A/N: In this chapter, you will recognise lines from chapter 'The Prince's Tale' in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

This chapter contains scenes of adult nature not suitable for minors.

Chapter 9: The First He Cried With

Snape sat on a chair in the Headmaster's office. He was paler than usual, but that was just about all that betrayed him. His back was straight, his face an inscrutable mask, and not even his eyes showed any sign of the storm that was raging inside him. He had failed, he told himself over and over again. He had failed to protect his student.

'And Voldemort ordered you to come back one hour after midnight?' Dumbledore double checked.

'Yes,' Snape answered. 'There will be some kind of celebration.'

His voice was still as impassive as it had been when he had told Dumbledore about the events at Riddle Manor, cold and matter-of-fact. There was no point in him losing his nerve. It wouldn't help anyone.

'The initiation of young Death Eaters is not normally celebrated, is it?' Dumbledore enquired.

Snape told the Headmaster no, his stomach lurching when he pronounced the word. Initiations were indeed never celebrated. Among the Death Eaters, yes; most of the time with copious amount of alcohol and other mind-altering substances. But so far, the Dark Lord had never explicitly invited his followers to a celebration. Did he plan to celebrate something else that night?

'I fear there is little we can do but sit and wait,' Dumbledore pointed out. His voice was calm, and had his blue eyes not expressed deepest concern, Snape would have considered hexing him into the next year. But the old man was worried, Snape could see this clearly.

'You have classes to teach, Severus,' Dumbledore reminded Snape after some minutes of uncomfortable silence in which both men had clung to their own thoughts. 'I know you have other things than potions on your mind this afternoon, but I do not want you to wear out your shoes by pacing back and forth in your study until midnight. Your brooding will not help Nadezhda. Teach your lessons, come to dinner and try to rest during the evening. You may have a long night ahead of you.'

Snape nodded in acceptance and rose from his chair. There was just as little use arguing with Dumbledore as there was arguing with the Dark Lord. Dumbledore's orders made sense, at least, and they were well-meant. How Snape would carry them out, however, was a different matter all together. He would teach his classes, of course, and he would also show up for dinner in the Great Hall, even if it was just to humour the Headmaster. But how he was supposed to rest during the evening was beyond him. He knew already that he would do anything but. He would pace his study and wrack his brain, going over the morning's and the last months' events over and over again in order to find that specific moment in which he could have acted in a different way and thus made a difference; the moment when he had failed.

The girl giggled. 'Come on, Sev. This is fun!'

She took another careful step on the frozen puddle. And another. Then there was a crack! The ice shattered, and the girl giggled once more.

Young Severus Snape shook his head. 'I cannot see the fun in trampling around in frozen puddles,' he commented drily, thinking about his second-hand shoes that were patched in various places. His socks would be soaked with icy water the moment he broke through.

'This is because you've never tried it,' Lily exclaimed. 'You never know when the ice is going to break under your feet. It's exciting!'

Incredulous, Severus raised an eyebrow and shook his head at his friend's childish joy. He didn't understand it, but he loved the smile on her face.

'Come on, try it!' Lily grabbed his gloved hand and pulled him towards the biggest puddle in the wintry playground. 'I'll start on one side and you on the other. Let's see who cracks the ice first.'

He would, of course, Severus thought. He was heavier than Lily. And his shoes weren't as delicate as her quaint winter boots. But he would humour her. Anything to keep the smile on Lily's face.

They agreed to take one step at the time. Lily's was counting aloud: 'One ... two ...'

Severus thought he could hear the ice groan under his weight, but it didn't crack. Encouraged by Lily's smile, he took another step.

'... three …'

Nothing happened.

'... four …'

After the fifth step, the two teenagers had reached the middle of the frozen puddle and stood eye to eye, the ice still intact under their feet.

'It's like magic,' Lily breathed, looking up at her friend. Her cheeks were rosy form the cold winter air, and her green eyes so clear that Severus could see his reflection in them.

First he reached for her hands. They felt so tiny in his.

He looked into her emerald green eyes and bent to kiss her.

Then the ice cracked.

As if stung by a Blast-Ended Skrewt, Snape shot off from the armchair he had dozed off in. For a moment, he was quite disoriented. Had he not just been in the playground where he had met Lily for the first time? Had he not just held his best friend by the hands and leant in to kiss her?

Realising that it had been nothing but a bittersweet dream, Snape looked around in the darkness of his study. He couldn't believe that he had fallen asleep. He had been convinced that he would spend the evening pacing his study, waiting for midnight to arrive and pass so he could Apparate back to Riddle Manor. But obviously, he had sat down at some point. He couldn't even remember when. And he had fallen asleep. Maybe Dumbledore had put a Sleeping Draught into the cup of tea he had brought down to the dungeons after dinner?

