Chapter 19
February, 1977

"Here."

Severus was somewhat surprised to have an envelope thrust in his face the moment he reached the top of the laboratory stairs. "Here," Cadogan reiterated, pushing the envelope at him.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

Cadogan rolled her eyes. "Open it."

After a brief, sharp glance at his employee—really, the woman had been taking far too many liberties with their interpersonal comportment as of late—Severus turned his attention to the envelope in question. He had barely recognised the crest embossed in the wax seal—CERM—before he'd opened it and was speedily reading the letter's content.

"Well?" Cadogan prompted. Severus shushed her and continued to read, feeling rather more pleased with each word. When at last he'd finished the letter, he glanced up and said, "Our solution will be presented in next month's Potions Quarterly."

Cadogan whooped; Severus flinched. "That's fantastic!" she said. "You've got to order copies. We should frame one for the shop."

"You're surely joking," Severus replied. When Cadogan shook her head, Severus added, "You don't find the notion of displaying my one published article—and not a single one of the dozens of Master Jigger's—somewhat…frivolous?"

"But it's your first article," Cadogan insisted.

The laboratory door hit Severus in the back; he stepped out of the way, still glancing over the letter.

"Ms Cadogan," Jigger said, closing the laboratory door behind him. "Have you closed the register?" When Cadogan nodded, Jigger continued, "Then good evening, Ms Cadogan."

Cadogan ignored the clear dismissal and effused, "Mr Jigger, the letter from the Potions board—"

Jigger immediately turned to Severus. "And?"

"It will be in the next issue," Severus confirmed.

Both of Jigger's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly as he said, "Ah. Excellent."

It was the greatest show of excitement that Severus had ever seen from the man. Severus handed him the letter, which he proceeded to read.

A loud rapping suddenly emanated from the front of the shop. All three inhabitants looked to the window, where, alarmingly, a young witch in a luridly-coloured hat was animatedly waving one mittened hand at them as her breath fogged up the glass.

"We've closed," Severus called towards the window, even though there was no way she could possibly hear him, as Cadogan brushed past the two wizards and headed for the door; Jigger's attention returned to the letter from CERM.

"I'm sorry," Cadogan said, "that's—she's for me." She unlocked the door, opened it a crack, told the woman, "So sorry, I'll be out in a moment, I've just got to pop round the back if that's all right."

"Not at all," the woman said cheerily, and Cadogan closed and re-locked the door.

Severus looked at her. "That's," she said, "well, we met on New Year's Eve? A group of us were talking about how terrible Wizarding music is, you know, with the triangles and whatnot—"

"Rather," Severus said drily.

"Right," Cadogan said with a laugh. "So it turned out a few of us were musicians, so we're getting together to jam."

"'Jam'?" Severus repeated.

Cadogan rolled her eyes. "It's when a group of musicians—"

"I'm aware of the term, Ms Cadogan," Severus said. "I merely had no idea the shop had such a beatnik in its employ."

"Deep inside," Cadogan told him flatly, "you are an old, old man. Good night." She glanced over at Jigger and added, "I'll see you both on Tuesday."

Jigger, still reading, responded with a vague "Mmm." Cadogan shrugged, waved her fingers at Severus, and headed towards the back of the shop.

Finally, Jigger looked up from the letter. "Page five," he said.

Severus nodded. "So they say."

"It is sufficiently respectable, page five," Jigger said.

"So I thought," Severus replied.

"The next one," Jigger said, handing the letter back to Severus, "will merit the cover."

"The next one, sir?" Severus repeated.

"After you pass the QUAILs in June, you will, of course, have all the more time to devote to your research," Jigger continued. "Do begin to give some thought to your proposal." He turned to leave, adding, "I look forward to it."

Severus exhaled slowly, calmly. "Thank you, sir," he said.

"Yes," Jigger said. "Well." He cleared his throat, blinked, nodded, and resumed his path towards the shop's exit.

