A/N: Content Warning: There will be a brief reference to childhood neglect and abuse.
Snape fastened his traveling cloak as tightly as it would go and strode up to the Hogwarts gate. Rather presumptious on her part, to assume he had nothing better to do on a summer evening. He didn't, but still. He could've had an engagement.
Or Death Eater business she knew nothing about.
Miss Corlett hurried up the path from Hogsmeade ten minutes late, a long hood draped over her head, a rather poor disguise considering her Muggle jeans made her stick out like a sore thumb. She seemed to have recovered from her ordeal the week before, no sign of any lasting damage.
"Sorry I'm late, Professor," she panted, bending over slightly as she caught her breath.
Before Snape could say anything in reply she drew her wand and pointed it straight to his chest. Her hand was trembling so hard her wand shook but she kept it steady.
Snape jumped back and raised his own wand, readying himself for a duel. He should've known it was a trap.
Miss Corlett screamed so loudly Snape was startled.
"Will you keep it down?" he snapped. "What on earth are you doing?"
"I was just going to ask you a question," said Miss Corlett, sounding slightly hysterical. "To make sure it's really you."
Snape lowered his wand. "Well get on with it, then."
Seconds passed and she didn't say a thing.
"Well?" said Snape.
"Right, erm...shit, I can't remember what I was going to ask."
Miss Corlett lowered her wand and glanced up at the sky, apparently lost in thought, and Snape let out a sigh that was thick with disapproval.
"Oh yeah," she said, raising her wand rather pointlessly, since she would have been dead by now if he'd actually been an imposter. "What was the last potion you taught me to make?"
"Wolfsbane. And you nearly blew up the potions classroom."
She looked both ways and pulled off her hood.
She was as tall as he was, or nearly, and her messy braid was gone, replaced by a mop of hair that vaguely resembled Tonks', short dark strands that might've been spiky at one point and now hung limply over her head as though they'd given up. Her eyes were the same as they'd always been, sharp, defiant, sad. Like she was on the verge of shooting her mouth off and regretting it after.
"Well, Miss Corlett? What is it?"
She swiveled her head around in every direction and Snape did the same. They were too far away from Hogsmeade to be recognizable to anyone and the grounds were deserted, but still. There was no good explanation for this.
"Well, it's just, I've run into a bit of trouble..." Her voice was slow, hesitant, as though she wasn't sure how much to tell him. "I've been lying low in Hogsmeade and I'm a bit short on funds. I was wondering if you'd be able to get me some potions ingredients? I'll pay you back as soon as I can."
So. Even in her predicament she intended to keep brewing. He wouldn't say he respected her determination, exactly, but it was something.
"Which ingredients do you need?"
Miss Corlett reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a wrinkled sheet of parchment, smoothing it out with her hands as gave it to him. Snape held it up to his face and scanned the list of ingredients she'd made, pieces of a puzzle his long years of experience pieced together instantly.
"Wolfsbane, Polyjuice Potion, strychnine antidote," he said, folding up the parchment and looking her straight in the eye. "A curious combination of potions."
Miss Corlett shrugged it off as though she made them all the time. "Yeah, well, there's a lot of demand for them now, Professor."
"Particularly amongst certain organizations."
Miss Corlett glanced away, but her startled expression told Snape everything he needed to know. He wondered why she'd even wanted to meet him in the first place. The Order must've been spitting out his name like a curse.
And that was another thing. What if this was all an elaborate ruse, if she was just there as bait and the rest of the Order were all lying in wait for the perfect moment to seize him? He raised his wand and the Corlett woman stepped back, looking wary. He wanted her to, and he didn't. The fledgling friendship they'd had before wasn't possible now.
"I will help you," he said. "Under one condition."
"What's that, Professor?"
"You will not tell anyone about this, or about me. Do I make myself plain?"
Miss Corlett looked taken aback, but she didn't protest. "I-yeah. Of course."
Snape raised his wand. "Swear it, then. Make an Unbreakable Vow."
Miss Corlett's face wrinkled in indignation. "An Unbreakable Vow? Are you mad?"
