Hi everyone, thanks for your comments and views and adding the story to your alerts! It's very motivating, and I'm glad to know that people are liking it.

I thought I should let you know that I have most of the story sketched out, including the final chapter and the epilogue, though now and again I may add to what I've originally planned if it occurs to me to cover some aspect of Severus's life that I hadn't thought of previously. Also, the chapter "June, 1982" should have been entitled "June, 1983" and I've changed it in the story.

Anyway, here is the next chapter (a little earlier than expected), and it takes place somewhere else besides Hogwarts for once. Note that there are adult themes in this chapter, but nothing explicit. Hope you enjoy it.

P.S. I'm having a time dealing with the intricacies of this site, so forgive me for any errors and weirdness and such. I'm used to other formats. :)

Malfoy Manor

August, 1983

"Ah, Severus Snape! Or Professor Snape, I should say," was how Lucius Malfoy had welcomed Severus to Malfoy Manor that summer, chilling Severus with his cold smile and clapping him on the back with one hand as his other hand snapped at the house elf. "Dobby! Take Professor Snape's trunk to his chambers." Then to Severus: "Well, my old friend, and how is Hogwarts? Much changed since were were students there, hmm? And how does our dear Headmaster do, eh?" and such like, making no demur in trying to worm out of Severus any useful information he could obtain about Dumbledore. Severus had expected this, of course, but perhaps not within five seconds of his arrival in Malfoy Manor.

Apart from his host's cunning (but unsuccessful) schemes to obtain incriminating intelligence about Hogwarts' headmaster, Severus's visit hadn't been a terrible trial, all in all. Lucius allowed Severus to roam the grounds at will-the Malfoy family graveyard alone was the size of Spinner's End in its entirety-and many pleasant evenings were spent at the dining table, where, apart from being served the sort of delicacies not even found at Hogwarts (and each of which would most likely cost his father a year's wages), Severus had the pleasure of being attended to genteelly, if coldy, by Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy nee Black. He'd remembered her from their Hogwarts years together of course, and while he'd never exactly fancied her, she'd always fascinated him, the way a marble statue might have fascinated him for its sheer inanimate perfection. Oddly, she seemed always to have returned the fascination, and this was manifested by the way she kept her eyes on his face as though it didn't disgust her, while she asked him polite questions about the most unimportant things, when she wasn't hinting at his being a favorite of the Dark Lord's. At such instances Lucius would shoot her a look, and she'd fall silent for a moment, before asking Severus if he would like another helping of the gelleed bicorn spleen.

Now and again, as Narcissa presided over the table with such elegance and grace, and Lucius's smile warmed noticeably as he gazed upon his marble-statue wife, something deep within Severus seemed to sigh, and he'd wonder momentarily what his life would be like had this been his table, and the woman at the head of it had hair of fire instead of ice, and she bore the last name of Snape instead of Malfoy...

But such thoughts were fortunately interrupted by the Malfoy child tugging on his robes to be lifted "Up! Up, Sebbis!" and Severus would oblige with resignation, wondering after all how he would have felt about having a shrieking, wriggling tot of his own forever in his lap. But he knew without question he would gladly accept even that, for her.

Despite all these pleasantries, a most unwelcome circumstance arose during his stay at the Malfoy estate, wherein at least once a week the Malfoys invited to dine with them one of a revolving array of suspiciously unmarried witches, who eyed Severus with curiosity, if not downright speculation. As Severus well knew that his physical appearance and demeanor hardly inspired feminine ardor, his suspicions hardened into an uncomfortable, and revolting, certainty.

After supper, Severus and Lucius customarily retired to Lucius's study, where the house elf kept Severus's crystal glass of century-old firewhiskey filled to the brim (despite the fact that Severus hardly tasted it) while Severus and Lucius discussed the important events of the day. Lucius was a fool, but he knew quite a bit about the goings-on in the Ministry of Magic, and Severus was aware that Dumbledore would be most keen to hear of these things, never mind his own spies in the Ministry.

On this night, however, after the most recent lady had been offered up to him for his scrutiny, Severus had shaken his head after they'd sat down in Lucius's dragon-leather armchairs, said "It won't do, Lucius."

"Whatever do you mean?" Lucius asked, his pale brows raised innocently as he snapped his fingers at the house elf to bring them full glasses.

Severus smiled blandly. "The rather artfully artless rotation of unattached witches you've invited to dine with us at least once per week."

"Narcissa's friends," Lucius carelessly waved a hand in the air.

"Of course," Severus bowed. "However," he went on, nodding to the house elf as it set a glass of firewhiskey on the table next to Severus, "I believe I must insist that if any of them are hoping to become attached, they'd do best to look elsewhere."

"But why?" Lucius asked now, giving up the ruse. "Are they all so unappealing as that?"

"It's not a matter of 'appeal', but rather of inclination. I do not wish to become attached at present."

"'At present'?" Lucius scoffed. "You mean ever?" Severus blinked. But then, Lucius went on in a more affable tone, "In all the years I've known you, Severus, I've not once seen you with anyone, much less heard of you forming any attachment at all. Narcissa has informed me-"

"Ah, this is Narcissa's doing, is it," Severus said coldly. He was annoyed at the Malfoys' prying aspersions.