Severus looked back at the letter once more before very carefully re-folding it and slipping it into his pocket.

Lily – The letter from CERM came today. You can expect to receive a copy of Potions Quarterly next month, and when it arrives, I expect you'll be interested in what appears on page five.

Sev - ! Amazing! I wonder if you're the youngest published contributor? I'm so proud of you. Do you want me to tell Professor Slughorn?

Lily – I believe it may be best if we avoid giving the esteemed professor any cause for considering the two of us together. I shall write him, if Master Jigger has not already.

Sev – Ugh. Good point.

Severus was just wiping down the counter when the shop's front door opened. Annoyed at himself for forgetting to lock it promptly at closing time, Severus called out, "I'm sorry, but we've closed. If you'd—"

He looked up, his breath catching in his throat. Standing just inside the shop, snowflakes melting on her eyelashes, was Lily.

"Hello, Sev," she said, smiling softly.

"What—what are you doing here?" Severus, who was apparently determined to behave like an absolute idiot, said.

Lily took off her knit hat, shook back her gleaming hair, and said, "What, no proper hello?"

Severus, his mouth quite dry, came around the counter. Lily immediately threw herself into his arms and held him close; he helplessly wrapped his arms around her, uncaring of the snow still clinging to her cloak (his shop robes were, after all, waterproof), and buried his nose into her hair.

She smelled like the halls of Hogwarts, like the February snow, like home brewed honeysuckle and vanilla perfume, and like something…something Severus couldn't quite place.

"I've missed you so much," Lily said against his shoulder.

"Of course I…return your feelings," Severus replied. Lily held him more tightly for a moment longer before she relaxed her hold on him and withdrew slightly, smiling up at him.

"This is possibly the…best surprise I've ever had," Severus said, which was a remarkable understatement. "But I do find my curiosity piqued as to how you've come to be here?"

Lily grinned. "We had the day in Hogsmeade, to celebrate Valentine's Day, since of course they wouldn't give us a Monday free from classes," she explained, idly wrapping her fingers in his robes. "So I remembered what you told me—how you got to Hogsmeade when you visited on Halloween—and I used the Broomsticks' Floo to get to the Leaky, and…here I am." Her bright eyes shone up at him.

Severus fought the nigh overwhelming urge to lean down and meet her lips with his own, and instead said, almost calmly, "I fear your absence will not go unnoticed."

Lily smiled and, pulling him by the robes, brought him even closer. "Don't worry," she said. "Remus is on duty, not me."

"But—your dormitory," Severus said weakly, "and Miss MacDonald—"

"Mary will assume I'm with Marlene, who knows to cover for me," Lily said. "Relax, Sev." And then, fingers still wound in his shop robes, she reached up and kissed him.

An interminable amount of time later, she pulled away and whispered, "Let's go upstairs. I've never seen your flat."

Severus blinked, and swallowed, and blinked, and tried to recall any reason why that particular notion was anything but the best suggestion he'd ever heard. "Your Head of House—"

"Severus," Lily said firmly, "nobody will think to notice that I'm gone for the next twenty hours. Why don't you lock the door, and let's go upstairs."

Severus did have to admit that the door needed to be locked. With a quick wave of his wand, the shop's door was locked and its sign read, "Closed." As it was, in fact, inappropriate to remain in the closed shop, he allowed Lily to take him by the hand and lead him through the shop to the rear staircase, where he followed her up to his flat, flicking off the shop lights as he passed.

In his living-kitchen-dining room, Lily shrugged off her cloak and draped it neatly over the back of one of Severus' three kitchen chairs. Severus concentrated on breathing slowly, evenly, as he registered that she was wearing not her school robes, but rather a pair of remarkably—remarkably—flattering dress robes, which did an especially effective job of setting off—

Severus shook his head, and breathed, and thought, and—

"Lily," he said slowly, "why do you say that your absence will go unnoticed for the next twenty hours?"

