The characters and situations in this story belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.
Yeah, okay. Let me state first that I am new to this fandom and do not possess the proper encyclopediac knowledge thereof. This story stems from my muse being a perverse nonentity. I have had the invaluable assistance of two editors, but I probably slipped up more than once.
Speaking of, Cincoflex - as always - is my rock and enthusiastic supporter, and helped me straighten this thing out repeatedly, and put up with my going crazy(er) for most of January. Trialia generously Britpicked the manuscript with consummate attention to detail. Occasionally I ignored their excellent advice, so don't blame them.
Finally - last warning - with a fandom this enormous, I must assume that everything has been done already. The only excuse I have is that I haven't read it. Any unoriginality is completely accidental.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Another owl showed up at evening the next day, waking Severus from a restless doze with its irritated hooting. It carried both a vial and a sealed letter, and he eyed the tiny bottle as if it contained a poison more deadly than any he could concoct, but finally he removed both and provided a dried mouse before letting the bird go.
The letter was from Potter, and said, bafflingly, The deadline is sunset tomorrow.
The scrap of parchment tied to the flask's neck was large enough for only one word: Please. It was Lily's script.
It was three more hours before he gave in and fetched the bowl once more.
A skinny boy with dark hair and dark eyes, smiling shyly, as if he knew a delightful secret and was about to share it with her.
Knowing there was something wrong with his family, but unable to imagine beyond the yelling she occasionally heard.
Getting her Hogwarts letter, and feeling a secret relief that she wouldn't be going alone.
Welcomed with open arms into Gryffindor, but swallowing a pang at being separated from Sev.
Learning together; playing together; comparing notes, arguing questions, finding out that they both had a true talent for Potions.
Starting to worry when Sev found friends among the nastier sorts in Slytherin, though he always left them behind when she wanted him.
Growing; making friends; devising ways to deal with the boyish attentions of her peers. Finding James Potter to be an unsettling mix of attractive and repulsive. Finding, to her dismay, that Sev was the same way, but for different reasons.
Losing him, slowly but surely, to his horrible friends; watching him turn darker and nastier, and not knowing how to stop it.
The icy fury when he turned on her, the terrible hurt at his epithet. Walking away was easy.
Finding him outside the portrait that night, more miserable than she'd ever seen him. Too angry to accept his apologies, too wise to think he was sorry for anything but making her angry. Telling him why she was through. Taking one last look at her oldest friend before turning away -
- his hand on her sleeve - "I'll change. I can, I will, I'll not be friends with them any longer, Lily, please!" -
- turning back slowly, gripping his wrist - "Promise?"
The first time she kissed him, tentative but not shy, and his hesitant, gentle response. The second kiss was a good deal more enthusiastic…
Together again. Walking in twilight, arguing and making up, sitting their NEWTs, playing pranks on Gryffindor and Slytherin alike. Making plans. Making promises. Making love.
A wizarding marriage. Both of them apprenticing to old Slughorn. Looking forward to the day when Lily would take over the professor's position and Sev could begin his own potions business.
The first moment when she learned she was pregnant; breathless with sudden miracle.
The look on Sev's face when she put their daughter in his arms, and her peal of laughter at his astonishment.
" - Somebody has to, Lily. We need to understand the Dark Arts, because You-Know-Who certainly does, and we will need to know how to defend ourselves."
"It's too dangerous, Order or not! I don't like it, you know you like them too much - "
"Dumbledore asked me to!"
"Dumbledore asks too much! Practicing the Dark Arts, with a baby in the house? Are you both mad?"
"I would never risk Heather, you know that - "
Taking a walk to cool off; slowly admitting that Sev was right, that they needed to know what they were up against. Smiling ruefully as she realised she would have to apologise.
Finding the front door blown off its hinges, scorch marks on the walls - she tore up the stairs, Heather was wailing in the dark - falling over something soft and heavy on the floor -
- Sev -
Agony and guilt and terrible, terrible loss. His skin cold to her touch, gone beyond all recalling. Gone with her angry words in his ears.
