Chapter 89: A Gryffindor's Way

It was to a gentle lull that Lily found herself coming to, far more softly than she had awoken in recent times. She woke to a wand waving about above her, held in the hand of the headmaster, whose expression seemed far less stoic than the last time she had seen him.

The void she had succumbed to in what she had thought to be her final sleep had seemed so deep and unforgivingly dark. It wasn't the welcoming light that Sev had described. It was an endless fall into a cold and lonely hollow with nothing at the end of it all.

But suddenly, it was all over, and she had been rousing gently to the waning light of dusk and the taste of fey sweetness on her tongue. A tonic, perhaps, dropped carefully between her lips like how one would apply the antidote to the Draught of Living Death.

"Welcome back to the land of the waking, Lily," Albus greeted with a smile. One that lifted her spirits and set her hopes aflutter. Within the headmaster's hand was clutched a small empty teardrop vial that had no doubt once held the cure to her ailment.

Lily made to sit up, feeling clearheaded for the first time in what felt like an age. As she moved, she felt something fall from her chest. A blood red stone about the size of a Knut landed upon her bed. Her hand automatically flew to it, cradling it in her palm as her waking mind tried to make sense of everything.

Her eyes flew to search for Severus among those standing within the room, finding his black eyes upon her, in his hand held that black jagged stone. The intensity of his stare seemed to drink up her continued existence, as if he dared not hope.

He made to move as if about to approach, but Marlene was a fraction faster.

"Lily!" Marlene gasped as she embraced her friend, her breath shaking with far rawer emotion than she would ever admit to. Lily had wondered briefly if she was truly awake, but was quickly reassured by the startling force of brutish arms thrown about her to crush the sleep right from her bones.

"Lily!" James too joined in chorus, stepping to the edge of her bed with so euphoric a smile. "You're alive!"

"Not for much longer if you keep hugging me so tight," Lily grumbled in hyperbole. There was nothing more comforting than the tight embrace from loved ones.

"You're good, right?" her best friend asked as she released her hold. Her tone hesitant, as if hardly daring to believe.

"I'm good," Lily answered, before glancing up at the headmaster. "I'm good, right?"

A kindly twinkle in those blue eyes answered Lily before his words did. "I don't believe you should suffer any lasting consequence. Your soul has found itself seated quite firmly."

Relief washed over Lily. The sort that came with passing death by a hair's breadth. Something she had unfortunate prior experience with.

She directed her smile up at Severus, whose black eyes still did not waver. Nor did his sense of purpose. He approached, taking her hand into his grasp. Bandages swathed his hand thickly, stained by an unmistakable red. His silver hand held firmly to that focus stone, the one that connected the living to the dead.

In her hand, too, was held a stone, one red and mysterious as any. She made to place it upon the night-table, but he stopped her. His silver hand pushed against her fingers, curling them about that blood red stone, so gentle in his touch but firm in his hold. She could feel his hand of flesh shaking, but his silver hand's grasp was cold and firm.

"Keep a hold of that," he urged.

"What is it?" Lily asked, wide eyed. She cracked her fingers open to take a look at the object she held.

Albus' blue eyes were also drawn in interest. "What ensured you survived long enough for my arrival, I imagine," he observed, quite enigmatically. "Your doing, Severus?"

"As opposed to any of the other alchemists in this room," he felt the need to snark, his eyes never leaving Lily's. "I thought I lost you," he then whispered, as if afraid for his spoken words to be heard by the others present. A streak of self-consciousness he would never be rid of.

Lily took her hands from his to draw him into an embrace. She could feel his shaking hands curl about her, holding her tight. His touch conveying the emotions his words could not. How terrible this all must have been for him. His worst nightmares made manifest. To have been helpless as he watched her die, or so he thought. As did she.


The deep crimson of the tea that was served at the headmaster's office that night seemed to reflect the thoughts both shared.

Snape sipped gingerly, his freshly healed palm pressed against the heat of the tea-warmed china. A ghostly pain lingered in his memory as if along the tracks of his palm where he inflicted his cut, now healed so perfectly that no scar remained. Another thing he could thank the headmaster for. There were few with as specialised knowledge of the anatomical structure of hands as Dumbledore had now taught himself to behave. One of the many things Snape found himself indebted to the headmaster for.

