Chapter 1 – Death and Rebirth

Basking in the pale moonlight, the graveyard emerged from the shadows like a spectre in the night. Rows of yew trees stood sentinel, their twisted branches reaching skyward like gnarled fingers grasping for the stars. Their dark foliage whispered secrets in the chilly breeze, a haunting chorus that echoed through the silent air, beckoning with the promise of sinister death.

Amidst the darkness, white tombstones rose from the earth like smooth bones, their pale surfaces gleaming in the moonlight. Each marker bore the weight of countless memories, etched with names of the departed and dates lost to time. Statues dotted the landscape, frozen in time, their features worn and weathered, their faces twisted into eternal calmness.

The air was heavy with an eerie stillness, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant hoot of an owl. A palpable sense of coldness hung in the air, seeping into bones and chilling the soul, despite the season being late spring. It was a place where time stood still, where the veil between the living and the dead was thin, and the boundary between reality and nightmare blurred into obscurity. And death had rang its bell that evening, exacted its toll on the still body of the handsome Hufflepuff boy slumped on the dark green grass, glassy eyes forever staring at the starlight above.

'Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!' spoke the man, and the grave at the boy's feet cracked, the green eyes behind rounded glasses terrified as they stared at the enormous cauldron in front of him. A thin trickle of ivory dust rose into the air from the grave and dropped inside the cauldron, making the surface of the pale water sizzle and crack as it turned into a venomous blue.

The glint of silver reflected from the blade illuminated his face, and the man whimpered fretfully as he clutched the dagger. His voice seemed to falter, as if he himself was just as horrified as the dark-haired boy tied to the eerie headstone. He held his left hand over the blistering cauldron, and it looked as though he wished to be anywhere but there, serving his Master.

He swung the dagger upwards, a wild look in his small, watery eyes. The scream was deafening in the silence of the cold graveyard, and the splash of the water was enough for the boy to heave. Harry's eyes scrunched up so tightly that he didn't notice the short man until he was mere inches from his face.

'B-blood of the enemy… forcibly taken… you will… resurrect your foe' the silver dagger cut his forearm, blood dripping from the torn robes and onto the Riddle grave, a sickening dripping inside Peter Pettigrew's glass phial. The cauldron welcomed the blood with a change in colour, as it became of a pale white and sizzled, sparks floating in the air like the crackling of a fire.

And then, quite abruptly, they faded away, and the sizzling ceased. The silence was restored, and for a moment that lasted an eternity the night was quiet, as though it had all been some sickening nightmare. Then, a dark figure, tall and skeletally thin slowly rose from the cauldron, like a monstrous experiment, unhurriedly stirring and growing in size until he stood like a human, though his face appeared as though it had been carved by someone who had nothing but a vague idea of what a human looked like.

His skin was paler than a skull, his eyes red and incensed, with a pupil like a snake's and two slits in the middle of his sickening face replacing what should have been his nose. His skull was hairless and his hands like pale bones, long fingers like spider's legs as they delved into a pocket of his robes and took out a wand. He took no notice of his servant's whimpering, if not to grasp his arm and point his wand at a mark of a skull and a snake, which danced on the man's forearm.

The dark graveyard swarmed with hooded figures. They appeared with a resounding snapping sound and stood unmoving, the air of terror clouding the whole scene. Their newly reborn Master examined his followers, staring at the missing spaces with thin, ashen lips, cold rage that foretold torture and certain death seeping from him. The man slowly approached the boy, his thin hand rising to his face, nails resembling claws piercing his cheek and dragging in a deep cut.

Cruel laughter and jeering sounds followed the taunting of the young boy, who was hiding behind a gravestone now, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and unblinking as his mouth went dry; he made himself small, tried to quieten the thundering of his heart. The cold laughter the man gave was akin to a predator's triumph over cornering a prey.

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his jaw tightening with set determination and fear as he stood up, his wand gripped so tightly in his right hand that his knuckles turned stark white. If he were to die, let him face death like his father and be brave like his mother. Those were the thoughts lingering at the forefront of his mind, the words he kept repeating to himself, giving them power, willing his muscles to move.

'Expelliarmus!' Harry shouted, and a jet of red light shot out of his wand, quickly parried by the tall man in front of him.