"I cannot risk anyone knowing about this-"
"So I have to risk popping my clogs if I slip up and say something by accident? Look, you saved my life, I haven't forgotten. If you don't want me telling anyone I won't. Promise."
Snape raised a skeptical eyebrow and Miss Corlett held up her right hand.
"I swear on Salazar Slytherin's grave I won't tell a soul, that good enough?"
Snape lowered his wand and considered this throwback to old school tradition. She was a Slytherin, same as he was; her loyalty was stronger than any high-minded ideals she may have had, if she had any at all. He'd helped her, she'd help him; that was her moral code, and she wouldn't break it. At least not until she found out what he'd done.
But in the meantime he might has well take her word for it. There wasn't anyone around to be the Bonder anyway. He doubted Dumbledore's portrait would count.
He slipped the ingredient list into his pocket. "Meet me here in three days' time. I'll have the ingredients ready for you then."
Miss Corlett's face relaxed. "Thank you, Professor. I appreciate this. And like I said, I'll pay you back when I can."
There was a time he would've appreciated her gratitude, her deferential tone. An epoch ago, when he was someone else. He didn't now. There was such a vast distance between the person she thought she was talking to and the person he really was it felt like mockery.
He kept his expression cold, appraising, as though she were a wayward student again. "I suggest you come up with a better disguise next time. Anyone could have seen you. You know how to Disillusion yourself, don't you?"
Miss Corlett's expression faltered. "Well, no actually. I can sort of do it, but not very well."
Hardly surprising, considering how poorly she'd done in Defense Against the Dark Arts. "Well, I suggest you learn."
"Right," she said under her breath, raising her eyebrows a bit as she turned to leave, as though he was proving himself to be every bit as ill-tempered as she thought he'd be. Just the reaction he'd hoped for. The less attached to him she was, the better.
"And one more thing," he said. She stopped and turned to face him.
"Meet me here at four o'clock in the morning. It'll still be dark and it's far less likely you'll be seen. You picked a poor time to meet. Hogsmeade must be full of people this time of day."
The Corlett woman glanced towards the village, fidgeting with her cloak in a nervous sort of way.
"I'll see you in three days then, Professor."
She threw the hooded cloak over her head and rushed towards the village, Snape following some distance behind. When he was sure she'd gotten there safely he swung out his arms and spun in the air, back to Spinner's End and a long sleep.
Snape hoped he'd be alone when he walked up the path to Malfoy Manor, but no, Yaxley had to appear alongside him, the prat.
"News?" said Yaxley. Snape couldn't tell if he was mocking him or trying to suck up.
"The best," said Snape, with a tremendously smug expression. If he was going to do the thing, he might as well go all in and enjoy himself a bit. He thought Yaxley looked rather sulky, which amused him, as much as anything could amuse him when he was about to come face-to-face with the Dark Lord.
"Thought I might be late," Yaxley went on, and Snape wondered how he could've given the impression that he cared. "It was a little trickier than I expected. But I hope he will be satisfied. You sound confident that your impression will be good?"
Yaxley gave him a sidelong glance, as though hoping to catch a bit of doubt there perhaps, but Snape just nodded and kept his expression smug, saying nothing in the hopes that Yaxley would take the hint and keep his trap shut.
And he did, for about two minutes.
"He always did himself well, Lucius," said Yaxley with a derisive snort as a beautiful albino bird ambled along the hedge. "Peacocks."
Snape refrained from muttering about sour grapes with great difficulty.
As though by some silent agreement they quickened their pace as they got nearer the manor, knowing they were cutting it rather fine. He hoped it'd be a short meeting. Sit down, give his report, make a plan of attack, go back to Spinner's End and sleep.
Snape walked into the drawing room and stopped short. Professor Burbage was hanging upside down above the table, eyes closed as though asleep. His own spell, and the Dark Lord was using it to dangle her like a piece of meat before they killed her. The old man must not have warned her in time.
"Yaxley. Snape. You are very nearly late."
Nothing's happening. Just an ordinary meeting. Don't look up.