Lily grinned, and grabbed Severus' hand, and said, "I'm feeling very…lucky, tonight."

Of course.

She had, after all, smelled like liquid gold.

"How much did you take?" Severus asked urgently.

"Relax, Sev," Lily said. "I may not be the youngest potioneer to ever be published in Potions Quarterly, but I am a NEWT student. I know what a safe dosage of Felix Felicis is." She smiled, reached for Severus' other hand, and pulled him close to her. "So don't worry. I can stay til lunchtime tomorrow."

Lily leaned up to kiss him; Severus pulled back. Seeing the mixture of hurt and confusion that immediately appeared in her eyes, he hastily said, "My apologies, but you must understand that I fear the potion has made you reckless. If you are acting out of character, I could not, in good conscience—"

"Severus," Lily said, laughing and placing her hands on his shoulders, "why do you think I took the potion in the first place?" She leaned up and whispered into his ear, "Let me give you my Valentine's gift."

Severus, who never stumbled, took an even step backwards. "This is," he said, "that is to say. If your behaviour is reckless—"

"Sev," Lily said again, insistently, "we've been going out for almost four months. We're both of age." She blushed, charmingly, and said, "I think it's time we…but if you don't want…"

She hesitated like a teenager, which she was, and which Severus was not, not really, and still Severus said, "I assure you, that is not the case," and she smiled and closed the space between them—

And Severus took another step back. "Please know that I am in no way…undesiring of what you have suggested," he said, "but—we should—" He swallowed. "We should be properly prepared for such an undertaking."

Lily peered at him. "Er," she said. "What exactly do you mean?"

Severus had spent months—seven, to be precise—attempting to not think of the very proposition Lily was so very insistent upon. Regardless of the propriety, or lack thereof, of a teenaged boy who wasn't, not really, engaging in…well. Regardless of that, there was, more importantly, the fact that he had absolutely no intention—none whatsoever—of participating (however pleasant that participation might be) in an act that could inadvertently result in the creation of a child born to Lily Evans. If there was, in this universe he now occupied, ever to be a Chosen One—

That child would not be Lily's.

The very idea was beyond terrifying.

Severus inhaled, calmly and collectedly, and slowly exhaled. "May I get you a drink?" he said at last.

Lily smiled wryly and sat in Severus' single armchair. "I'd like that, thank you."

Severus took the few steps into the "kitchen" and surveyed the contents of the cooling cupboard. "Ah," he said. "I can…" He glanced back at her. "I'm afraid I can only offer you water with, or without, ice."

"Hmm." Lily tapped her index finger against her chin in a show of thoughtfulness. "I am a Gryffindor, after all, so let's live dangerously and I'll say with."

Severus snorted, filled a glass at the tap, and, with a gesture, froze the top third of the glass's contents into cubes. He handed the glass to Lily, who took it, smiled, and said, "Thanks, show-off."

Severus shrugged and, drawing one of the kitchen chairs out from the table, sat down opposite Lily. "So," he said.

"So," Lily echoed.

"So," Severus said again. "As I say, as much as I would gladly—eagerly—accept your suggested endeavour for this evening, I must regretfully admit that we two are not, quite, prepared for such an activity."

Lily peered at him. "Do you mean, like, well…protection?"

Severus leaned back in his chair. "As you say."

Lily's lips quirked. "Ah, you are a wizard, aren't you?"

"A wizard who had neither sufficient advance notice, nor the gall to presuppose the need, to brew an appropriate potion," Severus said.

Lily, mirth evident in her voice, asked, "But you do know how to cast a contraceptus? Surely you remember your third year—"

"Unfortunately," Severus affirmed, not quite shuddering at the uncomfortable "facts of life" lesson that the Slytherins had received from Professor Slughorn. (In his own tenure as Head of House, he'd had the seventh-year Prefects conduct that lesson, which was better for everyone, excepting, possibly, the seventh-year Prefects.)

