A Lifetime Ago
"Evans, Lily" was sorted Gryffindor before the hour was up; as was, regrettably, "Black, Sirius". A slew of others followed, like a "Lupin, Remus" then, also quite regrettably (but possibly also inevitably) "Potter, James".
It was testament to Gryffindor's general one-track-mindedness, and the especially bloated self-entitlement of a certain "Potter, James God-Be-My-Middle-Name", that rumours began to spread about Snape's long minutes on the stool and subsequent sorting to Slytherin.
Afraid of Potter and Black, my arse, Snape had cursed up and down the his room. As if he wouldn't just grit his teeth and beg to be put in the same house with his best friend, his only friend, really. As if he'd abandon her to be with a houseful of hissing strangers. As if he'd given up Lily's radiance for the darkness of the dungeons.
They had of course, conveniently forgotten about "Prince, Julian" being called right after Potter, and right before Snape. Not even the Headmaster, and the various professors who had been around long enough to teach a certain "Prince, Eileen" made the connection.
Not even after the headmaster called the Snape boy to the office, one bright autumn day in the beginning of his fourth year (was it?) to pass on the regretful news of the untimely demise of Snape the Elder. "Heart attack," the Headmaster had said. And the old man who prided himself as a good reader of people, had not recognised the lack of sadness on the pale boy's face.
Not even after the magical student registry noted that the younger Snape moved from Spinner's End to Claudian Cottage on the eastern grounds of Prince Manor.
Not even after a longish column in the Prophet hailing the return of the prodigal daughter back into the Prince's family fold. A fallen branch restored to its proper place as if by magic. Indeed by the application of magic upon a certain boy's left forearm.
If there was ever another woman that Severus Snape loved more than Lily Evans, it would be Eileen Prince.
He loved her when she laughed, clear as a bell, during those stolen moments of lucidity. He had loved her even when she was weak, cowering under an undeserved muggle's fist, forgetting that she was a powerful witch. He had loved her even when she had forgotten his name, then a few months later, her own name. He had loved her even when it had cost him his best friend.
And nobody was quite aware of it, even though it should be completely clear as a summer's sky.
Severus had paid the price for this love particular, the Headmaster now realised, as he sat next to the sleeping boy. But now she was no longer alive to receive it, and this boy was finally free to pay yet another price.
A price for his freedom. Possibly another price too costly to bear.
As the sun rose up and his duties as Headmaster called upon him once again, he hoped that the boy would find that all may not be lost.
Now, if only the boy would just stop being so bloody stubborn and wake up.
(tbc...)
postscript: boatloads of thanks go to duj and risi, and everyone who continues to be patient with this particular story. I too hope that the bloody wanker would wake up soon so the adventure could begin. Honestly, now.