Days, weeks, months of greyness. Wondering if she could have saved him, if only she hadn't walked away. Going through the motions because Heather needed her. Knowing that it was only Heather who kept the breath in her body.
Her child - his child - the only one who could draw a smile from her. Finishing her apprenticeship, beginning to teach, grateful that the bastion of Hogwarts kept away those curious about the Girl Who Lived.
Watching her daughter grow. Seeing Sev's beloved features refined in Heather's face. Weeping, sometimes, when she brushed her daughter's hair, because it was his, so soft and straight -
Proud of her girl, whose talents matched her parents'. Deeply worried as Heather began formal classes at Hogwarts, as rumours of the Dark Lord began to build.
Seven years of horrors and triumphs. Of learning to let Heather become what she needed to be, even if it meant unspeakable danger. And always, always being alone.
Defending Hogwarts in the last battle; seeing friends and colleagues fall on every side. The bitter, screaming anguish of Heather's death; the incredulous joy of her resurrection.
Peace. And no one to share it with.
The last memory was much fresher.
Lily's arm resting on a table as she wrote a letter, her fingers brushing back her hair where it fell across her face. The words spilling from her quill were quite clear.
Sev -
I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.
It was impulse, coming to see you, but I refuse to believe it was a bad one. I know that I am not the Lily you knew and loved, any more than you are the Severus I loved and married.
But we are the same people - not twins, not doppelgängers. Just the same people who made different choices.
Nothing you showed me is beyond forgiveness. Harry told me a little, Heather told me a bit more, but your memories were no less biased than their stories. Yes, you did terrible things. But you did wonderful ones as well. And you feel remorse, Sev. Wasn't that what Voldemort refused?
Unlike him, you still have your soul.
Sev, my husband has been dead for almost twenty years, and I miss him desperately every day. You are so hungry for your Lily that you cannot bear my touch. Why should we both go on alone? Why can't we make new choices?
Come to me. The Unspeakables want to send a prisoner through the mirror, someone from Azkaban to balance the loss of energy to our world from Bellatrix's death. But they will accept you instead. Trust me; between the children and my own influence, they will not deny you.
Come to me, and we can discover whether we can find happiness again - no, not again. Anew.
I know it's outrageous - why should you give up your whole life, your world, for such a chance?
But I think you do know why.
She signed the letter, her name an elegant set of curves -
When he came back to himself, it was past midnight and the fire had all but died away.
Severus hadn't thought it was possible to feel this way, to suffer like this - it was if Lily were newly dead. What torment is Hell without a glimpse of Heaven?
He wanted to accept. As insane as the idea was, he wanted it with every cell in his body. She was right; the chance was enough.
But he couldn't. He simply could not. You may have forgiven me, Lily, but I cannot forgive myself.
Eventually thirst drove him to stir, and once he'd given in to that need, habit and his body prodded him to wash and eat. And then it was easier, one metaphorical foot in front of the other. He was hollowed out, so empty a strong wind might carry him off.
And finally he let the wind take him, soaring up and out of his narrow house into the night sky, looking for solace without having any idea where to find it.
It was a complete surprise to find himself landing heavily on the Astronomy tower.
The moon was half-full; the castle below him was hardly more than vague shapes. Severus let his feet hang over the edge and leaned against the cool stone, unable to still his thoughts. I am so tired.
At least an hour passed before he heard someone coming up the stairs. Light steps, slow; Minerva.
He waited until she was standing beside him before he spoke. "I'm not even certain how I got here."
Her laugh was familiar. "Once a Headmaster, always a Headmaster," she suggested. "Hogwarts knows you."
"It's possible." He gestured to the other side of the window opening, and Minerva eased herself down to the stone. He cast a surreptitious warming charm so she wouldn't chill.
They watched the stars wheel overhead for a while. "It's not that I'm not glad to see you, mind," Minerva said at last. "But why are you here, Severus?"