"So." Lily leaned forward in her chair, the glass of water balanced on her knee. "What preparation are we lacking?"

Severus fought the urge to move his chair away from Lily. "That charm is subject to human error," he said instead.

Lily cocked her head to the side. "You're not," she retorted.

"As much as I appreciate your confidence in my wand-waving," Severus said drily, "I would prefer not to leave such a vital matter to a charm that has only ninety-five percent efficacy when cast by a master."

Lily shrugged broadly. "What, then?" she asked.

Severus smirked. "As is so often the case, potions are far, far more effective than spellwork," he said. "And with proper notice, I can certainly brew an appropriate dosage, tailored specifically to your needs."

Lily pressed a hand to her heart. "You're so romantic," she deadpanned.

Severus scowled. "I prefer 'respectful and appropriately cautious.'"

Lily laughed. "I'm just teasing, Sev. Believe me—I really do appreciate that you're not…like other boys."

She had no idea. "Well," Severus said.

"Well," Lily echoed. She bit her lower lip and, after a moment, said, "You know, I did take enough Felix to stay here til tomorrow morning, and it would be a shame to waste it." She toyed with her water glass and added, "After all, you haven't shown me the rest of your flat."

"There isn't much to it," Severus said, raising one eyebrow.

"Surely there's another room," Lily said.

"Well, yes," Severus said. He met Lily's eyes and fought the inane and inexplicable urge to adjust his glasses.

"There are…other things," Lily said gently, "that we can do."

Severus swallowed. "I suppose," he acknowledged, "that there are."

And then, all arguments to the contrary defeated, the urgent voice in his head silenced, and the doubtless influence of Felix Felicis blamed, Severus reached out, took Lily's water glass, and set it on the table. He took her hand in his, brought them both to their feet, and, finally, led her to the bedroom.

And when she asked him to touch her, there was nothing he could do but, reverently, comply.

Severus awoke, as he always did, to immediate alertness—but, for the first time in recent memory, he nonetheless found himself somewhat disoriented.

After all, it was not every day that he awoke with Lily Evans in his arms.

Out of necessity—his bed was, of course, quite narrow—they had gone to sleep (when they had finally got around to sleeping) with Lily on her side, facing the wall, and with Severus curled up protectively behind her. His right arm was wrapped around her waist, and his left arm was, rather than in its customary position beneath his pillow with his wand in hand, somewhere beneath Lily's neck. He was unsure as to its precise location, as he had long ago lost all sensation in that extremity.

It surprised him how little he cared.

Realising that Lily still slept—it was fairly early, even by Hogwarts standards—he very carefully extricated himself from his position around her. She stirred briefly, but didn't wake; she merely rolled over and burrowed further into Severus' single blanket. (Severus wished briefly for a camera, but immediately discarded that notion as being, in a word, creepy.)

Massaging the feeling back into his left arm and suppressing the urge to hiss at the sensation, he made his silent way into the loo, where he attempted to make himself presentable (or, at the least, not objectionable). Freshly showered, he returned to his bedroom to find Lily, who had evidently awakened, stretching like a contented cat in his bed, wearing one of his (his!) nightshirts. "Good morning," she said.

"Ah," Severus replied eloquently.

"What time is it?" Lily asked, swinging her feet around and setting them on the floor.

"It's just gone half past seven," Severus said, watching her progress with (hopefully) disguised interest.

"Hmm," Lily said, stretching her legs, "I've got til eleven until I might be missed—I took enough Felix to last until three, but I'd rather not press it by missing any important classes and I've got Charms at eleven."

"That leaves time enough for breakfast," Severus pointed out.

"So it does," Lily said, smiling. "Do you cook?"

"My cooking is adequate, but hardly inspiring," Severus said truthfully. "However, I'm certain we will find pleasant fare at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Do they serve breakfast on Mondays?" Lily asked. "I know a lot of the shops are closed—"

"If you want breakfast, they'll be serving breakfast," Severus said.

