My name is Severus Snape. I am thirty-seven, a Death Eater spy who delivered the death sentence for the only person I ever loved. This is who I am now.

Everyone makes mistakes, it's the way of the world. I don't know quite how I managed to make quite so many of them. If I was anyone else, no doubt I'd place the blame on someone else.

My mother, perhaps. A pureblood Slytherin witch who went and fell in love with a muggle. Disowned and disinherited she just took what came her way, never complaining. I hated that. As soon as I was old enough to understand I'd watch my mother take beating after beating and never say anything. I hated her for not using her magic, for not making a stand. For loving me too much to take me away into the unknown.

Or better yet, let's blame my father! If it weren't for him I'd never have anything against muggles. He made my mum love him, then he beat the hell out of her, night after night. He drank his way to an early grave, in the end, but the bruises he left on my mum never really faded. He beat me, too, when my mum wasn't there, or when she'd finally faded into unconsciousness. Yes, I could always blame things on my dear old man.

Or Lily… no, I could never blame anything on Lily. Lily, my beautiful Lily. I loved her from the moment I first saw her.

We were… eight? Nine? I forget now, it was so long ago; a different life, worlds away. But she was beautiful, with long red hair that was red, not ginger. And green eyes that were greener than the grass. And she was swinging, higher and higher as her sister shouted at her to stop, to come down. Then she jumped, flying through the air like an angel and I jumped out of the bushes because I just knew that she was going to break her neck or something.

But she landed on her feet with a smile so large she must have done it before, must have known there was no danger and loving it, loving the feeling of soaring through the air. She waved at me and I waved, hesitantly back. She was a witch. I knew it. She flew, she must be a witch.

When I told her she didn't believe me, at first. I lost hope, for a little while, but then she did more accidental magic, like making her skirt float about her without twirling, like flicking her sister's hair without touching it. Like flying from the swings without hurting herself, again and again and again.

And I loved it. We wondered about the wizarding world, imagining fantastic adventures as I told her of Dumbledore and Grindelwald and Merlin, stories that sounded too much like fairytales, even then.

And, bless her, she never said anything about my bruises. Never said anything about my father, though she avoided my house like it was on fire. She never said, though I knew, that she and her sister were drifting further and further apart. Maybe, at some point, I felt guilty for causing the rift, but she loved me and her parents loved me and I loved them all in return, wishing that I could have been their son, been her brother.

When the Hogwarts letter came my father tried to tear it up and, when he couldn't, he tore me up instead. It took two days to wake up and another week for enough of the bruising to disappear for me to brave the outside world again. But, when I did, I was a little harder, a little different. A little less like a little boy and a little more grateful for Lily.

When we left for Hogwarts everything was going to be perfect. We'd be sorted into Slytherin or Ravenclaw and live as forever best friends, and then more. I never bargained for James Potter and Sirius Black. I never imagined that Lily would be sorted into Gryffindor.

I thought I'd done something, said something wrong, when she got sorted into Gryffindor, but she smiled at me across the hall and I thought maybe not. Lily was still my Lily, even if she was in a different house.

Looking back now, I know I couldn't have been more childish. Lily made new friends, but when she tried to introduce me I bad-mouthed them and walked off. Every time she came to see me, she'd ask me what was wrong, as if I was perpetually sick and, much as I loved her worrying, it irritated me. Why couldn't it how it had been before, just the two of us?

And of course Potter had to go and make my life hell. Constantly teasing and pranking me. Lily would always get up in my defence, but I couldn't help but notice how it took her a little longer each time to defend me. I blamed it on her. I knew it was me, but I couldn't face that fact. Not yet. Then Potter fell in love with her. I knew that look, because it was my look for Lily. My Lily. And Lily came back to me for a while and we spent time studying and grousing about Potter and Black. But I pushed her away again.

I didn't want her to stay if she didn't want to stay. I never thought that she was just trying to get through to me, to be friends again.

It took me until Christmas fifth year for me to realise. She asked me, again, as she always did, to stay over for Christmas. When I said I'd think about it, like I always said, I noticed how her face fell. How I hadn't noticed it the previous years I don't know. But it was there and it left me in shock. So the next day I agreed to go and her face lit up and, for the first time in four years, she hugged me.

She'd changed so much, in that time. She was a young woman. I knew that, of course, but that hug slammed it home. And I knew then that this love that I'd harboured for her since I met her had taken a slightly different turn. I knew, then, that I was in love with her. And that she might, possibly, return the feelings.

That holiday I found out for sure. I didn't do romantic. I still don't. But we kissed as the clocks chimed midnight on New Year's like millions of people world wide and tried to ignore the catcalls of Petunia and the knowing looks of her parents.

A couple of days later we snuck out. I told her I didn't do romantic and took her to the beach and bought her fish and chips. Then I told her I loved her. Sometimes I wish I'd never said that. Sometimes I wish I'd said it more often, louder, something. Something to make that day last forever, snuggled up under a blanket, legs dangling over the pier as we gobbled down the salty fries.

When school started I was worried that Lily would change, that we'd go back to being not-even-friends again. But we didn't. I carried on not being romantic, taking her to Hogsmeade and not saying anything about my Slytherin friends, who wanted to know what I was doing with a mudblood. We kissed lots, but we never, either of us, never said 'I love you' again.

I didn't notice the change in Potter until he really took it out on me. Studying, alone, as usual, out by the lake him and his little friends dangled me upside down by the leg. It had happened before, but not since he'd fallen in love with my Lily. But I saw the shadows of grief there and I knew - the rumour about his parents dying had obviously been true. I yelled at him, because he yelled at me. I knew people were watching and laughing. I would have too, if it wasn't me.

