XXI

There were few inhabitants left—most of which were younger students, childishly sleeping in their warm beds, completely oblivious to the tragedy in the world around them. But there were a select few who stayed back, the older and the wiser, waiting for a certain moment of pure exhilaration to make their move. Severus had stayed behind, though he knew that it was getting far too late and far too dangerous to stay in the castle any longer.

The night of January 8th had come swifter than he had hoped it to come. He had dreaded the day. He was unhinged from his typical stability and composure. Out of his element, he fumbled with his coat before putting it on; savoring the heat he knew he would soon lose. He wrapped his holey olive toned scarf around his neck; its length wrapped several times around it. He looked at the clock once more, before deciding that it was best to wait just one more moment.

He waited for the moment where he would feel the hairs on his neck stand on edge, and where the air would sink twenty degrees cooler—when the adrenaline would course through his veins, burning inside him hotter than fire. The time would strike with a silent bang, and the presence of perfect timing would be before him, waiting, beckoning for him. Then, his senses would light on fire, his skin would begin to crawl with anticipation and he would know that there would be no better time than that moment, to snake out of the castle.

Over his frock-coat he put a long, black, hooded cloak. It did not billow, nor create noise as he walked. He paced around the room, wondering whether he would be able to go through with this. He still had a chance to not do anything. He had Lily. He had changed enough…But was enough really what it was said to be? There were too many possibilities in which it could all go horribly wrong.

Noisily, he slammed each and every door behind him, marching loudly through the Slytherin rooms, knowing he would wake everyone up. However, their sleep did not matter to him. They would accuse him of no such disruption. They wouldn't dare.

He stalked down the corridors silently, inhumanly—almost like a ghost floating just above the yellow, ceramic tiles. His head was held down. Watching his every step, he climbed up stair case upon stair case, never faltering. He gripped the stair handle when he reached the end. With the warmness of the rest of the school came voices, chattering away, incessantly prattling on about the day's mundane events. The voices of Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey came loudly through the halls. He hadn't expected a teacher to be up this late in their classroom.

This was the most fun part to him, though he was not yet aware of it. Adrenaline coursed through him and doubts filled his head, teasing him for his false-bravery. In spite of it, he would continue, mentally cursing himself for his stupidity. Even after decades of finding ways to escape the castle, it still gave Severus the same thrilling rush.

His heart beat against his chest, pounding, trying to burst out of him, and trying to stop creating the noise that he almost thought could be heard. He froze; his body acting like liquid-nitrogen had spilled over it. His eyes darted from side to side. He edged toward the door of the classroom. Closer and closer he was, so sure that the door was close. The last cautious step came. He peered into the door for a quick moment before falling to his knees and crawling past the door.

He was safe. He had made it through. But the hardest part was yet to come.

"Where are you going?" he heard an eerie voice lazily whisper into his ear. He jumped back, only to see that no one was standing behind him. "Keep walking, you'll only die this way…" it continued taunting him, mocking him to no end. "Falling into your own grave I see…What a great way to die. You've done this before haven't you?"

He bid the the safety of the castle goodbye and was greeted by the bitter, biting cold of the winter night. Thick snow fell, covering his cloak. He trudged through the snow, leaving footprints behind him. He walked along the edge of the forest, not afraid of the creatures which could attack him.

At the edge of the forest, just where the barrier of Hogwarts and the rest of the Wizarding World stood a pathway covered by shrubs which heaved with the crystal-like snow. Carefully, he moved the shrubs away, creating a little whole, just big enough for him to get through. He scratched his arm as he let go of the branches.

He trotted the path he had traveled so many times, remorse filling him. He had never wanted to go down it again. It was only a slew of painful memories which lied on the path's broken bricks. He grew tired mentally, but forced himself physically to keep moving forward; a single mantra keeping him going: If you don't do this, they all die.

He didn't know the locations of the Horcruxes. He only had suspicions. It was not enough to go off of. However, he knew if he waited a few short months, there would be two locations he would be completely sure the Horcruxes would reside. The only thing was that if he waited, he didn't know how things would turn out.