Snorting, Snape shook his head. That thought was just ridiculous. He was the Potions master and a double agent. When it came to detecting foreign substances in his food or drink, he could even give Mad-Eye Moody a run for his Galleons. But the tea cup was standing on the table beside the armchair, and it was still half-full. Snape picked it up and inhaled deeply, detecting whiff of elderflower, violets and blueberries, but no Sleeping Draught.

Then his eyes caught sight of the clock on the mantle piece. The tea cup slipped from his hand and shattered on the stone floor. It was twenty past one.

The blood in Snape's veins turned as cold as the ice he and Lily had been standing on in his dream. Twenty past one. The Dark Lord had commanded that he return an hour after midnight, and now Snape was twenty minutes late. But the Dark Lord had not called for him. The Mark was not burning.

Instinctively, Snape's right hand darted towards his left sleeve in order to pull it up. For what reason, he did not really know. There was no way that he could have missed the calling. But then again, he had not thought it possible that he'd fall asleep that night either.

He never saw his Mark that night. The moment he grabbed hold of his cuff, a bright light erupted right in front of him, blinding him and sending him tumbling backwards into his armchair.

'Come to my office, Severus,' Dumbledore's voice echoed through the room. 'It is urgent.'

The Headmaster's office was almost as dark as the dungeons, and it took Snape a few moments to make out the figure of Albus Dumbledore. He was standing by the window, gazing out into the night, his white hair illuminated by two candles that were burning on the rickety table beside him. Both were white and looked as if they had been burning for some hours.

'You wished to see me, Headmaster,' Snape announced his arrival.

Dumbledore didn't turn around. Instead, he seemed to be talking towards the stars. 'It is past one, Severus,' he pointed out, his voice severe. 'And still you have not been summoned. Do you know why?'

Snape shook his head.

'No Death Eater has been summoned tonight,' Dumbledore carried on. 'Your Lord has not been able to call any of you. He has met his match.'

Snape frowned. Had Dumbledore just told him that the Dark Lord had been vanquished? How? By whom?

'Your Lord set out to find the child of the prophecy tonight. He set out to kill Lily Potter's son.'

Snape felt the breath catch in his throat. So that was what the Dark Lord had wanted to celebrate? That he had killed the child that possessed the powers to vanquish him?

But Dumbledore had said that the Dark Lord had met his match. Had the Dark Lord failed?

'James never stood a chance,' Dumbledore continued. 'Confident that no other but one of his friends would knock on his door, he opened it without hesitation. And Lily ...'

Snape cringed. Before his inner eye, he saw the Dark Lord step over the body of James Potter and approach Lily. His Lily.

'Lily sacrificed herself for her son.'

Sacrificed? But that meant …

'Dead?' Snape managed to croak. It felt as if an invisible hand had reached into his chest and was crushing his organs, his lungs, his heart. He felt his knees give way and stumbled forwards, collapsing onto a chair.

Slowly, Dumbledore turned from the window, stepped away from the candlelight and into the dark. Mercilessly, he towered over the dark figure that was slumped forwards in the chair, shaking with tears.

'Lily provided her son with the strongest protective magic there is,' he declared, his voice uncharacteristically cold. 'She gave her life for Harry, and thus, Voldemort was unable to harm the boy.'

She gave her life … Snape felt himself shake from top to toe. No Cruciatus Curse he had ever endured had hurt so much. It felt as if his very heart were being ripped from his body and crushed into a bloody pulp right in front of his eyes.

'I thought … you were going … to keep her … safe ...'

He barely heard himself begging for an explanation, nor did he hear Dumbledore's answer. The agonised screams of his soul were just too loud.

'Her boy lives,' Dumbledore said.

Snape flinched. What did this matter? What did Lily's son matter? To him, the child meant nothing. To him, this child was nothing else but yet another proof that Lily had chosen another man.

'Her son lives,' Dumbledore stressed once more. 'He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and colour of Lily Evans' eyes, I am sure?'

'DON'T!' bellowed Snape. He could see Lily's eyes clearly before him, but he did not want Dumbledore to share his most precious memory. Lily's eyes had been emerald green, almond shaped and filled with a kindness the likes of which Snape feared he would never again see in another pair of eyes.

'Gone … Dead ...'

Gone forever.

'I wish … I wish I were dead ...'

'And what use would that be to anyone?' said Dumbledore coldly. 'If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear.'

Dumbledore's words didn't seem to sink in. Snape could hear them, one after one, but they did not make any sense. Lily was gone, dead! There was nothing he could do for her. There was nothing he could do for himself. He would have to live with the fact that he had been the one to carry the Prophecy to the Dark Lord. He would have to live with the guilt of having signed Lily's death sentence. He did not want to live with that.

'You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily's son.'

Protect Lily´s son? Snape's mouth twisted into a sneer. He had never been able to protect anyone. He had not been able to protect his mother. He had not been able to protect Lily. He had not been able to protect Nadezhda.