Laid upon the bare skin on the divot between Lily's throat and her collarbone, the Philosopher's Stone that Snape had made did its work. And slowly, the mystical stone was able to repair the strands between Lily's soul and her form. First, just one strand appeared, then two. Given time, perhaps it could have revived her in her entirety, but at the very least, Snape was not forced to find out if it could. The stone kept her alive long enough for Dumbledore to arrive with the Elixir of Life.

One dose, barely two drops in that tiny vial, dropped into her ashen lips. Snape could only hold his breath as he watched those golden strands keeping tethered her soul quickly form and bind, reseating the shining light of her heart back into her corporeal form.

She did not awake immediately, prompting a creeping fear within Snape's psyche, but slowly, colour began returning to her features and her breathing starting to deepened as if she was simply in slumber. A sight of reassurance, but not enough for Snape to step away and seek treatment for his own wound, blood seeping through his thick swathe of conjured bandages.

When her eyes finally fluttered open, it was all Snape could do to believe this ordeal was over. Even as she smiled and spoke, exchanging words and relief with those gathered, Snape kept a hold of his Death Stone, watching the light that surrounded her soul and fearing the worst. The worst never came.

She was alive. It was over. The curse was lifted and the scars it left were healed. All it took was to beseech the fables themselves.

It took all the will that Snape had to prise himself from Lily's side after all that, but he did so out of necessity. In his haste to collect his blood, Snape had cut himself deeply. And though conjured bandages worked well as a quick and effective solution short-term, it was only a matter of time before something more long-term was needed.

Accepting that invitation to meet with the headmaster at his office was a natural next step. Not just for the treatment of his wound, but for a debriefing of everything that had occurred, and especially of the price Snape had paid to lift the curse.

After all, an Unbreakable Vow had been set, and it had added a new dynamic to their plan.

"You certainly appear to find yourself at the mercy of the Unbreakable Vow more often than the average wizard," the headmaster mused upon its revelation. "Though I am not surprised you would strike another, especially with what was at stake."

"I had never placed a limiting factor to how long it would take me to obtain the sword. Only that I would obtain it. Take the time that you need to have it ready," Snape uttered calmly as he took another sip of his smooth and very slightly sweet tea, one that was far too fruity and light for his tastes.

The headmaster's brows pinched ever so slightly. "While I do not fault your logic, you place too much faith in the idea that I would be successful in this endeavour. Especially now." Those blue eyes met Snape's with far more concern than Snape had felt for the vow he had forged. "I have since destroyed every cursed stone created. We are likely starting from scratch if we are to attempt this again at all. That is, provided that Lily were to even wish to try her hand at this again."

"She won't." Snape had already decided. "But rather, I have another solution to propose. There are other enchanters in the fold that may suit our needs." It was an idea that took him in a time when he could lend it no mind to think any further on. In the calm of the storm's passing, the ideas had taken form. "Potter had enchanted a map during his school days to plot the movements and whereabouts of all those who step on castle grounds. That is no small feat of enchantment and marks him as a likely candidate to replace my wife in this endeavour."

Those brows furrowed yet again. "Severus, we are dealing in secrets."

"Potter, for all the arrogance that he possesses, wishes for the end of the war as earnestly as any man. What he lacks in discretion, he makes up for in determination." This was a stretch to sell, and honestly rather sleazy to suggest, but there was no way in Salazar's name that Snape would let Lily take this risk again.

Dumbledore took a small savouring sip of his tea as if mulling over the suggestion. "While I appreciate your suggestions, James Potter has never shown any proclivity for wandless casting, which suggests to me his talent in enchantment is not his alone to tout."

Snape frowned. "I claim no expertise in Enchantments. What am I not understanding about this?"

Dumbledore peered over his cup and dutifully explained. "This means he's either not the caster, or that he and his friends had found a way to work together to weave the spell such that their teamwork offsets the need for one particularly talented individual. Knowing James and his friends, I believe it to be more the latter."

"Meaning if you take Potter onto the project, you would have to take the entire cursed pack of Marauders," Snape muttered with a touch of resentment. As much of a reach that suggesting Potter for this role had been, initiating the entirety of the Marauders was overreaching to an unsustainable farce.

Pettigrew was an untrustworthy rat from the outset. It would be foolish to trust the man with the keys to victory, knowing what Snape knew, even if the man hadn't yet set upon the path destined to him. In many ways, Black was so much worse a choice, being arrogant and self-indulgent in braggadocio. He had not yet the shock of weathering his golden years in Azkaban to set him straight, at least in his priorities. With Lupin, the foul beast that he was, he at the very least had always been somewhat dependably sly. Intelligent, too, if Snape were inclined to be generous, though highly lacking in backbone or creativity. He, too, would be another that benefited from the trauma of the war in maturation and grounded fortitude, but not so soon. The man had just spent almost half a year living with the worst of his kin. No matter how resilient the man would prove to be, immediately after his liberation was not the time to test it.