He didn't hear what the Dark Lord said but he didn't need to, he'd played this part before and he had it down pat. He sat down on the Dark Lord's right side.
Nothing's happening.
"So?"
Snape snapped back to attention. Something about the boy, Saturday at nightfall...his mouth was moving but he didn't know what he'd said.
The Dark Lord was staring straight at him. Snape shut everything out, imagined he was hovering above the room.
"Good. Very good. And this information comes?"
He couldn't put words to his thought, that the source was they very the man he thought he'd murdered, but he knew it, and it burned inside him. He kept his mind on Mundungus and the grubby little tavern in Tinworth where they'd met.
"From the source we discussed."
"My Lord," said Yaxley, in his boot-licking, nail-grating abberration of a voice. He half-listened to the conversation, waiting for his cues. Some business about the boy and the Ministry, blah blah blah he didn't give a shit, what if he just blasted them all into oblivion?
His eyes swept over the room a fraction of a second. There was only one exit, the doorway that led into the hall. The windows were low enough to climb through but he'd have to Vanish the glass, and then there was the obvious problem of the twenty or so people sitting there. He couldn't Stun or kill or Imperius them all. He could blow up the room but that had the rather inconvenient drawback of blowing up himself and Professor Burbage in the process.
There had to be some way...
"...Apparates or uses the Floo Network, we'll know immediately..."
His cue. He spoke his lines perfectly, and the Dark Lord answered.
Professor Burbage screamed, a desperate unreal sound that he couldn't shut out.
I'm not here. This isn't happening.
"Wormtail? Have I not spoken to you about keeping our prisoner quiet?"
He wasn't there with this Wormtail, this prisoner; he'd just fallen through a Pensieve into someone's bad dream. He was hovering somewhere above the room, looking down. The Dark Lord was asking for a wand and insulting Lucius, who was sweating. Narcissa was staring at the wall as though she were afraid the Dark Lord would look at her and Draco's eyes were wide and staring. Ah. So this was Lucius' bad dream.
Someone groaned from above him. He wondered how Professor Burbage could've gotten into Lucius' bad dream, he didn't like her much, even though Draco never took any of her classes.
"Do you recognize our guest Severus?"
He expected his Pensieve-self to answer, but there wasn't one. So this wasn't a memory, it was theatre, and he'd just gotten his cue. Time to play his part. He looked up at the revolving woman.
"Severus! Help me!"
She really was an extraordinary actress. Her terror sounded absolutely genuine.
Snape waited until he couldn't see her face. "Ah yes," he said.
There were more lines and more gestures. The woman playing the part of Professor Burbage turned to face them again.
"Severus...please...please..."
Severus...please...he'd heard that line before, somewhere else.
The Dark Lord delivered his monologue, his delivery so tense with controlled anger Snape knew they were building towards the final act. The woman playing Professor Burbage spun slowly away and when her back was turned the Dark Lord raised his wand.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The visual effects were extraordinary. The room was filled with green light and the woman playing Professor Burbage crashed to the table below without even flinching, as though she were really dead. The boy playing Draco jumped out of his chair.
"Dinner, Nagini."
The snake's movements were so natural, so lifelike that Snape couldn't watch, it was too real. There must've been a trapdoor under the stage or maybe some stagehands had come to pull her away, because the woman playing Professor Burbage vanished.
No one said a word, even the woman playing Bellatrix was staring at the place she'd been, nose wrinkled as though she'd seen something distasteful.
The Dark Lord was gazing at the prop snake, which was slinking away under the table.
"Were it always so easy," he said, almost to himself. He looked round at them all. "Now then. We make our plans."
Snape played his part flawlessly.
That night when he got back to Spinner's End he was so sick he threw up, and he didn't know why.
The room was so dark when Snape woke up he couldn't tell if his eyes were open. He wondered what time it was. He had a nagging feeling that he was supposed to be doing something, but he couldn't think what.
His stomach hurt so badly he couldn't get back to sleep. He got up and went down to the kitchen to fix himself a glass of ginger-water, an old Muggle remedy his mother used to make to settle his stomach. There wasn't much sky visible outside his window, just a sliver along the edges of the houses across the street, the deep blue of early morning. So there was plenty of time left to sleep and not think.