'Avada Kedavra' cried his opponent, a jet of green light parrying the red one. For a few long seconds, the two struggled, their wands vibrating as though charged electrically, until they both rose in the air, a thread of gold uniting their wands as they stilled on a clear patch of grass. The golden light splintered into a thousand offshoots that formed a dome around them, crossing paths and travelling from one wand towards the other, until finally, the boy managed to direct it to his foe. The ghostly outline of the boy's friend straightened up after having come out of the golden thread, his grey eyes set on the teenager in front of him.

More and more people solidified around the two opponents, each and every single one of them encouraging the boy to hold on. The plump woman that emerged then was middle-aged, her wide eyes settling on Harry Potter.

'Don't let go, now!' she cried, her voice echoing in the battle, 'don't let him get you, Harry- don't let go!'

Then a young man emerged from the man's wand, his hair as unruly as Harry's, his voice quiet but resolute as he spoke to him.

'When the connection is broken, we will linger for only moments… but we will give you time… you must get to the Portkey, it will return you to Hogwarts… do you understand, Harry?'

And so the boy broke the link between the two wands with a strained scream, his throat raw as he darted to his schoolmate's body and held onto his wrist, summoning the cup, which touched him just as the pale wizard shot a deadly curse in his direction. It hit a yew tree, which withered and died, crumbling onto itself.

The wizard's fury was so great that all of his followers managed to get a taste of retaliation before they were dismissed.

The cauldron behind the eerie figure was still simmering quietly, but the pale man did not take notice of it as he examined his father's grave. Enraged at the idea of being foiled by the boy, the man did not notice how many minutes had passed since he had vanished with the help of the Portkey until a tall figure apparated in front of him. Another Death Eater, one who hadn't bothered to conceal his identity, his gaunt face framed by long, greasy dark hair, his black eyes devoid of any emotion as he stared at his Master.

The place Severus was summoned to was a dark graveyard, stone statues all around the headstones, yew trees looking eerie in the pale moonlight. He set his dark eyes on an enormous cauldron, the contents of which were simmering, blinding white. Blood magic. Deep inside the depths of his mind, a wave of queasiness surged, the memory of Potter's cut vivid in his memory. The fact that something so twisted could be borne out of the boy's blood was sickening in it of itself.

Severus looked impassive as his sharp gaze set on the ghostly figure in front of him, who had his snakelike, crimson eyes on him. Even though his skin paled at that sight; no emotion showed in his blank face.

The face in front of him was a twisted thing, snakelike features merging with human ones. He had a bare, white skull with taut skin that looked like a corpse's; his face lacked a nose, only slits instead of nostrils remaining. He had narrowed crimson eyes the colour of fresh blood and a cold smile twisting a lipless mouth.

Severus Snape swallowed, cold sweat trickling down his temple, Dumbledore's last words echoing in his mind.

'Severus, you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready… if you are prepared…

'I am'

He closed his eyes, gripping his wand tightly in his hand, the dragon heartstring considerably hot against his dry, cold fingers.

'You are a far braver man by far than Igor Karkaroff. You know, sometimes I think we sort too soon'

Severus let out a mirthless scoff, rolling his black robe past his elbow. Courage it may as well be, he thought darkly, for I am sure he might as well kill me. He was meeting a Gryffindor's death after all. Courage and stupidity stood on opposite sides of a very fine line, that he knew all too well.

He occluded, pressing his wand to his forearm, the twisting feeling of apparition in his stomach doing nothing to quell the queasiness he felt as he vanished, unsure if he would make it back.

'Severus, how good of you to make it in time' The Dark Lord mocked, his voice high-pitched and sending a rush of coldness down Severus' spine.

'You should know I loathe lateness. Crucio'

Severus had been ready for this, but nothing could have prepared him for that pain. He writhed in agony, biting the inside of his cheek so violently that a gush of warm blood flooded his mouth. A choked sound tore itself from his throat, but he refused to scream. It lasted an eternity, or so he thought. When it was over, Severus was slumped against the grass, panting, his fingers trembling wildly as they clawed at the soil beneath them like a madman clinging to his sanity.

'You've always been stubborn, haven't you, Severus? I have heard such tales about your true allegiance…' the Dark Lord murmured, turning him on his stomach with his foot. Severus didn't manage to get up before another curse was uttered, one that felt like his blood was boiling in his body. His veins bulged and seemed to burn, and Severus convulsed on the ground, his back arching, his eyes scrunched up as cold sweat glistened on his inflamed skin. He clenched his teeth, occluding the pain to the best of his abilities.