"Then we are back at square one without even a plan forward this time," Snape relented, realising that his life hinged in the balance. If they had no way forward on this matter, then gifting the Sword of Gryffindor while it was unimbued with the necessary magic to the enemy might as well be signing off on their own death warrants. Destroying Horcruxes was difficult enough without having one live within a sword that made its name on being nigh-on indestructible.

"Lily may be our only option, Severus," Dumbledore urged gently.

Snape scowled, turning away. The reality of the situation had occurred to him. His life might hang in the balance of the choice she made. If she were to make that choice with this knowledge, he knew what she would choose. And perhaps, that was a risk he needed to accept.

"I will tolerate no more unnecessary risks," Snape growled under his breath, hating that he would be the one forced to compromise.

"I will ask Nicholas for another dose of his Elixir to keep on as a precaution," Dumbledore offered. "Though it might serve us both well to speak to him. His wisdom may be valuable, to the both of us."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Don't play games with me, Albus. Speak what you mean."

Those blue eyes met his, devoid of the light smile he had previously worn. "Only one Stone has existed for half a millennium on this magical world. Its concept, however, has existed for centuries more, in lore and legend and the desires of men. If you are to take on the responsibility of this stone's creation and keeping, then I advise you to seek the wisdom of a man who has five centuries of experience in the matter."

"I shall take it under advisement," Snape muttered, not at all committed. The stone was his creation. His to do with what he willed.

Those piercing blue eyes peered over those half-moon spectacles. "The allure of fables has corrupted many a good heart."

"And should you create your own, feel free to follow your own advice," Snape retorted. He wasn't about to be lectured on the corruption of desire from a man who had succumbed to a cursed ring in pursuit of a fairy tale. Though Snape might have once craved the wealth and power that stone might have once given him, now all he wanted the stone for was to preserve the life of the one person that mattered most in his life. The prospect of forever was within his reach…

"I think you know as well as I why I could never have forged that stone," Dumbledore conceded calmly.

Snape glared sharply. "So, you knew the secret of its creation all along, and you did not tell me when I needed it the most?"

"I had my theories, and I knew if my theory was correct, that it would always be out of my grasp," the headmaster offered gently. "I did not wish to gamble everything on my speculation and your untested skill."

Snape scowled and glanced away. The thought that the man could possess such knowledge but refuse to divulge it, even at Snape's most dire of moments, stung like betrayal. Even though he knew he had no right to such lauded secrets. Even though, in the end, Dumbledore had come through with the mythical Elixir. That he brought Lily back from the brink.

But ultimately, it was he that succeeded where so many had failed. He who achieved success where even Dumbledore had failed. He had created a Philosopher's Stone, and it was he who would determine its use.

Snape glanced upwards, meeting those expectant blue eyes. Before he could comment further on that topic, Dumbledore offered an unexpected change of topic. "I think it is about time we spoke about the end-game, Severus."

Snape's brows flew together as he raised his eyes to meet the headmaster's. "Are you speaking of the final Horcrux?"

But the headmaster shook his head, "I mean after we destroy it. After we ensure we do not need to contend with any more Horcruxes. For after we've rendered Tom mortal, he is still a powerful dark wizard with followers, fanatic as they are cruel, and increasing in numbers by the day. We have dealt many a great blow to him by depriving him of finances and the hearts of many a young witch or wizard, but in the end, we cannot stop his gathering of the darkest facets of our world. Men and creatures that are drawn to him not for his wealth or influence, but for the dark promises he brings."

"I will not lie and claim I have thought deeply upon this," Snape admitted. Perhaps it was his pessimism speaking, but he had never envisioned this war would end.

The headmaster took a sip of his tea, seeming to think upon his words as he spoke them. "I think you know as well as I what chance the Order holds against Tom's if pitted in direct conflict. We have not the numbers."

"I am not going on a recruitment drive, if that is what you are suggesting," the young professor muttered.

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled with humour. "While I appreciate the merit in such an idea, I'm afraid I already have other plans in motion." The smile faded a touch from the headmaster's eyes. "After all, there is a substantial fighting force ready and available within the Ministry, and their numbers are willing, for the most part."