Above him there were branches weighed down by snow, completely bare of leaves. The night sky was cloudy, no moonlight shown through them. The land before him was filled with thick fog, but he needed no lantern. He had memorized the path long ago. There was a fork in the road: a single stone pathway, uncovered by snow, but covered by the glass of broken street lamps and a single old, beaten pathway covered with snow up to his knees. The glass breaking beneath his feet, he chose the pathway to the left, hoping the shards would cut through the soles of his shoes and paralyze his feet. He was an unwilling martyr.

Five steps, he stopped, his legs frozen solid and colder than ice. He turned back, trying to escape his fate, but walking a few steps backwards, he stopped once more, his legs unwilling to move and his brain unwilling to move them. He let out a gasp in pain as he felt needles pierce through his legs slowly. Morals attempted to haunt him at every turn.

Keep moving. You don't have to do this. Trick the Slytherins into divulging any amount of information, no matter how invaluable. There are other ways. He took a step forward.

There are other ways that would prove of no use. You know that this is the best and quickest way. This is absurd! Just go, do what must be done and hate yourself later. It was the way things had always went before…

I wish I were a house-elf who cherished orders, no matter how anomalous and sinful they were. Then, I would have no trouble in doing these things. Then, I would be rewarded with an insignificant award, which I would cherish above all other things. If I were a house-elf I would know a different kind of love—love that would be completely separate from what must be done in life—love that would be its own necessity.

He looked up at the sky, swearing that he could see Lily's face in its clouds, frowning at him, tears spilling from her eyes and distancing herself from him, just as he knew he should have let her. No matter how much he loved her, he regretted ever letting her feel the same for him. He should have kept things as a friendship, which could later blossom, and develop into whatever else when the times were different, where the world he lived in wasn't stained by blood and when she had learned what truly manifested not only him, but the people she thought she could trust.

At the end of the path he stopped: A single, unbroken street lamp lit the sky, barely turning the bleakness of the sky dim. He walked into the thickness of the forest and stopped behind a larger bush. He transfigured a small twig into an uncomfortable tan chair, and then sat on it, crossing his legs.

He began to search his mind for any memories and feelings that could be easily discovered through legilimency. He had let himself grow feeble-minded, trading his mind which was so aptly developed for spying, for some mind engrossed by love, lust and so many other things that would only distract him.

At the deepest point of concentration, he shut his eyes and relaxed his body as he shut out each and every memory which only weakened the icy, hardened heart he had tried to develop. His mind was the deepest labyrinth, which should be caged away from humanity so no poor soul could enter its vast chasm of darkness. Once he placed the last wall in his mind, his eyes snapped open and his body tensed once more. He got up off the chair and walked back onto the pathway. Three steps past the lit streetlamp he stopped, looked around for a brief moment and hesitantly apparated with a slight 'pop'. Before apparating the single thought in his mind was: If I make it out alive, then I have reached my goal.

The air was much colder, but the snow was not falling. Severus' breath turned a foggy white. Before him, stood a gate; large and black. Beyond the gate was a small villa, rich black in color and impressive in stature. Everything on the strip of land was black, the windows tinted black, the roof and even the snow on its land was an odd shade of black that he did not know could exist. The sky above him was black and cloudless. The stars were lacking and there was no light shining down on him.

He gripped the black bars of the gates, cutting his gloves and scratching his hands on the small, but sharp spikes which lined the bars. He felt pressure against his torso. It developed into a slight push, strengthening as time ticked away. A large creak sounded from the distance as two heavy, large doors opened. Out came a figure, cloaked in Slytherin green. The figure's cloak was long, and the hood covered his entire face, stopping mid-neck. He walked towards Severus in a daze-like state. The sound of heavy footsteps and sloshing snow grew louder as the cloaked figure drew closer. Soon, they were face to face.

The figure was pressed up against the bars, breathing heavily. His breath smelled of rotting meet and murder. The scent made Severus light-headed, but he firmly held his ground. The cloaked figure removed his hood, revealing a man: A man with blood shot eyes, so red that they appeared to be bleeding and scars marring his entire face horrifically. The man was Rosier's older brother. He smirked, revealing slightly blackened teeth. "You're late, Snape," he sneered, his voice low and gravelly.

