XXXIX

Fawkes, perched on her thin, golden rod, lay napping, exhaling a note with each melodic breath. Her young plumage was Gryffindor fluff, extravagant and befitting for such a bird as she. Severus resisted the urge to touch Fawkes. Upon hearing him pace round the room, his face pensive and his hands tucked behind his back, she awoke, blinking at him the way all animals do when they see a human. Tears were in her eyes; twinkling with specks of gold. The tears gathered into the ashes beneath her and were absorbed by its powdery greyness. The bird flew over to Severus, latched onto his shoulder, and for a brief second nuzzled Severus' cheek before soaring away to its perch. He nodded to the bird, which fell asleep quickly, as if this had only been a psychological premonition.

Dumbledore's office was uncharacteristically empty that school-day morn. Though the noon sun was shining brightly through the nickel-paned windows, it was an unbearably dreary day for Severus. He paced around the room, his hands behind his back and stomped on the wooden parquet several times, before giving up his endeavor to calm his thoughts. He leaned his head against a bookcase, shutting his eyes just as Dumbledore's old legs walked him up the marble staircase. Severus could nearly hear the man's bones creaking. Lifting his head off of the bookcase, he faced Dumbledore, dreary eyed and sodden with remnants of his woe.

"The diary," Severus began wistfully, "the third Horcrux; more may be coming." He looked down to his veneered black, dragonhide shoes, "As for now, we have no evidence, so my pursuit is on hiatus. Now, if you excuse me I would like to return to my studies."

Dumbledore, watery eyed, choked out a consolement. "I really am greatly sorry for what happened between you and Lily. Perhaps, one day, when the war is—"

"Over?" Severus chuckled with cynical amusement. "When the war is over, one can only hope that they will make it out alive. What was between her and I, never was meant to be in the first place. It is only a twist of time, this lovelorn lore. It was a fantasy, a childish, enigmatic dream." With that despairing note, Severus left the Headmaster and his aching heart. But before Severus ever reached the door, Dumbledore flicked his beautifully carved wand at Severus, stopping him mid-step.

"How could you speak so callously about someone who you love? You are a good person Severus, someone who can love and someone who deserves it— perhaps more than the rest of us." inquired Dumbledore.

"You know nothing. I came back to this time on impulse—you manipulative cretin." Severus turned, his hands clenched and a vein was thickly bulging out of his forehead. His once pale skin turned crimson with rage. His persona became distorted with turbulent fury. "I came to save the world, to die like I did before (for all things must die, but I a most painful death) and to pursue a ridiculous fantasy, which, might I say, is doing absolutely no good for anyone. If you're going to pull a few strings, make me dance with the devil, so be it. But no one, not even you, has the right to claim that there is any good in me. The one thing The Dark Lord was right about is that I am rotten from the core to the tip of my longest toe." Severus nearly broke a pale pink vase as he stormed out of the room, his cloak billowing behind him, covering the fact that he his entire body was trembling with disgust.

"That is precisely the reason why the ability to change was born." But it went unheard by Severus, who was far past the gargoyle. Dumbledore sat down at his desk, writing on a scroll of parchment tentatively; all the while the thoughts of Severus did not go ignored in his head. There were tears dripping down the old man's pale, sun spotted cheeks. A gut wrenching tempest made home in his stomach, causing him to break away from his composure. He lost the will to write, and went to his bookcase—searching.

Lily was in the Head Girl's bathroom—alone—floating in a sea of bubble's which covered every part of her body, but her head. The bubbles were tinted purple, and shone brightly against the light overhead. It was the type of light where anyone could stand stark naked in it, look at themselves in a large mirror and find themselves to look magnificent, regardless of their previous belief. The water was pleasantly heated to the perfect degree, and she found herself slowly letting her struggles float into the bubbles, away from her. But only a limited amount of pressure could seep out of her skin and into the lavender scented suds. Her internal organs now seemed to be made of solidified misery, and liquid melancholy yearning.

There was a marble statue of a cupid holding a bow and arrow, its head looking up at the ribbed vault ceiling and its hands placed in front of its heart. Stone birds were suspended around the crown of its curly-haired head, twittering magically bounded arias. The arched window was made of stained glass, simply in shades of grey, and depicting a scene of storm clouds on a horizon.

She used to think of Severus while she floated in a sea of aroma and effervesce, fantasize in a cascade of feverent, blushing states between ecstasy and wordlessness, completely lacking in altruism. But she had—long since the event over Easter break—stopped passing her time in such a fashion. She wouldn't let herself succumb to him, to his burly allure, taunting her, ravaging her, tantalizing her, tempting—no!—no such things—what absurdity!—what blasphemy! His hands over her, caressing her in ways that neither person, nor being could replicate—she would not reminisce of such occurrences. She was a changed woman, a sturdy woman, a single woman, a lonely, a tortured female. But she did not want to accept it [her sheer need for him]; it would in no way be allowed.