'He does not need protection,' he spat. 'The Dark Lord has gone ...'

'The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does.'

Deep inside Snape's mind, a rational voice asked how Dumbledore could know, but Snape shut it out. He did not want to know. Not tonight. All he wanted was to make amends.

'Never tell, Dumbledore!' he begged, shame spreading through his body like venom. 'This must be between us! Swear it! I cannot bear … especially Potter's son ...'

He'd do it for Lily, for Lily alone. For Lily, he would protect her son. For Lily he would stay alive. And when his task was fulfilled, he would beg her for forgiveness.

Nothing. He felt absolutely nothing as he walked through the grass. It was better that way, he told himself. He couldn't allow himself to feel.

Back in Dumbledore's office he had cried. He had cried tears of grief, shame and remorse. But if he cried now, the tiniest of tears would turn into a river, a torrent that would sweep him away and drown him. If he cried, he would die. And that was the one thing he wasn't allowed to do. He had a task now.

He didn't know why, but somehow Snape had imagined he would find Riddle Manor in ruins. Yet the house stood tall and looming, a dark shadow against the starry sky. The walls did not know that their last master had gone.

Tentatively, Snape stepped over the threshold. Dumbledore had been quite confident that he would find Nadezhda and most probably several other Death Eaters at the place where their lord had told them to celebrate his feat. But all the windows were dark and the silence in there absolute. All Snape could hear was the echo of his own footsteps. It felt like descending into a tomb. Even the air seemed to become colder with every step he took. No living creature was inside this crypt, Snape was most certain of that.

He felt a wave of panic wash over him. If the girl wasn't there, then where would he find her? He had no idea where any of the Death Eaters were. Most of them had probably taken flight the moment they had learnt of the Dark Lord's failure. With Voldemort gone, there was no one to protect them. Now the Aurors could hunt them down and bring them in, and there was no hope that someone would come to their rescue. A Death Eater on his own was quite a pathetic being, nothing a squad of Aurors would fear. And the Death Eaters knew this. By now, most of them were probably in hiding.

But not all of them. Some of them, Lord Voldemort's most loyal followers, would be looking for him. Bellatrix, for one, was most probably turning each stone in Godric's Hollow by now, looking for her beloved Lord. Snape doubted that she was alone. Surely, she had forced others to join her. Her husband, Rodolphus, had certainly not dared to leave her side; and where Rodolphus went, Rabastan followed. Did they take the girl along? After all, Voldemort had left Nadezhda in Bellatrix's care earlier. What would happen to her when the Death Eaters were cornered by Aurors? Would she be able to get herself out of the line of fire?

When he reached the door that led to the dining room, Snape sent a prayer to the heavens. 'Be here. Please, be here.' He could not bear to lose yet another innocent soul that night.

Bravely, he pushed open the door and stepped into the room.

His nostrils immediately filled with the odour of decay, and he retched, covering his mouth and nose with his left hand. With his right, he drew his wand.

'Lumos.'

No one had bothered removing or even covering the body of Duncan McKibben. He was still lying in a puddle of his own blood. But someone had turned him around. While he had been lying face down earlier, he was now lying on his back, and his eyes were closed.

'I couldn't fold his hands.'

Snape spun around, wand raised. He had been quite certain that he was alone in the room, and the voice had startled him. But he had also recognised it, and he was not using his wand to defend himself. Instead, he used it to cast a dim light onto the pale face of Nadezhda McKibben.

'How did you get here?' he asked.

'Barty,' Nadezhda replied, shrinking once more back into the shadows of the room, as if she were fleeing the light of Snape's wand. 'He brought me here from Godric's Hollow. He said I mustn't stay there. It was too dangerous.'

'Godric's Hollow?' With a few swift strides, Snape closed the distance between him and the girl. 'What were you doing in Godric's Hollow?'

Nadezhda recoiled, flinching. 'I tried to,' she said, her voice high-pitched and her eyes darting back towards her father's corpse. 'I tried to fold his hands. I really did. But his arms are all stiff. And his hands are so cold. I didn't want to hold onto them.'

Snape froze. Standing mere inches away from the girl now, he realised just how pale she was. Her lips had a blue tinge, and her hands, which she desperately tried to hide in the folds of her robes, were shaking uncontrollably. She was in shock.

Slowly, Snape reached out his free hand and placed it on the girl's shoulder, placing himself right in front of her and this shielding the remains of her father from her view.

'What were you doing in Godric's Hollow?' he asked once more, his voice much softer now.

'Bellatrix,' the girl started, her lips trembling. 'She … she insisted on following the Dark Lord. When he told her she couldn't, she grew angry and just entered a house at random. There … there was a woman, a Muggle, and three children. And Bellatrix … Bellatrix was angry and frustrated …'

With a uncanny accuracy, Nadezhda recounted just what Bellatrix had done to the woman and her children and how Bellatrix had forced her to cast a curse on the smallest. She never even realised that Snape slowly but determinedly led her out of the room.