"I'm five minutes early, Rosier."

"You're lucky the Dark Lord is in a good mood tonight. He started the meeting early. I would hate to see you punished on your first day," he stated the last sentence mordantly. "Wait here." He placed the hood over his face as he walked away, trudging slowly to the house, leisurely taking his time for his own pleasure.

Once the doors closed, the gates opened slowly, creaking loudly with a sharp, ear-piercing pitch. Snape quickly stepped over the place where the gate once stood. Once he was two steps away from it, the gate closed silently and quickly.

Inside the house, he felt chills run down his spine uncomfortably. The air inside was at least eight degrees cooler. The scent which enveloped the house was of aristocratic cologne. The house's floor was polished black granite, unsullied by dirt, or any evidence of people having walked upon it. The walls were richly decorated. A few pots with dark, sickly looking plants resided in a few corners of the house.

He heard the voice of Voldemort hissing carefully told lies. As he walked closer he felt a numb feeling shoot through him. The veins in his arms felt as if fine knives were cutting him. His heart beat at a dangerously slow pace. He began to see doubles. He fell against the wall, catching himself while clutching his left arm.

"Snape what the hell is wrong with you?!" Rosier barked.

"Nothing," he wheezed. Gaining some strength, he stopped relying on the wall for support. "I'm fine."

Once he entered the meeting hall he was greeted by a something—something so cynical that Severus was beyond revolted. Looking at the creature sitting at the head of the table, he nearly wretched. This creature had two openings filled with red orbs he called eyes, two slits he called a nose and a face, paler than the whiteness of the snow covering all of England. This creature, so heartless and distant from life, had dared to call himself a man.

"Who is this?" Voldemort questioned once he had noticed someone had entered the room.

"This is Severus Snape my liege," Rosier answered.

"Ah Severus, I have been looking forward to meeting you. Come, sit." He sat down next to people who weren't affiliated with him. Severus quickly glanced around the table, unsatisfied by the fact that nearly all of the Slytherins fifth year and older were at the meeting's attendance.

Severus' right arm pulsated with every word that Voldemort used. He reviled the man he now had to serve. His heart sank deeper and deeper, until he was sure that it had completely left him, falling to the floor, arteries still connected to it, beating, but sluggishly dying along with his hopes. The Dark Lord had a wry smile upon his lips as he cunningly, verbosely gave his new batch of followers some information and incentive.

The Dark Lord nonchalantly started toying with his wand, purposely letting small green sparks escape from its tip. "I believe you are all pining for a task to prove your worth." Voldemort turned his head from one side to the other slightly, but ever so slowly. He saw his followers encompassed by him, yearning for power, the sheer want of it clouding their eyes.

In mid-speech, he looked up at Severus. Immediately, he saw power beyond their blankness. Severus' black irises were cold, distant, but Voldemort could see the power which young Severus held through them. The power was promising, intriguing and something Voldemort was willing to take—to use at his disposal. So Voldemort smiled, though foolishly everyone, not including Severus, had thought it was because he was satisfied with the reaction he had received. Severus knew the maniacal being better than to believe he was merely satisfied with awe. He had found competence in Severus' eyes, and he could help but take a peek into the man's mind. Severus was prepared for him to begin to prod his mind. He made sure that he gave the Dark Lord what he was searching for.

As Voldemort droned on Severus soon entered a world completely unlike his own. The world—full of color, full of love and full of such impossible dreams that it was utterly simple to drift away from the life you hold so dearly; to become forever lost in this new, intangible world. In this new madness he found sanity. Carelessly letting himself slip from the conversation, he nearly closed his eyes, only to snap them open when remembering where he was.

When he slipped back into bitter reality the same chill and sinking feeling swept over him as it had when he first heard Voldemort's voice. A burning, acidic sensation filled the pit of his stomach. When Voldemort's eyes met his, he nearly looked away, but didn't. Voldemort smiled as he began to feel a pressure, and the fake memories he had generated skillfully rush to the front.