"You speak of Aurors," Snape said with narrowing eyes. "I think you'll find they've always been there."

"And oftentimes harnessed by those with politics in mind. Bartemius Crouch, for one, has designs on the high office of the Minister for Magic. Your memories confirmed as much. Though our views have seldom found common ground, he and I have found an understanding," the headmaster continued, charming his teapot to refill both their cups as he spoke. "I confess, I had been concerning myself with this conundrum for a notable while. The significance of my sway over those within the Ministry and the Magical community at large is not lost on me. Should I choose to endorse Crouch, his time would come sooner rather than later."

A frown touched Dumbledore's brows. A concern rarely expressed but all the more deeply held. "I believe he would make a good wartime Minister, but I have reservations about his policies in peacetime. He is a hard-line man, one that could give even old Harold Minchum a run for his Galleons."

"We won't have a peacetime if we don't survive the war," Snape offered pragmatically. "Thinking on peacetime now is premature."

"I had told myself as much when I made the offer," Dumbledore agreed solemnly. "I approached him before your hearing. I had thought to vouch for you, as I once did in your lifetime. He did not seem at all that taken by the significance of the Sword and its legend as the court had been."

Snape could not fault the man for not falling for the show Dumbledore put on. A twofold event to beg for Snape's innocence and to reveal the sword's existence to the monster they hoped would come to claim it. It begged the question about how much such corruption went into buying him a pardon the first time around - for a sin far more grievous.

"But as for the offer of support in his bid for the position of Minister, he was far more receptive. Something I apparently wasn't to know about yet." A knowing smile touched the headmaster's lips. A more Slytherin Gryffindor, Snape had never met. "He would not resort to intervening with your charges. And truthfully, I agreed with him about the matter. It was better to win your innocence in the public eye than to hide it behind conspiracy and doubt. You have become an unexpected symbol in this war, whether you realise it or not."

Snape cringed at the very thought. Sure enough, in the months leading, he had spotted his name in the papers every so often. Even a respectable source of news such as the Wizarding World News could not restrain themselves from a mention whenever they ran a news story regarding survivors of Death Eater attacks. The less said about the Daily Prophet, the better. That rag was the reading material of choice in the teacher's lounge, and not a day went by without a professor or another thinking it a good idea to draw Snape's attention to the inane gossip corner started for the very purpose of romanticising Snape's school life and keeping him in the public eye. Even his students had been so bold as to attempt to engage him like he was some type of third-rate celebrity. The greatest down-side to no longer being regarded with fear.

"Instead, we came to a common concern, namely that you would be a likely target for our mutual enemy should you step foot into the public eye of court. He was receptive to our concerns, so much so that more than the Aurors he provided as your personal escort, he had run an operation within the Ministry's entry halls that very morning you were scheduled to attend." Those blue eyes gleamed again, knowingly. "With a strand of your hair."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "They used a Polyjuice decoy?" The idea of another wearing his skin offended his very private person.

"Very successfully, at that," Dumbledore continued. "By the time I arrived at the Ministry entry, they had apprehended five wizards and one witch, and increased security tenfold. Delayed my arrival to courtroom four by a significant while."

"How did they get my hair?" Snape was still hung up on the utter breach of privacy. By comparison, the near miss of criminal charges and the conspiracy behind politics seemed far less important. That knowing sparkle in Dumbledore's eyes was answer enough. Snape internally sighed, surrendering to the idea that his life was no longer his to live in the peace of anonymity.

"We have been in talks since, you'll be interested to know," Dumbledore continued. "About the future of the war, and about what steps are needed to be taken by the Ministry. That focus must be shifted to this war and the growing insurgency within. That the Ministry's insistence in maintaining its own stability and a status quo where one no longer exists will lead to its downfall." The headmaster paused, not to take a sip of his tea but as if hesitating upon his own heavy thoughts. "He too proved to be willing to act upon the intelligence I was willing to part - with great efficiency, I might add. There simply isn't a comparison between our people and those specifically trained for such purpose."

Snape frowned. "I am surprised he took you at your word without forcing you to part with your sources." Though he did not know Crouch personally, he knew him by reputation. The man was no fool. Certainly not a man to trust carelessly.

"You would be right," Dumbledore agreed, taking another sip of his tea as casual as any one might. "I gave him my source and he needed little convincing otherwise, for he, too, believes you a seer."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "I cannot fake second sight. This lie will catch up to us eventually."

Dumbledore gave one solemn nod. "Then we keep you hidden from the world for as long as we can, and will that it takes us as far as we need it to."