By the time they had reached the Riddle library and Snape had sat her down on a chaise longue, the tears were streaming down Nadezhda's face, and her whole body was shaking. Sitting down beside her, Snape took hold of her hands. They were cold and clammy.

'How did Barty find you?' he asked.

'He was already at the other house. Some... something had happened there. An explosion. I don't know. He was there and the Lestranges. They were fighting another man, but he Disapparated when he saw Bellatrix. Then Barty grabbed my hand and brought me here.'

'And left you alone,' Snape stated bitterly.

What had the boy been thinking, leaving Nadezhda alone after she had tasted Bellatrix's madness, in the house where her father's corpse lay mangled on the floor? But then again, Barty deserved praise for acting quickly and getting Nadezhda out of harm's way. Certainly, Bellatrix would have vented her frustration by attacking the weakest in her proximity. What she had done to Barty upon his return, Snape did not even want to know.

He looked long and hard at his student. As much as he wanted to get her out of Riddle Manor and back to Hogwarts, he doubted that she was capable of Apparition. Even with him guiding her, he could not guarantee that she would not splinch herself. He'd have to make her relax before they could go anywhere. He would light a fire to get her warm and keep talking to her to distract her.

But he never made it to the fireplace. When he made to let go off her hands, Nadezhda clung onto his with all her might.

'Don't let go,' she whispered, a desperation ringing in her voice that made Snape tighten his grip again. 'If you let go, I'll freeze to death.'

Snape looked up from their entwined hands and was captured by her eyes, a set of green emeralds, partly hidden behind dark lashes on which tears were still hanging.

He swallowed hard. Mere hours ago, in his dream, a pair of green eyes had been smiling up at him; a pair of green eyes that were now forever closed and would never smile again. Somehow he knew that the same was true for Nadezhda's eyes. Even though there was still life in them and hopefully would be for many years to come, it would take nothing short of a miracle to awaken a smile in them.

The tears on her lashes looked like tiny icicles, frozen water at the edge of an icy green lake. And without even thinking about what he was doing, Snape leant in and kissed them away.

What followed was wrong. Snape knew that, and, most probably, Nadezhda knew it as well. But in hindsight, the events were inevitable. They were two lost souls, both inches away from dying in the icy cold of despair. They found each other in the abandoned library of Riddle Manor, giving each other life in a night of death and grief, frantically clinging to each other as if the contact of their bodies were the only thing that kept them from tumbling into eternal darkness.

His eyes never left hers. Not when he shoved up her robes, not when he opened his own, and not when he buried himself between her thighs. Desperately, he hung onto the green gems, begging for forgiveness with every thrust.

What he was doing was so wrong in so many ways. She was his student. She was vulnerable, alone and scared, just as he was. She trusted him. But he couldn't stop. Relentlessly he drove into her, feeling her hot breath on his lips and hearing her moans echo in his ears. She was warm, and she made him feel warm in turn.

Encouraged by her legs that wrapped around his hips to pull him closer and her nails that dug into his shoulder blades, he thrust deeper and deeper, until his vision became blurred. He didn't know anymore if her moans were still moans of pleasure, just as little as he knew what his own moans meant. But he could not stop. He needed more, much more. The heat of her body wasn't enough anymore. He needed release to stay alive.

Squeezing his eyes shut in a last desperate yet futile attempt to regain control, he lost it and collapsed at her shoulder with an outcry that he managed to strangle in his throat in the very last moment. The young woman who was holding him in his arms was not Lily. If he called her by that name now, it would be the ultimate proof that he had used her.

Shame washing over him, Snape rolled off her. How could he ever look at her again? How could he ever look into a pair of green eyes again and feel anything but guilt?

Rearranging his robes around him, he came to sit at the edge of the chaise, burying his face in his hands. He felt the tears burn in his eyes, but he refused to shed them. He wasn't worthy.

He heard the rustling of robes behind him and something that sounded like a stifled sob. And just when he was about to fly up from the chaise and flee, he felt himself being pulled back. The same tiny, warm hand that had pulled him closer and urged him on only minutes earlier was once again resting on his shoulder. This time, it was consoling him.

'Don't,' he growled, trying to shrug the hand off. 'I do not deserve your sympathies.'

But his words didn't scare her away. Instead, Nadezhda moved closer, wrapping her arm around him from behind and resting her chin on his shoulder. Her breath felt warm at his neck, and Snape didn't fight her. Instead, he took her tiny hand that was resting on his chest in his and kissed it, feeling her tears wet his neck and collar, all the while his own tears silently ran down his cheeks.

He never even noticed Nadezhda raising her wand and erasing the last hour of his memory.