Severus was an Incubus, ensnaring her, claiming her in her sleep, and abandoning her in a broken mist by the next morn. When dawn cracked, so did her heart, emptier than ever before. For once, Lily felt like she wanted to be a corpse, void of the ability to feel; the ability to possess life and its tragedies. She respired deeply; more than anything she wanted a moment to be able to relax, for her every sinew to merely release its tension. Her fingers which were curled into a fist unfurled finger by finger, releasing the pressure into the sudsy water. She wiggled her toes, let out a scream, which resonated through the enormous bathing room; in the process she found serenity. But her solace was Severus, his hands sliding down the appropriate places, his eyes glazed over as he devoured her beauty with his eyes. She was back in her prison cell: thinking about Severus—shackled to a wall, being tortured with wanton visions of him, his tongue doing unspeakable things to the skin of her neck and the lobe of her ear.

Floating in the bubbly water, she endeavored to sink, but her buoyant body would not let her. "Why!" she expounded, standing up in the voluminous tub, the water covering her entire body up to her chin.

The Cupid statue's cracked head turned to Lily. "Because you love him," it answered, so sure of the fact that it almost seemed pompous.

"That's absurd," she yelled back at the statue in insolent fury.

"And love is said to be insane, so go on, prance off to your greatest desire, but most importantly let yourself rot with love." The statue's head turned, and it spoke no more.

"If it was only that simple." Lily wrapped herself in a fluffy, black towel and strode into her bedroom, wondering if she would ever feel whole again. Yet she knew, blatantly, that the single answer was 'only with him'.

When she collapsed onto her bed, she sighed Severus' name, "I miss you". She climbed underneath the covers limply, soaking the laurel bed sheets through her towel. A mahogany picture frame encased as picture of her and Severus, black and white; they were spinning around in wild circles in the middle of a snow storm. This was long ago, years behind them when they were still new to Hogwarts. She curled into the fetal position, staying like that for hours, holding back the tears that never came.

Sirius tiptoed around the corner. A large part of him felt as if he were being watched. He knew that he shouldn't have been stalking around the castle in the middle of an exhausted night, with teachers left with their last string of patience for him just doors away from where he was standing. After Easter break, most of the students came with a smile on their faces, looking refreshed and crisper than a cucumber, but there were a…select few who looked worse than ever before. Lily and Severus were among these two people, and Sirius couldn't stand knowing that those two, who had shared such happiness with each other and evoked a light within each other's souls that he had never witnessed before, were separated. He had to convince Lily to consider taking Snape back. He knew that it would only be a waste of time to converse with Snape over such a thing—Snape would only scoff, before saying what a tragedy life is.

That night Sirius was wearing Gryffindor tartan pajamas, and rather fluffy socks made of puffskein fur. He had found it hard to sleep, so rather rashly he pulled his robe over his pajamas and strode out of the room. That was how he had ended up on the slippery floored corridor, shivering from the cold and debating over if he should knock on the door or not. As his hand leveled with the carved door, it began to crack open.

"Severus?" asked Lily in a low voice filled with seething hope.

"No, it's Sirius. But this has to do with him."

Lily grabbed his arm and pulled him into her room hastily.

"What's wrong with him?" Lily's teeth were clenched fiercely as she held Sirius in a death grip. Her emerald eyes were a gale, growing begrudgingly more unstable with each passing moment. "What's wrong with him god damn-it?! Tell me Sirius, I can't take this anymore."

She used Sirius' shoulder as she once used Severus'. He was not as comforting, nor as calming. But she held onto him, because he was the life preserver thrown at her. She was sinking quickly in her ocean of regret, but Sirius made sure that she had gasps of air to take. "Please, Siri, I need you to tell me why you're actually here. Just don't mention him anymore, I'm begging you." Yet no matter how much she verbally implored, her bodily signs were a red, hot signal that what she needed more than anything was Severus at this moment.

Sirius' legs gave out. Tumbling to the floor, his back landed against the spring wall, and Lily landed against his strong, muscular torso. "Quiet down. I'm here to make sure you that neither of you kill yourselves." He held her tighter, wondering—why was it that so many men turned putty in her presence? He was a sentimental fool, lingering far too long ago in the past when he wondered why James had fallen so head over heels for the girl. Overly maudlin, he let his hands—the worst vices of all—traipse into her knotted hair. Though unmanageable, he didn't mind for it was the softest carmine silk of all.

She tilted her face to him. She looked like most normal crying women; swollen both physically and emotionally, blotchy and fragile—so breakable that he nearly thought if he were to hold her for another instance, she would surely explode into shards on the hardwood floor.

"Lily," he cooed. It reminded her of the way Severus had uttered her name in his resonant, molten voice. Unexpectedly, his soft grey eyes turned into Severus' emotional tunnels of black, his attractive face turned angular and unorthodoxly alluring; before she could blink, the man holding her was no longer Sirius Black: Severus Snape was cradling her like a new born babe. Severus Snape was here, holding her up and insuring that she would not suffer another moment of pure languishing. She heard his voice in her head, whispering the words she could never forget, "I love you. I've changed. I'm sorry. I will never leave you. I will be here. Always."