Brightly lit lamplight perfused the room, mingling with the orange glow of fire. Brightness not ordinarily reserved for this late hour greeted Snape's eyes from his lounge room when he stepped past the threshold of his office. An unusual place to find fire light at this late hour, for Lily would usually be tucked away in bed. If not asleep, then reading under the covers.

His eyes were drawn to the figure of his wife, sitting silently on the lounge by the fireplace, garbed in her bathrobes with a book in hand and reading candle suspended above it. Her eyes were drawn to him upon his entry, relief touching her smile as her eyes were drawn to his one still-mortal hand.

Snape flicked off his cloak, allowing the outreaching coatrack to retrieve it to hang. It always seemed a little disappointed there was never a hat added to its collection.

Snape stepped over to the couch, taking his seat upon the space his wife had cleared for him. He slipped his arms about her protectively, pulling her close. Lily giggled and fell back obligingly, so that she snuggled against his chest and just under the nook of his chin. The book she held, now closed in her hands, was titled 'The Medical Compendium to treat the Magical and the Mundane,' a tome that originated from Madam Pomfrey's own collection, undoubtedly. It seemed exploration of the Dark Arts was thankfully not on tonight's agenda.

The Potters had kept Lily company this afternoon, only leaving when the wax had burned down to an hour no longer respectable. When the two made to depart, they had headed for the headmaster's office, the only official Floo-point from the castle. Snape took his leave then as well. The exhaustion was weighing upon his eyelids, as too did his desire to be once more in his wife's presence. That he had almost lost her today evoked many an unpleasant memory and he doubted his sleep this night would be as peaceful as it had been of late.

But exhausted as he was, he did not take his leave from his wife's hold. Holding her in his arms, he was reminded vividly of what he had almost lost. He felt his heart beat hard and fast as the fear of recent memory flickered through his mind. He sat back for a long silent moment, feeling her breathing form against the rise and fall of his own chest. His eyes were drawn to that crystal bottle, sitting empty upon the mantle. The precious memories held within reduced to mere reagents. He had always wondered if Lily knew the weight of her request when she had asked him to pursue her heart. The existence of the stone held the truth of it.

Though she held onto the book, she did not make to read any further. Instead, she held it tight, as if it were a soft toy warding against the terrors of the dark. Not dissimilar to the grasp her own husband held her in. One hand was balled closed that only now she was willing to release.

"I kept it, as you asked me to," Lily uttered, opening her hand to reveal the blood-red stone held within. "Are you going to tell me what it is now?"

A glassy crimson and the size of a Bertie-Bott's Every Flavoured Bean, the stone was not dissimilar to that of an oddly coloured river pebble or a particularly oddly-shaped craft bead; it did not carry the appearance of a legend made manifest.

Snape glanced away, weighing up his thoughts. Though Dumbledore had cautioned him on speaking openly about his creation, Snape felt little point in keeping this secret from his wife when she had shared in far more of his life than anyone had ever been allowed.

"It's a Philosopher's Stone," Snape answered to the gasp of his wife. "One that I created myself."

"A…" Lily trailed off, her hand trembling a moment as if the weight of the namesake was somehow literal. She pulled away from his hold, hand held out as if trying to return the stone to its creator. "A Philosopher's Stone?"

Snape took her hand and curled it closed around it once more. "Keep a hold of it. It saved your life once. It may do so again."

Lily settled, her contemplative silence lasting but a solemn moment. "Am I immortal now?"

Snape couldn't help but surrender a weary smile. "I can certainly see to making it so."

"I don't really want to be immortal though," Lily continued, turning in his hold so that she could meet his eyes. "I don't much like the idea of outliving my friends and family."

Tightening his hold, Snape pulled his wife close against him once more. "At the very least, I would rather you outlive me."

He watched her hand curl about that stone and tuck it out of sight. Perhaps into one of the pockets of her bathrobes. An ignoble seat for such a mythical creation, but one Snape was content to allow for its proximity to his wife. The stone was his to do with as he will, and he will see to his wife a long and prosperous life.

"Are you tired?" Snape finally spoke, framing his own exhaustion in that question.

Lily leaned forward as she tried to glance upwards, a separation Snape tightened his grip to prevent. "I've kind of spent a lot of time in bed today. Can't say I'm terribly keen to spend any more," she confessed as she fell back in his hold, giving up her struggle to sit up far more easily than his efforts warranted.