He'd had the water disconnected years ago, to make the house easier to maintain, no need for him to worry about leaks or pipes freezing in the winter or strangers coming into his house for repairs. He filled his glass with a water-making charm and sprinkled some ginger into it and took a long drink. When he was finished he set his glass down on the grimy countertop next to an assortment of jars and vials he'd prepared the day before-and then he remembered. The Corlett woman's ingredients. Why the hell had he agreed to drag his arse out of bed at this ungodly hour?
He Summoned his watch from upstairs, a gift from his mother when he'd come of age. It'd been brand new when she got if for him, with a 10-carat gold wristband and a midnight blue face that showed the twelve constellations of the zodiac. He'd found it at the foot of his bed in the Slytherin dormitory, along with handwritten note from his mother, the letters loopy and slanting as though her hand was about to fly off the page in her excitement. As though a bloody piece of jewelry could make up for years of rummaging through bare cupboards for his meals and sitting alone in his room and wincing as his father's hand struck him and his mother just stood there and looked on because everyone in Spinner's End does it and deep down your father loves you. As though he were going off to live out her dream of becoming an illustrious potioneer and he didn't have a Dark Mark on his arm.
He'd thrown it against the wall and left it there until his very last day of Hogwarts, when he picked it up and dusted it off and slipped it into his pocket. The glass face was cracked but it still worked.
He slipped it onto his right arm and checked the time; quarter after four, but she'd probably be late anyway so it didn't matter. He put a few charms on the vials and jars so they wouldn't break and put them into the pockets of his robes, which he'd slept in, and stepped outside the front door to Apparate.
He stopped spinning right in front of the boar's gate, expecting she'd be waiting, but there wasn't anyone there. She had some nerve, showing up late when he'd dragged himself out of bed especially for her. He checked his watch again. He'd give her exactly one minute, and then he was going back to Spinner's End and she could find some other fool to stand around and wait in the dark.
Snape didn't know that he was a morning person-his tendency to stay up too late reading or making potions often got in the way of him getting up early-but he thought this might be his favourite time of the day, this deep still quiet, when the moon was low and the birds were alseep and trees whispered to each other, free from the prying ears of people. The perfect time to be alone and not lonely.
Something about that warm damp air brought him back to the year before, after Minerva had come back from St. Mungo's, when she liked to go for walks in the grounds with Professor Sprout. Surrounding herself with nature helped her forget what was happening, she'd said. Snape had joined them a few times, and they'd run into Hagrid or Madam Hooch or Professor Burbage or someone.
The realisation struck him with so much force he was sick. She was never going to walk up this path again, and he'd just sat there, he hadn't done anything.
But it was all for the greater good, wasn't it, that's what the old man would say, there was nothing he could've done, it'd all work out in the end. Snape envied him, that he could be so rational, so that's-just-the-way-it-goes about it all, why couldn't he do the same? Why did he even care?
He started and clutched his wand at the sound of muffled footsteps running down the path and in the dim light he saw Miss Corlett, the hooded cloak draped over her head and her robes trailing across the ground.
"Sorry I'm late, Professor," she panted. She pulled back her hood and studied his face. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure-"
"I said I'm fine!" he snapped. She thought her pity would touch him, she had no idea what it was like, who he was.
"I was just asking," she said, a slight edge to her voice. "There's no need for you to bite my head off."
The blood rushed to Snape's head and he couldn't see straight, couldn't think. Why had she done this, why had she made him come here, he just wanted to sleep and not think.
"Erm, Professor?"
Snape started again. Merlin, why was he acting so jumpy in front of her? "What?"
"Do you have the ingredients?"
He reached into the pocket of his robes and thrust the sack of ingredients at her.
"Thank you," said Miss Corlett, tucking the sack into her robes. Snape clenched his jaw and screwed up his eyes to keep anything from coming out.
Miss Corlett's expression was much too knowing. "Listen, I'm sorry I was late, I can see this is a bad time for you."
