a waterfall down her shoulders and swung alluringly when she walked. He wanted to tangle his hands in it, to stroke it, to curl his fingers around it like he had done so often during the first half of their fifth year. His fingers ached with the tactile memory. She was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. Her eyes flashed with green fire every time she saw him. Even anger made her beautiful, turned her face regal. She reminded him of Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes.
By seventh year, it was simply assumed by everyone that Lily and James would be married. They were inseparable. Their last week at Hogwarts, after they'd completed their NEWTS, Dumbledore announced James and Lily's formal engagement to the students who filled the Great Hall. It seemed that everyone in the entire world except for Severus was applauding and cheering. He closed his eyes, forcing himself not to look, knowing what he would see if he chanced a glimpse at her face. For he knew all too well how lovely she was when she was happy, how radiant her face became when she was with a man she loved.
Or, at least, he'd thought he knew.
A few days later, he climbed into the willow for what was to be the last time. He sat down in his accustomed corner, hugging his knees to his chest. It was hot, and he'd pulled back the sleeves of his robes, revealing the Dark Mark that had been imprinted on his arm a year previously. Voldemort had taught him things he'd never dreamed of, dark magic that made him feel powerful even as he sometimes sickened at the fear that one day the Muggle he was torturing might turn her face to him and be revealed as Lily or Petunia.
He looked around, gazing at the room through the dark curtain of his hair. The cauldron still stood there, spotlessly clean. He practiced and experimented with potions in it regularly, when he was sure Lily wouldn't catch him. He was relatively certain she still visited sometimes, and was glad they'd made it impossible for others to discover their secret. He couldn't bear to think of Potter ever going up there.
And then, as if his thoughts had conjured her, she suddenly appeared before him. He simply stared at her, taken more off-guard than he cared to admit. She looked horribly guilty.
"Severus," she said. He wanted to get up, to push past her, to run away. But he was frozen. Long seconds were passing and threatening to turn into a horrible, unbearable silence.
"Evans," he sneered, at a loss for anything else to do or say.
"Don't," she snapped irritably. "I've come to talk to you, the least you can do is be moderately civil, Death Eater or not."
He glared, all of the anger he'd felt over the last two years suddenly surging up. He thought he might vomit. He jumped to his feet and shouted instead. "Civility? You're going to talk to me about civility, Lily Evans? Don't make me laugh." He didn't laugh, though. He dropped his voice instead, making it as poisonous as he possibly could. "You're a hypocrite and a whore, Evans, and you can't possibly have anything to say to me that I want to hear."
He wasn't looking at her. He couldn't. So it surprised him when he heard the choked sob that escaped her. She was white, and trembling, and when he finally met her eyes, for the first time in two years, his heart ached with longing so strong that it hurt him physically. She looked as though he'd just killed her cat and used it for a Quaffle.
"I just… wanted to tell you how sorry I am, Sev," she whispered. "I should have forgiven you. I shouldn't have…been the way I was." He stirred restlessly, but she pressed on. It sounded rehearsed and stilted. She was trying desperately not to cry. He was trying desperately not to look like he was hanging on her every word. "How could you have done it?" she continued, her voice small and hurt and fragile. "How could you call me—that? I thought you loved me. I thought you were different. I trusted you. And all along you were just like all the rest of them, after all."
He scowled. "If that's what you think, what are you apologizing to me for?"
She looked at him for a long time, very sadly. "Because," she finally said, "I guess it turned out that I was just like all the rest of them, too."
He studied her face. She was right. He'd turned out to be a Slytherin, and she a Gryffindor, just as everyone had told them they would. He felt a deep resentment, suddenly, against all of the people who had spent the last seven years convincing them it was impossible. Damn the Founders and their Sorting Hat. Damn Slytherins and damn Gryffindors.
"I love you," he said, the words gasping out of him hoarsely before he realized what he was saying. "I love you so much, Lily, can't you—" He stopped. He couldn't beg. He was far too proud for that. She looked uncomfortable, as though she knew exactly what he'd been about to say.
"I can't, Sev. You-Know-Who isn't about to share you with me. And you know he won't let you leave. You'd die." She looked at him sadly. "It's too late for us. I've made… promises, to James. It's just that…I didn't want you to think too harshly of me, that's all." She'd taken a step closer to him, and then another one. He swallowed. She was so close that he could smell her. It was a warm, familiar scent. Before he knew what he was doing, he was kissing her, his lips pressed to hers with a fire that neither of them had ever known before. His fingers dug into her shoulders and he was dimly afraid that it might hurt her, but she didn't seem to notice. Her arms were going around him, her lips sealing themselves to his. He clung to her as tightly as he could, breaking the kiss only when he was sure that lack of oxygen was about to make him pass out.
