2.

Don't you remember?

She was always going out late.

Work, study…

Nott.

Fucked Nott.

Fucked James.

Lily fucked James.

Severus' head meets his hands.

Seventh Year, she didn't say yes.

James asked, she didn't say yes—what?

He snuck throughout the street warily, the sheer Muggle-ness of the area reminding him of his old home. Near Lily, and that bloody Petunia.

The place where he'd first fallen in love.

Voldemort had left the body, and wouldn't let Snape see.

"Filthy Mudblood." He'd proclaimed, and Snape was sick. Lily hadn't been a disturbance, hadn't been a self-righteous Auror like James was, but Voldemort was punishing Snape.

He'd failed to murder Prudence Nott, even though her husband had been a traitor, and for that he was being punished.

Love for love.

He couldn't murder Prudence, so Voldemort murdered Lily.

James had died the same night.

Snape still saw lights exploding behind his eyes as they knocked him out.

"Snape—mustn'tsee!" Voldemort had hissed, and Crabbe and Goyle had knocked him out. They were both expecting children, boys.

Snape felt sick. Oswald Parkinson was expecting a child, his wife, Bertha, was four months pregnant, and Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa had been trying for ages.

"We want you to be the godfather, Severus. You'll look after our son, won't you Severus?" Narcissa had pleaded, her eyes, blue, compelled him. Severus had never been one to resist Cissy.

"How do you know it's a boy? He hasn't even been conceived." Snape said haughtily. Narcissa had smiled, her ghostly beauty magnified by the blonde hair whispering around her face as the breeze took it.

"I just know."

The lights had been strangely similar to the colour of Narcissa's hair, Snape remembered. White blonde yellow, he'd always described it. Not the silvery colour of Lucius. Snape had always preferred Narcissa's hair.

The lights had come upon him, and then black smeared his vision.

When he woke up, Lily was dead.

-- --

Coming for mother, a man is coming for mother, mother, mother, my mother…

Dead, dead, dead.

My mother, mother, mother, my, dead.

DEAD DEAD DEAD

So hungry, always so hungry.

FOOD FOOD FOOD

NEED FOOD

Need mother, dead, dead, mother.

My mother dead.

My dead.

Dead Mother.

-- --

Snape slid into the house with trepidation. It was deceptively bright and pretty, yellows, creams and pinks shot out at him.

There she was.

Snape cried in delight and ran to embrace her, but was stopped by something. An invisible barrier.

Sparkles and glitter surrounded the area he could not touch, and then fell back. Lily's red hair whipped around her face, looking lighter under the eerie lights. Her mouth and eyes were closed, and she had a peaceful expression on her face.

Snape understood, then. Dumbledore had put a spell on her body to keep it preserved, must have planned it even before she died. Lily wasn't alive. She was dead.

Snape looked at the slender piece of parchment in his hand.

"Aufero Obex," He breathed, and the barrier fell from around Lily's body.

"Reducio," He said quietly, and Lily shrank. He took her up and placed her slowly and carefully into the special bottle Dumbledore had given him.

Time for Potter.

Snape curled his lip.

-- --

Narcissa hadn't had an easy pregnancy. She'd been trying to get pregnant since the end of Hogwarts, but she couldn't.

She'd tried everything, fertility potions, Midwitches, even Muggle remedies. But she just couldn't.

When Draco had come, they'd been so proud. Five months into it, and Lucius was regretting having this fucking baby anyway.

"Oh Merlin! I need sugar! Get me some Florean Fortescue's now!"

Fifteen minutes later, Lucius had returned with what appeared to be a small tub of shite.

"THIS LOOKS LIKE SHITE LUCIUS!"

Returned with cranberry-raisin, a flavour Narcissa had fancied before.

"I DON'T WANT ANY BLOODY FRUITS IN MY ICE CREAM! Zut alors!"

Rush to the ice cream parlour.

Return.

"I don't want any bloody ice cream, the stuff makes me sick."

And there was pain, as well. Long nights of merde, merde, this hurts, and even longer nights when Lucius was out with Voldemort, and Narcissa was left to ponder this yoke growing in her body by herself.

And then he was born, in his seventh month.

Premature.

He wasn't going to make it, but he did. Because he wanted to, and because Draco Malfoy would fuck up everything for everyone for the rest of his life.

And for the rest of everyone's life, really.

-- --

a/n—Well. The plot thickens. The mystery of the weird caps-locky speaker will come out later, as well as the important of Lily and James' bodies. The last line is meant to remain ambiguous. Next chap up soon. And yes, I'm aware that I posted another chapter in the same day as the first one. What can I say? I've finished chapters three and four as well!

Peaches,

Anya.

Note: Chapter after this one squick-y. You have been warned.