Snape wasn't about to let her feel sorry for him. He narrowed his eyes at her. "You should be sorry. Do you think I enjoy getting up at four in the morning?"
Miss Corlett raised her eyebrows. "You mean you're not a morning person? I never would have guessed."
She'd made him come all the way out here and now she was standing there teasing him of all things, what did she think this was, a nice little reunion with her old mentor, swapping potions advice and light-hearted banter, as though she wasn't on the run from an old Death Eater friend and he hadn't just watched his colleague die?
"I suggest you get going. It'll be getting light soon and I see you still haven't managed a Disillusionment Charm."
"Right," she said, pulling her hood back over her head. She hesitated, fidgeting in a way that told him she was about to say something she didn't think he'd want to hear.
"Listen," she said. "If you ever need anything from me, or if just need to talk, I'm always around. I'm not going anywhere for awhile."
The pity again. Snape scowled. "And why would I need anything from you?"
"Oh, that's right, I forgot, you shun human contact, don't you?"
Well. Now she was just being sarcastic, but he liked it better than her sympathy. He could play this game.
"When said contact is annoying as you, yes."
Miss Corlett's mouth opened slightly. "You were never this rude to me during my detentions."
"One of my great regrets in life."
"I suppose that's why you're trying so hard now?"
"I've barely even started."
Miss Corlett smirked. "You know, for someone with absolutely no sense of humour you're sort of funny, you know that?"
There was no getting through to her, apparently. "Get going," he said.
"Yeah, alright, I'm going," muttered Miss Corlett, adjusting her hood so it covered up most of her face. "Thanks again. I appreciate this."
He watched as she hurried down the path to Hogsmeade, her wand held out in front of her, head turning in every direction. When she'd disappeared from sight he leaned against the gate and let out an enormous yawn. Maybe next time he could send her the ingredients by owl.
The Malfoy's front garden looked like a Quidditch pitch just before the start of a match. The best fliers and a few poor bastards they'd Imperiused were gathered there, polishing their broom handles and putting on gloves to protect their hands from the cold.
"Bet it'll feel good to get on a broom again, eh?" said Amycus Carrow, clapping Rowle on the back.
Snape wondered if he could get away with blasting Rowle off his broom in mid-air. Probably not, but if the opportunity presented itself he would.
He walked over to the edge of the garden, holding his broomstick in front of him, and stood next to Draco, who was clutching his racing broom and staring into space. Draco was like his father, the way he tightened up his face to keep anything from showing, but Snape could see the fear in his eyes. He was a skilled flier, and if God forbid things went to plan he'd be rewarded well, but Snape wondered if this was another punishment for Lucius and Narcissa, forcing them to wait while their son went on another dangerous mission.
"I know them," said Snape. "They won't shoot to kill. Likely they'll be using Stunning Spells and Impediment Jinxes. A Shield Charm will be enough to block them, understand?"
Draco nodded.
"Stay close to the others," Snape went on. "If you're knocked off your broom they'll try to help you, and if you should fall off don't panic. Just Summon your broom as quickly as you can.
Draco swallowed hard and stared off into space again.
Snape mounted his broom and waited for the Dark Lord's signal. He'd dreamed of flying ever since his mother told him about it. He used to sit on the front stoop of his house in Spinner's End and imagine flying over the rooftops with Lily, to someplace far away, where there were trees and living things. The first time he'd ever ridden a broom it'd bucked him off and everyone had laughed at him, but Lily took him to the school shed that night and they'd broken in and gone flying around the grounds. He was rather good at it, when no one was watching.
The Dark Lord gave the go-ahead and they pulled up their hoods and rose into the air. The sun was sinking lower in the sky and the air was golden, the rivers like silver ribbons. He imagined it was just another evening, just a long solo flight, the kind he liked to take every now and then.
An hour or so passed before night fell and the towns and fields and forests gave way to rows and rows of identical-looking houses on orderly streets and cul-du-sacs. Almost time. He had to stay present, had to protect the boy. There was no way of knowing which one of them was him. He wasn't likely to be on a broom, that's what everyone would expect.