Lily stood up. "Really?" she said. "Just because—"

"With a day's dose of my Felix Felicis in you?" Severus said, eyebrow raised. "They probably have sticky buns."

"I," Lily said reverently, "love sticky buns." She shot him a grin, said, "Let me freshen up," and trotted out of the room.

If Severus had been less confident of his brewing skills, he would have marvelled at the way his normally touchy shower stayed hot through Lily's preparations; at the pristine, unwrinkled condition Lily's discarded robes seemed to have maintained; at the ease with which they quietly headed downstairs and out the back door, unnoticed; and, finally, at the two—two!—varieties of sticky buns that Tom himself seemed surprised to be offering them.

But as Severus was thoroughly confident of his brewing skills, he contented himself with marvelling at a very different sort of luck as he wrapped his arms around Lily to Side-Along her back to Hogsmeade.

Lily - Thank you, truly, for making a "holiday" I previously detested one of the best days of my life.

Sev - Thank you for breakfast, and for the Euphoria you brewed me, which I did find in my bag once I got back here—though may I say, it wasn't necessary.

For a week, Severus considered the potential consequences of further intimacy with Lily Evans. He weighed the risks; he contemplated the possible methods of avoiding said risks. And by the time a week had passed, Severus had quite decided that, in order to prevent the birth and eventual Horcrux-ification of Harry Potter, he would have to commit himself to a full relationship, in every sense, to Lily Evans—

But, in no way, could he instead allow…Harry Snape, Merlin forbid, to come into existence and put Lily's life into the same danger she had faced in a different lifetime.

So Severus, recalling a curse he'd once read in a book he'd once owned, set about looking for that selfsame book in the bookshops and secondhand shops of Diagon Alley and, when those failed, in the esoteric stalls of Knockturn Alley.

Given the nature of the book he sought, it was rather inevitable that he would, finally, find the book in Borgin & Burkes.

He didn't need to purchase it—he had, after all, read it on more than one occasion, and had need only to double- and triple-check the precise incantation, as this was not something to take lightly—so he merely lurked, Disillusioned, and read and re-read the relevant page until he was certain.

And certain he was.

The Heirless Curse was an especially obscure spell that had rather fallen out of favour in recent years. In centuries past, it had been a vicious weapon wielded against and amongst the elite Pureblood families; it was not unheard of for a jealous younger brother to cast the curse upon the elder, as a younger brother with many sons was, after all, a far better candidate for heir than an elder brother who, no matter how many times he lay with his wife—or with any woman, for that matter—had yet to produce a single child.

Modern thinking and estate laws had, of course, put this old-fashioned practise well out of mind. By 1977, it was brought up only in academic papers that discussed old Pureblood ways or the evolution of the categorisation of Dark Magic (the Heirless Curse, by nature of its disuse, had never been categorised one way or another). It was rare for someone to know of the spell, rarer still for someone to know how to cast it—

And, Severus reflected as he returned to his flat, most likely rarest of all for someone to cast it on himself.

Bound and determined that he would do everything—everything—in his power to prevent Lily Evans from becoming the damned mother of the Chosen One, Severus turned his wand on himself and ensured that he, at least, would not be responsible for the birth—or death—of any Prophesied child.

A/N: I regret the lateness of this chapter; those of y'all who have checked in on my livejournal will know that an unexpected—and, hopefully, not-to-be-repeated—personal matter kept me from writing. Thank you all for your support, your reviews, and your words of encouragement—and to those new readers who have come along since the last update, welcome! I'm so glad you're here.

Mr. Peters thinks I should write "Severus Snape and the Terribly Awkward Sex-Ed Lesson." I think I might agree.

In the next chapter—which will come quite a bit sooner than this one did—we shall have rather less romance and rather more Death Eaters. (After all, not every day can be Valentine's Day.)