His long habit of privacy was in abeyance, it seemed. Or perhaps he was just too weary. "You won't believe it."
There was just light enough to see her knowing smile. "Try me."
He didn't tell her the whole story, merely outlined it in a few crisp sentences. She listened silently, lips pursed thoughtfully.
"That sounds like Lily," she said when he was finished.
He raised a brow. "What, you don't think I've run mad at last?"
Minerva snickered. "Remind me to tell you about the Great Sheep Window of Ballyvolane and what came of it, if you think that's a mad story. Magic has a way of confounding expectations, and at my age one simply learns to accept it."
Severus snorted. Minerva shook her head at him and continued. "You're going, of course."
He settled his shoulders more comfortably against the stone, almost cheered by the opportunity to argue. "I am not."
That won him a look of outrage. "Severus, why not? Oh, don't give me that glare. I know you're miserable."
Her words stung somehow, separate from the pain behind his breastbone. "Because I cannot. Leaving aside the fact that the idea is preposterous, I - " His throat closed. Saying I am not worthy was ridiculously theatrical, but he couldn't think how else to phrase it. "It wouldn't work."
"Possibly," she agreed dryly. "But then again, perhaps it might."
"Minerva - " He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "You know what I've done. What I am. I'm broken beyond repair. How could I - how could she even contemplate - "
"Spare me your ego, Severus," Minerva snapped. "You always were one to see the worst in anything, even yourself."
He snorted. "Call it experience."
Her sniff was an eloquent rebuttal, shorthand for a hundred familiar debates, and they lapsed into silence.
After a while Minerva spoke again, thoughtfully. "Do you realise you have spent almost half your life in atonement?"
Severus glanced over at her, startled, and she gave him the sharp look she used on recalcitrant third-years. "When will it be enough?"
"Never," he riposted, though suddenly it sounded absurd. "I've drained myself dry, but for one such as I there is no mercy."
"No, I don't think you have," she said slowly. Her hair was coming loose from her night-time braid, wisping in the cool air. It made her look softer. "You have one more thing to sacrifice."
"What?" he asked, voice ragged with pain. "I've given everything, Minerva, even my life, even my death. My love, my youth, my loyalty. What have I left?"
Her answer was blunt. "Your guilt, Severus."
The words seemed to stop him, hold him suspended over a yawning gulf. A weird panic crawled up his spine. "I don't understand."
Minerva ignored the chill in his words. "I can't begin to understand what you've gone through. But holding on to pain just to feel something? That I do know." She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and met his gaze gravely. "Your guilt, your pain. That is your last sacrifice. Give them up, and take the happiness that's offered."
"I - I can't." He swallowed, somehow afraid. "Weren't you listening? I don't deserve it."
She chuckled, a sad sound. "Since when has deserving had anything to do with love? If the girl wants you as you are, you have no grounds to argue, you know."
It was strange to realise that he had no answer to that. He blinked, and looked back out over the shadowy world.
The stars slid slowly on, and Hogwarts slept beneath them, waiting for autumn and its children. Slowly, one by one, the whirling, raging thoughts in his head began to subside, leaving a peculiar stillness in their place.
No grounds to argue. Lily knew him now, knew the very worst of him. And yet she'd sent him the memories and her invitation -
It felt as if his very bones were shifting within him, moving towards a configuration he couldn't begin to guess at. It was terrifying, and exhilarating.
Minerva grumbled. "Severus, much as I hate to interrupt your contemplations, my old joints are demanding something softer than stone."
Severus breathed out, and rose hastily to help her stand. She raised her brows at him, voice tart. "I don't suppose you'll come inside and have a cup of tea like a civilised person."
"Minerva." He had every intention of arguing further, but the volition melted away. What came out of his mouth instead was "I will miss you."