They were gaining on someone. He couldn't tell who it was at first, but as they got closer he recognized the mop of greying brown hair and patched-up robes. Lupin, with one of the Potters, whether the real one or a decoy he didn't know. The latter seemed more likely, they'd expect him to be on a broom with his father's old friend.
He wasn't sure who was flying next to him, Dolohov maybe, but whoever it was raised their wand and pointed it directly at Lupin's back.
There was no question of whether or not to save him. Snape reacted instinctively, pointing his wand and muttering the first incantation that popped into his head.
"Sectumsempra!"
The Potter on the broom winced as the blood poured out of his ear. Lupin put one hand to his head to try and stave the bleeding, but the broom swerved and jerked so much they slipped and Lupin had to snatch his hand away and right them.
Shit. He'd know perfectly well who'd done it, and what was just as bad Dolohov or whoever it was would've figured it out too, if he'd hit his mark. He didn't know why he'd even used that spell in the first place. Was he too much of a coward to knock a fellow Death Eater off their broom?
But he'd bought them some time, at least. They were flying so haphazardly Dolohov's next curse missed.
He pulled ahead, thinking he might make as though he were about to curse them, when his mark burned. He had the boy.
Snape had no idea where any of them were, they were spread out over a hundred miles at least, but his Mark acted as a sort of homing device, and as he lifted his hands off his broom and spun into the air he kept his mind on the Dark Lord.
When he stopped spinning he was still on his broom, flying low over a small village, the air loud with the rumble of a motorbike and Potter's shouts.
The Dark Lord turned to whoever it was next to him.
"Your wand Selwyn, give me your wand!"
He lifted the borrowed wand and Snape lifted his own, ready to curse him into oblivion, even though he knew it wouldn't work, he couldn't die, not yet anyway.
And then Potter and the motorbike vanished, and the Dark Lord was thrown back as though he'd hit an invisible wall-which, in a sense, he had. He screamed, a shrill, unbearable sound, like a knife scraping against metal.
The others fell back, arms stretched out to Disapparate, and Snape waited a few minutes and did the same.
He thought the Dark Lord might be shouting at everyone, but the silence inside the manor was ear-splitting. Snape rolled his head around to loosen the tense muscles and strode into the drawing room with a scowl on his face, every thud of his boots a reprimand. The entire room went still as everyone stepped back to make room for him. He loved this, the way his presence could chill a room like a cold draught.
Lucius pulled him aside. "Potter got away?" he murmured.
"Unfortunately."
"Shit."
Lucius' disappointment was jarring, like a wrong note in a song. They'd had their differences over the years, but nothing that amounted to being on opposite sides of a war-not even during first one, when his only mission was to keep Lily safe. He hadn't really cared then, who won.
Selwyn stepped closer to the window, where the Dark Lord was standing with hands behind his back. He must've wanted his wand back, the fool.
"My Lord-"
"Do not interrupt the Dark Lord while he is thinking, Selwyn!"
Selwyn stepped back in alarm at this sudden use of the third-person.
The Dark Lord ran a dour finger along Nagini's back and sank down in a chair, staring into the fire. Ah, so he was brooding. He'd be at it for hours likely, the perfect opportunity to get the hell out of there.
Snape pulled out his traveling cloak and draped it over his shoulders.
"Going back to Spinner's End?" said Lucius.
Snape nodded and strode out of the manor to Disapparate.
Grimmauld Place was leering at him. He could hear all those all recent conversations echoing around the house, about what a traitor he was, what a coward, all the how could he and I thought I knew him, as if they had, as if anyone had known him. As if he hadn't just risked everything to save Lupin's ungrateful arse.
And that was another thing-why the hell had he even done it? Was he turning into the boy, a reckless fool always trying to play the hero? Oh, but Potter was so brave, so noble, wasn't he, never mind that he was just showing off, and what was Snape, the villain in the shadows, and not even the entertaining kind, he was the ugly villain, the kind everyone patted themselves on the back for hating.