"She's trying to help you."

"I did not ask for 'help'."

"You're the the most hard-hearted man I've ever met. Why, Annetta Borgin-even Annetta Borgin doesn't stir you?"

"I'm afraid I've completely forgotten which one that was."

"She was just here tonight! And she's..." Lucius paused, and Severus didn't need Legitimens to tell that Lucius was trying to find a description that was not titillating or otherwise salacious.

"I believe our ideas of 'appealing' are quite different," Severus observed.

"But she's charming, Severus! And, as her grandmother was a half-blood," Lucius added, lowering his voice as though speaking of something not fit for polite company, "she should have few complaints about your own parentage."

"I should as soon kiss a werewolf."

"Severus!"

"Why not foist these women on your house elf instead, you're wasting your time with me."

"What is the matter with you?" Lucius exclaimed in a tone of annoyance. "Why on earth do you hold yourself so precious from women? It's unnatural! Or...or is it not women that you prefer?" A raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk here.

Severus growled angrily and muttered dark incantations regarding Crucio-ing Lucius, to which Lucius sighed with impatience and said "Well then? You're not a Muggle monk, are you? Or one of the Druids from the Lost Isle? You didn't take a vow of celibacy, did you? Or is it..." Lucius's face changed, and he continued in a quiet voice "It's not the Evans girl, is it? Do you still-"

"Enough!" Severus roared murderously, lunging from his chair and clutching the lapels of Lucius's robes in an iron grip. "Enough."

Lucius tore himself from Severus's grasp, started back in surprise.

"Upon my word, Severus," Lucius whispered. He narrowed his icy eyes and studied Severus's face for a moment, then shook his head, said "Well whatever the matter, it can't be any good for you to lock yourself away with merely your lacewing flies and pickled pixies for company." He chuckled. "Why, even dear Bellatrix has found herself a mate, and if she-"

"What can it matter to you?" Severus said acidly. "How can you speak to me in such a way?"

"I thought we were friends, Severus."

"I'm weary of 'friends'."

"As you like," Lucius said lightly. "I'll not trouble myself again on your account." Good, Severus thought. "However," Lucius added with a nasty smile, "it seems to me that this rather unreasonable temper of yours is the result of a little...er, frustration, shall we say? Therefore I advise you to attend to it in some manner, lest you find yourself in St. Mungo's with the Longbottoms."

"You-"

"But frankly, this conversation has grown tiresome," Lucius interrupted in a bored voice, ringing the bell for the house elf. "Dobby! Dobby, you miserable creature! Where is my firewhiskey?"

Later, as he lay in the luxurious bed in the rooms appointed to him, Severus mused bitterly on the Malfoys' intervention into his private life. He didn't believe for a moment that Lucius was doing so out of mere friendship. No, it must be something more-undoubtedly to strengthen his connections to one who was privy to the goings-on at Hogwarts, since Lucius was as ambitious as he was cowardly. Severus supposed that Malfoy had lied to those women and told them that Severus had vast amounts of wealth, for he knew that no witch could possibly like him for his own personal features.

Even if one had, though-even so, it made no difference. For how could Lucius understand? How could anyone understand that the ordinary, average witch was nothing in comparison to her? Might as well fashion a ring from a lump of coal instead of a diamond. Might as well drink from a night basin after having sipped from the Lake of the Lost Isle...

"Severus?"

"Mm."

"Severus, wake up."

"Mm?"

"Sev!"

At that his eyes flew open immediately, to find...

To find, hovering over him, phosphorescent in the night like a ghost, the mischievous smile a part of him died with when it did. But its owner was older, somehow, than he'd remembered-the age she'd be now, had she lived.

But how-

"Lily," he whispered. And then, his gaze was everywhere: over the freckles on her cheeks, her eyes that glowed with witch fire, the lock of copper hair rusted by the night that fell from her temple and brushed his cheekbone. He reached out to touch the lock of hair. It was warm against his fingers, as though she'd just woken up, and soft as silk, as he'd always remembered. He held it to his nose; it smelled of flowers, and sawdust, and a spicy hint of musk.

At once he began shaking his head, shaking it back and forth as he clenched his hands over his face, no, no, it can't be. He knew what this was; it had happened before.

"Severus? What's the matter, love?" Spoken so tenderly it stung his eyes.

"You're not real, you're not real," Severus insisted, even as soft hands tried to pull his fingers from his face.

"Hush, of course I am," she whispered, and he felt her lips brush his brow.

"You're a dream," he murmured, now holding her hands in his and gazing up at her sweet face through his tears.

She smiled wistfully at that, then said "It's real for us."

As she lay down on him in the bed, he suddenly realized that they were both unclothed; and right then he didn't care if it were a dream, if she were a ghost, or if he truly were mad and in St. Mungo's after all, for all that was necessary right then and there was to savor every last particle of her, every last second of this moment before the dream ended, the ghost departed, his mind darkened.