"No bed, then," Snape conceded, shifting his weight in the couch so he could lie across it. Snape rested his head upon the armrest, pulling Lily along so that her head lay upon his collarbone and just over his shoulder so the back of her head found some purchase on that same armrest. Snape's legs dangled off the side of the couch, unable to fit comfortably in the too-cosy plush seating and diverted by the opposite armrest, his legs dangled from the side. Lily's body pressed against his own, from the inside of the couch, scrunched up against the backing and almost moulded against his own. Her face turned towards his such that he could feel her breath against his brow.

"You don't look all that comfortable," Lily observed, not content to allow the moment to settle before drawing light to the faults within this arrangement.

With great reluctance, Snape unclasped his silver hand from about his wife's waist to draw his wand. "Seven years of magical education, spent in preparation for this very reason."

With a flick of his wand, the cushions extended, giving enough room for two people to exist comfortably yet cosily sprawled across it lengthways. The armrest at Snape's feet gave another foot and a half, allowing Snape to draw his feet up from the floor, but not before charming off his boots and socks and casting them neatly into the corner. The house elves could sort them at their leisure. He never much cared for going barefoot, but it was infinitely preferable to the alternative of day-stained socks or, Merlin-forbid, shoes.

Lily also kicked off her slippers and tucked her woollen-socked feet underneath into the cushioned nook between the back and the cushions they laid on. With a whispered spell, Lily sent her tome levitating away and out of sight.

She placed her hand on his torso, the warmth of her palm seeping through his thick winter robes. "I gave you a scare today, didn't I?" she murmured softly, turning Snape's dark eyes to her emerald orbs.

"I had thought my worst fears had been made manifest," he rumbled back, holding Lily ever tighter. "How close I came to never being able to hold you again…"

He felt her hand lift from his chest, leaving a sudden cold spot where her touch had been. "I survived, Sev." He felt her fingers brush lightly upon his brow. "I won't lie. I had been scared. I had thought, this time, for sure." She rested her forehead against the side of his neck, he could feel her breath on his throat. "I shouldn't have doubted you. You come through for me, each and every time."

"I very almost didn't," Snape muttered, closing his eyes. "That you are alive at all is a miracle." The turmoil in his heart settled as he felt her heart beat against him.

"You're not the only one that gets a second chance," Lily agreed, conjuring a thick soft quilt to wrap about them, bringing Snape so close to the brink of sleep.

The comfort of Snape's doze was interrupted with an intrusive memory. "I promised you something, didn't I?" he whispered, edging his eyes open reluctantly.

"You promised me a lot of things," Lily whispered back, with a hint of cheek.

Snape released Lily and propped himself on his side, dark eyes searching for his wife's. Lily's bright green eyes found his, a questioning look held within. With a gentle touch, Snape brushed his wife's hair back with his silver fingers. "I had promised you something when you lay there, in the waning grips of that curse… when you did not think that you would live… and neither did I." The smile fell from Lily's lips as his words touched the trauma of her memory. "I made a promise to you at that time. That if we were ever to have another chance at this…" He trailed off, his black eyes meeting hers earnestly.

Lily pulled herself to a seated position, drawing the blankets from her in the haste of her surprise and elation. "You promised we'd raise a child together," she breathed to a widening smile, as if the moment recalled was from a time far less recent and far more obscure. She leaned down to level her wide searching eyes, as if trying to push past the veil of his mind like a Legilimens. "Are you sure?"

He wasn't sure. How could he be? There was so little certainty to the future. There was much to fear about this decision. Much that pressed upon his already burdened heart and mind. The fear for Lily's life, for he already knew how far she would go for her child. The fear for their future, for money troubles had not been long in their past, and the raging war painted the future ever uncertain. And of course, the fear of fatherhood itself, for he feared his father's example would become his own.

But if fear alone could dissuade his path, he would not be the man he was today. Courage was not defined by Gryffindors alone.

Seating himself upright, Snape reached for his wife's hand, his silver hand touching upon that ring that linked their lives. "I am certain," he uttered, without hesitation or misgivings. A lie only by his own rationality, but a truth settled by his word, and his heart.


A/N: I'm sure everyone's been expecting this conversation to rear up again. Lily always seems to wear Sev down when it comes to such decisions.

A thank you to my Beta readers Sattwa100 and thrawnca for your work on this chapter.

Next Update: Saturday 21st October 2020.

Chapter 90: The Noble Path

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe and do not seek to profit in any way, shape or form from this fan work.