They didn't say anything. She was crying, and so was he. It was their final goodbye, and they both knew it, and they were both unwilling to say it. Instead, he swept his cloak off and spread it on the ground, and she stared at him for a moment. He watched her, dimly aware that he was panting for breath. He could see her weighing her choices in her mind, and then suddenly she made a decision and lay down.
His heart stopped. He was sure his heart had stopped. He was going to drop dead. He already had dropped dead, because surely that was the only explanation for how it could be possible that Lily, his Lily, was lying there, gazing up at him with that look in her eyes. He was sure that if he touched her, she would disappear, or explode into flame, like Fawkes.
But he couldn't stop himself. He was at her side in a moment, and she was loosening his tie, and covering his face in desperate kisses, and his black hair was hanging about them in heavy curtains, shutting out the rest of the world. All he could see was her beautiful, beautiful eyes, shining with desire. For him.
It was several hours before she left, kissing him goodbye with a finality that broke his heart. He had helped her back into her clothes, caressing every inch of her skin as he did, combing his fingers through her hair to remove the tangles that he had put there. It was some time longer before he left.
And after that day, Voldemort's legilimency didn't seem capable of penetrating him any longer. Some things were simply too private, too precious to be sullied. He never saw her alive again.
0 0 0
"Sev," Lily was saying. "Sev, wake up." He opened his eyes obediently, and there she was. Her eyes were warm and gentle, her lips quirked in the peculiar smile that he loved so much. "I need to talk to you, Severus. Wake up."
He felt her hand on his forehead, cool and comforting. "Lily," he breathed, and he realized that he was clothed in fresh, clean robes with no hint of blood on them. She was standing close to him, and he thought he had never seen her look so radiantly beautiful. "Am I dead? Where am I?"
"You're sleeping, darling," she answered, not taking her hand away from his face. "You need to wake soon, but Albus and James sent me to speak to you first." Somehow, looking into her lovely face, Severus was incapable of feeling malice when she mentioned James. James didn't matter. Not with Lily right in front of him.
"About what?" He felt no need to ask where she'd come from. She was dead. He knew. He must be hovering quite close to death himself, if she could slip into his dreams and memories so easily, and touch him there. And if she was with him, she must have something important to say. He watched her, waiting, feeling more peaceful than he had ever felt before.
"About us, Severus." Still he waited, feeling patient until she was willing to continue. She smiled at him. "So many years have passed, Sev. I know how hard it's been. I've been watching you. I'm so wonderfully proud of you." He stared at her. She had to be real, he reasoned to himself, because in his wildest dreams, it had never occurred to him that she would say such a beautiful thing.
"You," she said seriously, looking into his eyes, "have more than atoned for any wrong you ever did me, Severus. In the name of my husband, and of Albus Dumbledore, and of myself, I release you from debt. You are free, Sev."
He stared at her, dumbstruck. "Lily, I—" he started to say, but she placed a finger on his lips and stopped him.
"There's nothing else to say, Sev. I'm letting you go. I have to let you go. And now you need to go back, darling. And please, listen to me very carefully." Her eyes were searching his, piercing through him and reading everything in his mind and heart with clarity beyond anything he had ever seen. He felt utterly exposed and utterly protected at the same time. "It has been eighteen years, Severus. I give you back your freedom. You've been chained to me for long enough. Albus... he let you bind yourself to a dead woman in order to secure protection for Harry. But Harry doesn't need it anymore, and Albus is gone. You are bound no longer. I'm the past, Sev. You have a future. A love is waiting for you that is greater than we ever knew. Let me go."
He felt tears begin to fill his eyes, but there, in that place, he was incapable of doubting her. Her lip was quivering and her eyes, too, were filling with tears. "I love you," he whispered brokenly, pulling her into his arms and burying his nose in her sweet-smelling hair. She did not pull away, for which he thanked every god he could think of. "Lil…will I...ever see you again?"
She looked up at him and smiled gently. "Of course, Severus. To the well-organized mind, death is not an ending, but a new beginning. We will meet again. I promise you." She looked around, and a teasing note crept into her voice. "And your mind certainly is quite well organized. I would never have expected you to be capable of it." He found himself chuckling with her at the memory of himself that she projected: the ragtag, disorganized schoolboy he'd been. Finally, she pulled out of his arms and regarded him thoughtfully. "Severus, I belong to James. I bound myself to him, and you won't find me without him when you come to join us. But I promise you, you won't be alone."
Before he could come up with an answer, she was gone, and darkness encompassed him again.
Author's Notes: I think this explains both how Snape could have loved someone as intensely as he loved Lily, and then turned around and become such a complete misanthrope. I also really liked the idea that she taught him potions at first--it just makes it even more galling to him that Harry's not very good. And it explains where he found the motivation to become a master--either to show Lily up, or to justify the work she put in to helping him.
Stay tuned--now that Snape's past has been put to rest, he might be able to fall in love with someone else. Perhaps a certain bushy-haired person? Any and all comments are greatly appreciated!
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