He had abandoned her, double crossed her more times than she could count, but most importantly, he left her with a heart still beating in the palm of his hand. Oh, but he was back now, she staring at him like a doe in headlights, and he back at her in the same manner. If she had waited another millisecond, she would have burst open: She wrapped her arms around him possessively, and with her entirety, forced her ardor into him like a tributary river into the largest ocean. Nothing had felt more imperfect. He was not kissing her back, nor were they tearing at each other like estranged beasts that had finally come together again. He pulled away, dumbfounded.

Her apparition morphed again—back into Sirius who was looking blank eyed at her. She covered her mouth, whining into it, rolling her head back; not in disgust, but in regret. "I thought you were Severus for a moment," she wheezed out, barely able to hold the pieces of her confounded body together.

"I need to be rescued," Lily said out of the blue, letting her tongue finally…slip.

"But not by me, Lily." Sirius, ruffled and baffled got up and abruptly exited her room. The door shut with a soft 'bang', and once more her senses became empty and frosted over. Overtaken, she stood up, teetering and staggering. She did not know whether or not she ended up on her bed, but she knew she was greeted by something soft and plush, which deeply reminded her of how lonely the spot next to her was.

"Then who will save me?" she prosed to no one. Severus was off God knows where; she was here, somewhere so familiar, but also so different, because he was not there next to her.

In the stark of the evening, just as the sun had begun to set, the world had begun to seem backwards and unruly. The sky was still a bright periwinkle, and grey stratus clouds spread across it in a deject fashion. Meadow birds chirped in shrill disarray. Most would say that it was a serene evening, but Lily knew far better than to say that. Out there—somewhere in the vast darkness of the world—was evil being born out of the very womb of hell, spat out through the jaws of demonic life and plotting (at that very moment) of how to murder, to obliterate, to alter. She was ready to hurl vomit at the grass beneath her feet. She had been sick for over a week—sick to her stomach over something the feared more than death; more than living a half-life. That entity—that enigma—that was the very life growing within her, developing and congealing with her core, proof of the love that two people once shared; the proof of the love that two people still share, but denied to acknowledge.

If digits alone could count the days that had passed, humans would have to grow extra limbs. A month in full, plus nine days more had come and gone. "Do you see a coffin there? In it lies my innocence. But more than that—in it lies my soul. A month had gone, and with it what used to be me—him—us."

Fingers of alabaster lightly danced on her shoulder, tapping in a rhythm of six eight. It was an arousing pitter-patter against her once cold shoulder. She heated thoroughly and pleasantly; bolts of electricity-like fire burst through the skin of her shoulder and into the very marrow of her bones. Only one man could evoke such a euphoric feeling. There was only one name that came to mind; three syllables, hissing with soothing s's.

"Severus…" Her eyes were shut tightly; she was almost cohered to believing that this was only some sick dream her brain had conjured. "Severus."

He tugged her up, her arms recoiling not nearly fast enough. His eyes were blacker than the darkest tunnel. In them was a fierce force waiting to pounce. His jaw was clenched, and a storm was brewing on his face. He, with his angled brow, enticed her into a trance-like state. She looked him up and down, from long—no—short, neatly cut hair, to the tip of his dragonhide boots. "Severus." Severus appeared dryer than a desert in a century's drought. Not a single sign signaled how deformed his heart had become—how hollow and acerbic he had chosen to make himself. A new shell harbored his old soul.

Their eyes met, the weight of three million tears shed between them. Was the world collapsing beneath their very feet, or were they floating their way to the heaven above? The songs of sweet love echoed in ears. Or was it a cautionary melody of impending doom? Both of their hearts were pounding like the first strikes on a battle drum. Their bleeding hearts could barely take the thickness of the tragically poignant air between them. The air was constricting them, killing them slowly. Every breath burned.

"I feel like I'm dying," uttered Lily in a breathy voice coated with maudlin emotion.

"Then let me die with you," answered Severus, his own voice cracking with the same emotion as Lily's. The two beat as one, and fell as one.

Their knees gave out too slowly. When one collapsed, the other already felt like they were slipping suddenly. They descended, ebony veils had begun to shroud them. Their bodies grew cold and still, rigid and unrecognizable. In mid-spring, the flourishing time of life and warmth, flakes of snow had begun to fall around them. Crystals of perfect white drew beneath them to catch their bodies as they crashed. But they never went backwards, nor sideways.

Severus and Lily united—a kiss to seal the wounds inflicted on one another.

A/N: A nice cliff hanger for you all. I hope that you tune in next week for the next chapter. Oh great, I sound like a terrible T.V. show now.

Anyway: Review, Follow, Favorite!

-E.S. Grey