Snape knew he couldn't just walk in, the Order wasn't going to make it that easy for him. He opened the door and raised his wand, readying himself for whatever it was.
He nearly shouted out loud. A grey ghostly figure had risen out of the carpet, speaking with Dumbledore's voice.
"Severus Snape?"
Of course they would do this, they'd force this judgement on him, hit right where it hurt. Snape did his best to ignore the voice, closing his eyes and wracking his brains for a way past it.
He tried a few counter-curses but none of them worked, and he'd known they wouldn't, they wouldn't make it that easy. What would've been going through their minds when they made the cursed figure? Self-righteous fury, that's what. Because of course they'd never kill an unarmed man, that was for scum like him.
"I didn't kill you."
The dust figure swept over him, swallowing him up, eating him alive, and he didn't fight it because he deserved to go like this. He had killed him.
And then it was gone. Grimmauld Place was silent, pitch black, empty. Before Snape could light any of the lamps something toppled to the ground and the portrait on the wall started screaming.
"SHUT UP!" He pulled his wand from out of his pocket and blasted it with a curse. The house went quiet again.
"Lumos."
He knew there wouldn't be anything on the lower floors; Black would've wanted to hide every trace of her from his parents. But he had to make sure.
He made his way to the first floor. He opened every drawer and every cupboard and every wardrobe he saw. He looked under rugs and moved furntiture and did Summoning spell after Summoning spell. Nothing. He searched the second and third floors. Still nothing, just an enchanted mouse trap under one of the sofas that tried to rip his head off. There had to be something, he had to find something. He couldn't leave here without her.
He'd been up to the fourth floor a few times, the summer he learned to Apparate and he'd go visit Regulus. They used to sit up in his room, sneaking smokes and coming up with ways to piss off Sirius. Snape pushed his door open.
He doubted there'd be anything there, but he had to check. He couldn't leave her there. He opened drawers, looked under the bed and the rug, found diary entries and letters from Rosier and Crouch and a photograph of Regulus he slipped into his pocket, but Lily wasn't there.
Snape slammed an old textbook against the wall and watched the binding come loose. Only one room left.
Black hadn't seen the doe, Snape would've killed the man himself, rather than let him see her. He'd seen only a shapeless ball of light that spoke with his voice, but even a ball of light was more than any Death Eater could manage.
And did you know then, you bastard? Did you know I was on your side all along? Did you know I was trying to save your life, you cruel fuck?
She had to be here. He wrenched open drawers, lifted the bed, tossed aside rubbish and books. He pulled open the wardrobe.
The boy was lying on the floor covered in blood, eyes wide and staring, and Lily was standing above him, crying. She raised her head to him.
"You failed."
His hand was shaking so hard he could barely hold it steady. "Riddikulus."
"How could you?"
"Riddikulus. RIDDIKULUS!"
The figure vanished. Snape collapsed on the floor, spent, drained, useless.
"Get up."
He opened his eyes and pushed himself up off the floor. She was trying to tell him something. She was here, he just hadn't found her yet.
He rummaged through the parchment on the floor until he saw the black letters. Lily's voice preserved in ink. He brought it to his face and studied those words, tracing them with his hands, holding it up to his nose. The parchment didn't smell like her anymore, but her hands had touched it. He breathed it in.
She'd been celebrating the boy's birthday. He'd gotten a toy broom. Her ink-preserved voice met the beads of water from his own eyes, blotching the parchment. He turned to the next page.
Lots of Love,
Lily
She'd meant for him to find this. He tucked those last words into the pocket of his robes to carry with him.
There was more of her here, she'd mentioned a photograph. He dug into the pile of papers on the floor, scattering them about until he found it. She was laughing just the way he'd seen her laugh so many times, frozen in time, not knowing what would happen to her. Always laughing.
He tore her out of the photograph, tossing the rest aside because he couldn't look at them, because he needed her too much to let her stay with them. She was all he had left.
He slumped down against a wall and closed his eyes. The house was silent except for the faint scurrying of some creature behind the skirting board, and in the stillness he thought of Miss Corlett, and the sound of her voice, and he didn't know why. He pushed the thought away.