She reached up to touch his cheek, withered fingers soft, and in astonishment at his own words he allowed it. Her eyes were wet, but her smile was warm, and understanding. "And I you, Severus. I will miss you too."
xxxx
He didn't know where his resistance had gone, only that it had. The absence of pain was like a drugging potion, leaving him lightheaded, and Severus was especially careful when he Apparated home, lest it distract him into some fatal error.
There were a hundred objections, a thousand complications, but for the moment they didn't matter. The need for sleep was alleviated, if temporarily, with an elixir from his stores. Severus made himself tea that he forgot to taste when he drank it, and began.
He didn't take everything, of course. Even an extension charm had its limits. But the rarer ingredients and the more precious books all fit neatly into his pockets, along with a few essentials and trifles.
The small malicious voice was mocking him, telling him that this was nothing but a cruel dream, and he would wake to find it all dust. He ignored it.
He locked the door behind him at mid-afternoon, but left the wards down. There was a certain exhilaration in knowing that he would not be returning.
Draco was waiting when Severus appeared at Malfoy Manor, looking much better than he had a few days prior. "How is your mother?" Severus asked as they walked into the house.
"Recovering." Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets, an uncharacteristically nervous gesture. "She's very conscious of the debt we owe you."
And so was Draco, Severus imagined. He shook his head. "It's immaterial. Though I'm glad she is better."
Draco was silent until they approached the stairs to the cellar, and then the words all but burst from him. "Have you gone mad?"
"Quite possibly." Severus startled Draco with a small smile. "I find I don't care."
Draco huffed. "Potter and his weird little double were convinced you'd show up; I thought they were mad. But - "
He trailed off, and stopped outside the first concealed room. Severus knew why he'd fallen silent; there really weren't words for this circumstance.
"Good luck," Draco said finally. Severus inclined his head.
"And to you," he replied, and stepped through the door.
There was only one more ordeal to face; Potter was waiting next to the mirror, leaning against the wall. It seemed the boy had learned not to fidget, at least; his glasses flashed back light as he looked up.
For the first time, the sight of him didn't hurt. That quick grin spread across Potter's face - his father's smile, but without malice. "Brilliant. Draco owes me a Galleon."
Severus snorted. "You have no more sense than you ever had. That was an unwise bet."
"Yes, but I won," Potter pointed out cheerfully, then sobered a little. "You do realise this is one-way, right? Unspeakable Witters is upstairs guzzling Malfoy's tea, but as soon as you're through he's going to destroy the mirror."
"I should hope so. It should not exist in the first place." The mirror looked as it had the first time he'd seen it - serenely reflecting the room but not the people in it. He wondered abruptly if the room on the other side was a double of the one he was standing in.
"All right then." Potter shrugged.
Severus stepped up to the mirror. He would indeed have to duck his head to pass through, and for an instant doubt assailed him. Would it even work for him?
He glanced to one side. Potter was watching; it was strange to think that this was the last time he would see the boy. Potter cocked his head, then deliberately gave him a tiny, respectful bow.
It seemed to be his day for it. Severus nodded back, and raised a hand to the glass. Despite its solid appearance, his hand passed through it as if through an illusion.
He lifted one foot high, and swung himself through.
The room on the other side was a double. Severus expected to see Heather in Harry's place, but instead a tall blond man he didn't recognise was propped against the wall. Witters' other self, perhaps?
The man sighed. "Good, I wasn't looking forward to carting another lout to Azkaban. I expect you know where you're going?"
"I do," Severus replied, and Witters pushed himself upright.
"Even better. I might get home in time for tea tonight." He pulled out his wand, aiming it at the mirror, and Severus took himself out of the way, more amused than anything else by the man's casual demeanour.
Malfoy Manor looked much the same, except that it lacked the damage Bellatrix had caused on the first floor, and there was no one about. It had the air of an uninhabited building, and he wondered what had become of the elder Malfoys. Perhaps they, too, had died in the battle.
I suppose I'll find out eventually.