Voldemort saw bits of conversations Severus had. They were all about power and the yearning for it. Voldemort saw what he thought was true devotion to his cause. He was satisfied having finally found someone competent. His sharp tongue swept over this pointed teeth as he released himself from Severus' mind. Finally...something…promising.

Severus had never felt more despicable in his life.

He crashed onto a couch, his being far too weakened by self-exhaustion. He was in the Room of Requirement, unable to face the Slytherins, nor listen to their praising of the Dark Lord. The feeling that irked him greatly had only softened a bit. He was still waiting to stop resenting himself, but he knew he would never.

He was given missions—two impossible missions. He kept telling himself that he was doing this for a cause greater than himself, greater than his love for Lily and greater than the entire wizarding world. Still, he felt the same unbearableness inside of him. He wanted this to end quickly, but the things to come, and he knew very well, could take longer than months or years because last time it lasted decades.

He decided to forget what had happened, just so he could close his eyes for a few brief moments…For a second, it worked…

"Master Severus!" called a high-pitched voice, which was soon followed by small, quick footsteps sounding in the room. The small cling of a tray being placed next to the small, round, wooden table resonated through the large room. Tibby stood patiently, her arms behind her back and her head rocking from side to side as if there were quiet music being played in the distance. "I thought the master would enjoy some tea."

"Tibby, how many times bust I tell you that I am not your master?"

"Nonsense Master Severus! You are my only master."

"You work for the school Tibby." He shot her a petulant look. She handed him a cup of warm, peppermint scented tea. He could barely hold onto the cup. "Tibby, could you get me some calming draught?"

"Yes, Master Severus, right away!" She left the room through a pathway he couldn't see. She came back even quicker than he thought possible. She handed the calming drought to him, the small vial uncorked. He spilled it into the pale blue porcelain tea cup, and stirred it in slowly, trying not to spill a single drop. Once he drank the tea (which ran dryly down his throat) the shaking subsided.

He looked up at the house-elf, who seemed flustered. She continuously fumbled with her fingers and darted her eyes from one side of the room to the other. She bit her lip with her yellowed teeth.

"Tibby, what is troubling you?" Her heliotrope colored eyes was clearly filled with worry so great that her body could barely contain it.

"It—it is the muggle born. She—she was calling you—your name. Screaming at the top of her lungs. Yes, that is what she was doing, yes. I—I didn't know if I should tell you…I am sorry I failed you master Severus! I am so sorry!" She flung herself to the floor, tears trailing down her cheeks.

"No Tibby, you did well. Go to your room and have a good night's sleep. It is good that you told me. You have yet to fail me Tibby." He knew automatically who was in the infirmary.

He rushed through the doors, a loud slamming behind him and various objects falling to the ground in a single swoop of pandemonium. His cloak billowed furiously behind him. He saw Madame Pomfrey running from one side of the room to the other, pillaging through books and various shelves filled with potions. "I've never seen this in my life!" she shouted, completely ignorant of Severus' disruptive presence. He had opened the doors roughly, the doors ricocheted off the wall, pieces of wood chipping off, landing across the floor. Poppy finally noticed him. "Mr. Snape!" Madame Pomfrey squeaked as she hurried from one side of the room to the other, looking for something on the shelves of unorganized potions. "You must leave at once!"

On the bed farthest away from him was Lily, writhing in pain, her eyes shut tightly, white tears falling onto the floor. Her veins were blacked and her back arched. She trembled as held that position. Her mouth was sealed tightly, but sometimes she would open it, only to gasp for air. Her eyes were closed in pain, and her fists clenched tightly, blood oozing from them, dripping on the floor in messy puddles on the floor; the crimson liquid permanently staining the carpeting around the bed.

He reacted to her state with immediacy. He let Madame Pomfrey shuffle across the room, her hands on her head and sweat trailing down her slightly reddened face. He sped past the shelves, grabbing several bottles, two of which were chartreuse in color, three cerulean and one a deep vermillion. He also grabbed a large beaker.