But she didn't stop and laugh. Not Lily. Lily never laughed at someone picked on. She yelled. A lot. Very loudly. James broke under her tirade, letting me go and bowing away from Lily's explosive fury. I was such a fool. I was so angry - I didn't need her protecting me. I wanted it, longed for it, even. But no one had ever stood up to me without a reason. No one except her. But then images of her and Potter kissing and ,marrying and having a whole pack of little babies filled my mind and I yelled at her, too.

I waited for the tide to turn, for her to yell back at me, but it never came. That's when I knew. She'd forgiven me so many times. She knew about what my friends believed, but had pretended not to, as she always did, not to hurt my feelings. My stupid feelings. I begged her, that night, to forgive me, even though I knew she wouldn't. I didn't deserve another chance. I knew I didn't deserve another chance. And when I heard Potter comforting her behind that door, I gave up.

I didn't try and talk to her for another two weeks. Potter asked her out and she agreed. After all that time spent hating him she started dating him! I had to know, had to know why. I was angry, loud angry. But when she answered she was angrier. Quiet, deadly angry. That was when she told me for the first time, too late, that she had loved me. Past tense. That I'd broken her heart and that was the only reason she trusted James with it.

There was nothing I could say that would make up for it. When I apologised, so did she. So I just masked up my emotions and let her to her prince charming, wishing that when I did so I didn't leave my heart behind. So I boxed up all of my emotions. All the good things in life got thrown out. Anything that made me happy, anything that made me feel any better than the hell I knew I deserved.

Which was why, when Black tried to kill me I didn't tell anyone, not even Lily. The wolf was her best friend, I couldn't do that. Not when I knew I should have been her best friend. Would have been, if I hadn't been so stupid. Seventh year was the worst, I said my goodbyes and told her that I'd become a Death Eater like she'd always known I would. I gave her one last lily and told her I loved her and nothing would change her, that I'd protect her life with my own. Then she told me that she loved me, too, and always had, stupid fool that I was.

But I knew that it wasn't me that she loved, not anymore. It was the idea of me. She loved the fifteen year old who'd shared fish and chips and spent the day feeding fish. She loved the eleven year old who she'd prepared for magic school so eagerly with. She loved the… eight? Nine? Year old who had seen her fly and told her she was a witch. I was not that boy.

Years passed and Voldemort changed before our eyes. The glorious leader who would lead us into a brighter future disappeared and, in his place, a vindictive, evil man who would do anything to rule. And I was his favourite, most trusted companion. No, not companion. Slave. Because I'd boxed up my feelings. I didn't care anymore. I'd do anything in his name. I did any number of terrible things because I was told to. I knew that I was good for nothing other than doing what I was told.

But every New Year's I'd go to same fish and chip shop by her parents' old house and buy her the same meal she'd ordered then and leave it on her doorstep with a couple of protective spells. She'd know it was from me. She'd know that I still loved her. She'd know that some tiny part of me, invisible to everyone except her, was still that little boy she loved.

Then I heard a prophecy - part of a prophecy - that told of the downfall of my Lord. So, like a good little boy, I ran to my master and told him of it. I didn't know that Lily, once my Lily, was now his Lily. Lily Potter. I didn't know that it was her child the prophecy meant. I didn't realise that my Lord would kill her.

I offered myself to Dumbledore. I'd sworn that I'd protect her with my life. My life was meaningless, but she had everything to hope for; a baby, a husband, a future… even if it wasn't with me.

But she died along side her husband and her baby survived.

Then I knew that I didn't have to keep my feelings boxed up anymore because they no longer existed. I was numb.

So I taught Potions to snivelling little brats like Dumbledore told me, like a good little boy. And when he arrived I looked for Lily in him, but he was too much like his father. His father with Lily's grass-green eyes. And I hated him. Because he should have been mine. Would have been mine, if I hadn't so stupid.

I saved him, though, again and again, wishing that I had the courage to do what I knew Lily would want and call him my son. But I couldn't. Not with that face and that hair and those eyes. And he hated me back, but it gave me little comfort.

Because he loved everyone, just like his mother. His compassionate heart trying to reach everyone, everything, even me. But I wouldn't let him. Because I wanted to love him like I knew he and Lily deserved. But I hated him. Hated him. Maybe if I'd been brave, right back at the beginning, and adopted him as a baby. But I'd spoken against him and Dumbledore hadn't offered and I was too much of a coward. Just like always.

And now he's off, gallivanting across the British country side doing Merlin knows what, with all the hopes and dreams of the entire wizarding world resting on his too-skinny shoulders. And still only seventeen. But he'd always been older than any of us at his age.

I don't want to survive the war. I am a Death Eater. I killed Albus Dumbledore. I go to Voldemort's meetings and rape and maim and murder in his name. Because he tells me to and I obey, like a good little boy. Because that's all I was ever any good at. Following orders.

My name is Severus Snape. I am thirty-seven, a Death Eater spy who delivered the death sentence for the only person I ever loved. This is who I am now.


A/N Very much AU, I realise and apologise for this. But I wrote Lily's side of this and just had to write Sev's side. Snape is just such an easy character to hate you gotta love him. Sorry for MORE angst. I was aiming for fluff, but you said you wanted Sev/Lily who never had fluff, so you screwed that idea up. No worries... I'm sure I'll produce something more cheerful from somewhere... Until then, please read Welcome to My Truth a Gin 'n' Tom fic. Time travel and parseltongues and evil peeps and animagus and lots of good stuff. I don't usually advertise other storis in my A/Ns, but the latest chapter is feeling neglected.
Much love to you all and please review!!
Cal
xxx