The weather was just as it had been on his side of the mirror, a fine summer afternoon. Severus looked around as he stepped outside, but all seemed completely ordinary; without looking at the house's undamaged wing, there was no way to tell that it wasn't his world.
He knew where he was going. Severus took a deep breath, and Disapparated.
The little house in Godric's Hollow showed signs of both repair and expansion, but its lines were harmonious. The front garden was lush and well-kept, as befit the home of a potions mistress, and he could see the edge of a greenhouse in the back garden - exactly where he'd have put it himself. Lily's memory lingered in his mind, she falling in love with the village, he not caring where they lived as long as she was happy…
Severus walked up the front path without hurrying, myriad scents from the blooming plants mingling in his nose and the sun hot on his black-clad shoulders and the crown of his head. He wondered vaguely if Heather still lived with her mother, and raised his hand, rapping lightly on the door.
For a long, breathless moment everything seemed to hold still, as if Fate were waiting for the very last second to punish him for presumption. And then the door swung open, and Lily, towel in her hands, looked up at him and smiled.
Perhaps I have died after all.
Lily flipped the towel over her shoulder and took his hands in hers. "Come in," she said, and drew him over the threshold.
It was like dreaming, like the ones he had dreamt long ago before drowning his soul in darkness. The house was cosy, thick with books, a little cluttered; it smelled like dust and tea and scones, with just a hint of the underlying bitter tang of a potions laboratory.
Severus found himself seated at the tiny kitchen table with a cup of tea in front of him, and Lily sitting opposite, red hair catching fire in the sun coming through the window. He couldn't look away from her; it felt as if she would vanish if he so much as blinked.
"You look very fierce," she said, mouth quirking with humour. "Are you regretting your choice?"
He shook his head immediately. "No! I just - Lily, I would be content to sit on your doorstep and watch you go in and out. This feels like too much."
She set down her cup and raised her brows. "You need to raise your standards, Sev."
She was the only one who had ever called him that. At last he let himself truly listen to his name in her mouth, and it made him shiver. "I don't know what to expect," he said helplessly. "I don't have standards."
Lily smiled again, and he was transfixed by the sight. "Well, I know what I want. We'll figure it out as we go along; there's no need to hurry."
He nodded, and picked up his cup absently; the tea was just as he liked it, strong and only barely sweet, and it didn't surprise him that she had made it so.
Her long fingers rubbed idly at the wood-grain of the table-top. "Don't let me push you," she added. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
Severus breathed out, amused. "Believe me; my standards for discomfort are set high."
Lily's smile went rueful, and he remembered that she'd lived through his memories - some of the worst. Half of him regretted putting her through that, now, but the other half was guiltily grateful that he didn't have to try to explain.
"I promise I will tell you if you do," he said. She nodded, and somehow their free hands met across the table, clasping in a firm knot of fingers.
The rest of the day passed in a similar dream-like fashion. Lily showed him over the house, from the potions lab in the cellar to the little guest room she had prepared for him. Heather still had a room in the house, but was currently sharing a flat with her girlfriend, Lily told him, her expression a mix of pride and worry.
It was when she was leaving him to settle into the guest room that he caught a glimpse of something in her face, something he couldn't quite identify but that left him with an ache in his gut. Severus put out a hand, not daring to touch her. "What is it?"
The corner of her mouth curled, but she didn't turn around, and her hand came up to swipe at her eyes. "It's nothing."
"It's not," he countered, alarmed. "Please, tell me."
She sighed, bowing her head. "I'm just - I was waiting, you see, and I…thought you weren't coming."
His heart did something painful and exquisite in his chest, and he couldn't help himself. Severus reached out and pulled her into his arms, against him, tighter and tighter. Her embrace was equally hard, her head fitting beneath his chin and the scent of her wrapping around him like a veil. Her breath was hot and ragged against his throat, and he squeezed his eyes shut against their sudden burn. "Lily," he whispered, able to say it now - at last - without regret. "Lily."
Neither of them let go for a long, long time.