Sitting next to Lily, he watched her as he stirred, carefully observing how the curse progressed through her body. He stirred the three potions together, adding specific amounts of each at various stages of his mixing.

He heard a glass shatter against the floor, but he did not turn around. "Mr. Snape, that combination of potions is poisonous! Are you trying to kill her?! Mr. Snape! STOP!"

"I know what I am doing Madame. I suggest you go back to medical school. Maybe then you would find the competence to be a healer in this institution. You should sit down, before you give yourself a heart attack. You've let me oversee Potter; I can oversee Ms. Evans," he sneered with such acerbity that she roughly sat herself down in a chair, and waited for him to admit that he was wrong.

Once the new potion has turned cerise, he sat her up. Before he did anything, he heard her whisper his name through her delirium in a demented version of her once sonorous voice. He poured the potion down her throat gradually and prudently. She let out a small burp before he set her down on the bed.

Afterwards he sat down, his eyes still fixed on her. She still remained completely motionless, but after ten or so minutes, her back relaxed. Eventually her condition improved greatly. She looked peaky, but no longer on the verge of death.

"Mr. Snape, you never cease to amaze me." He grunted in reply. "I am being serious. You…you should be an apprentice."

"Madame, this is a conversation for a different time."

Severus soon dosed off, completely exhausted by the night's horrid events.

He felt a hand brush against him. His eyes fluttered open. Lily was watching him, a sublime look on her face; she smiled weakly. "Sev."

"Lily you need to rest," he said once her noticed that he had been asleep for only half an hour. She tugged him to her. At her demand, he slipped into her bed. "This is vastly inappropriate. What will Madame Pomfrey say?"

"I would say that you saved her and you can do whatever you want to. There is no order in this school." Pomfrey smiled, because for once in life she had found something had gone right for a change. She was happy for Severus, even if he was being a prat while she was trying to help Lily. She left the two alone in the room.

Lily wrapped her arms around Sev. "I love you. Thank you for saving me." She kissed his lips briefly, lacking in energy to do more.

"Lily, go to sleep. Please. You may thank me later if you wish to."

"Happy Birthday," She said as she turned around, her back facing his abdomen. He had completely forgotten.

He sat up to take off his shoes, but when he had placed them on the ground he noticed a piece of crumpled paper stained by the pool of blood next to it. When he opened it, he was completely aghast.

Snape,

I know you'll save her, or whatever, just like you saved the Potter-git.

Get your priorities straightened out.

You don't need a Mudblood when you have the Dark Lord. He will give you any woman you want and they will all be better than her.

Let this be a warning.

-It shouldn't matter who I am.

He lied back down, wrapping his arms around Lily. He couldn't believe that this had happened because of him, though somewhere in the back of his mind he had suspected that something like this could happen. They never tried to hide their relationship.

It was so new, so fresh. The love still was beating in both hearts. He rued Lily's innocence, and her lack of knowledge in this situation. Naïve and uninformed is what he wanted to be. What he needed to be was the one who made sacrifices, no matter the cost. He buried his face in the crook of Lily's shoulder and breathed in her scent. Life was full of sacrifices that you have to make. There in his arms, laid yet another sacrifice. The greatness of their relationship had just begun. He felt an overwhelming sense of melancholy sweep over him as he realized that he would soon have to let it go.

All good things must come to an end they say…But this was no ordinary good thing. This was the only good thing that had happened to him in over a decade. It was meant to last. And, yet he found it ending just like all other good things. All good things must come to an end they say…Sayings were never meant to be right.

"Happy birthday indeed…" he thought sarcastically. There couldn't have been a worse birthday in his life.

A/N: The next chapters to come are some of my favorites that I had to write. I wish that you enjoy this. Also, if (I wish I could say when) this reaches two hundred reviews, I will give the two hundredth reviewer a prize. The hundredth follower will also get a prize. The hundredth favorite (if I get there) will get a prize as well. The prize will be a one-shot of the couple of their choosing (I do hope it's within the realm of Harry Potter though), and they may have a say in what it will be about.