'My Lord- allow me… to explain…' he wheezed, trying to get to his knees, the words barely understandable. The curse stopped, and though he could feel the lasting effects of it, there were no visible wounds on his body.

'Can you, Severus? Explain, then, so that I may decide whether I feel merciful enough to spare you'

Severus got to his feet, his knees buckling, unable to sustain his thin frame. He forced himself to straighten up, breathing shallowly, his body still convulsing and refusing to still.

'My Lord… I wished to come back earlier, but I am here now on Dumbledore's orders. He wishes for me to spy on you' he said calmly, watching the man in front of him, who merely twirled his wand in his fingers. Severus did not break eye contact, refusing to give in to the pain of his body. He had a task to complete, he would not allow the pain to poison his mind and ruin his purpose.

'I have let him believe I was reluctant to return, that I was adverse to the idea of your revival. He believes my loyalty to him, for I have been under his tutelage since before your downfall' he explained, and his Master's pale lips thinned, scorn etched in the lines of his face.

'And are you, Severus? Loyal?' he asked. Severus did not hesitate.

'Yes, my Lord. To you' he said in a matter-of-fact voice, but the Dark Lord didn't budge, he merely tilted his head, his cruel smile still on his lips.

'Is that so? I have heard so many of your fellow Death Eaters utter such nonsense in the last two hours. Why didn't you search for me?' he asked, his voice now harsher.

'I believed you dead, my Lord. I am deeply ashamed of my lack of faith, and I see the error in my ways. I believed Quirrell to be nothing more than a charlatan, and even when the Dark Mark burnt on my skin, I was under Dumbledore's careful eye. I did what I thought would hold my position amongst his trusted advisors and followed his orders for the time being. I was unbeknownst of Barty Crouch's disguise, otherwise I would have acted accordingly and ensured Potter's arrival in here would not be thwarted by the Hufflepuff boy'

The Dark Lord considered his words, and Severus watched him try to find faults in his arguments, until finally, he set his eyes on him.

'If you believed me gone, Severus, why did you stay under Dumbledore's tutelage?' he asked, and watched him with a slight hint of anger in his voice.

'Mine was a convenient post. I had a comfortable job and Dumbledore's protection so long as he believed me faithful and repentant. He kept me out of prison. I remained your loyal servant, my Lord, but I saw no reason in going to Azkaban. I saw my opportunity and I took it. And if ever you came back to power, then I would resume my work as a double-agent… as your spy' said Severus, his lies bordering truth as closely as he could get.

Severus' attention was briefly caught by a smouldering in the cauldron. He cast aside that thought, concentrating on the hard weaving he was trying to do, his manipulation subtle and controlled so as to not raise suspicions. If he had been too coaxing and pushed his promises of loyalty too much, the Dark Lord would have thought him to be lying, while if he hadn't appeared repentant enough he would be considered Dumbledore's servant.

'That you are, and a clever man, I say. You were a boy the last time I saw you, you are now a man. I know you will understand why I had to punish you. No harm done, Dumbledore has always been foolish, it will prove most helpful in the future. And yet, I wonder if you resented your Lord after that night… for that Mudblood you wished me to spare. She was a pretty woman, brave, but I fear she just wouldn't subside. A foolish girl, believing she could bargain with Lord Voldemort to save her child' said the Dark Lord in a bored tone, his voice casual, his lips twitching in mockery.

Lily…

Severus looked at the twisted creature in front of him, wishing he had the power to murder him as waves of crushing rage and blinding pain lapped at the back of his mind, filling his thoughts with memories her corpse on that cold night of thirteen years before. His fault. He had killed her, the only one he had ever loved. The only one that had ever cared about him, seen something decent in him. But this was cheap provocation, a mere taunt devised to unravel him, and Severus was not a naïve man.

'It has been a long time, my Lord, and I am no longer a boy. She means nothing to me. I desired her, that is all. I now see how misplaced my lust was, I merely wished to take her away from Potter's grasp. I found women of worthier blood to take care of my needs in the subsequent years' the words were bitter in his mouth, so twisted that had he not been occluding, the bile would have risen to his throat. She had been the light in a world of darkness, the embodiment of everything that was pure and gentle in his wretched life.

'You are not alone in your desires, Severus. Many of my followers have such carnal desires. I know how much you resented Harry Potter's father, I have seen it in your mind. But what of Dumbledore? Was he such a fool as to believe you were willing to change your ways?' there was clear scorn in the Dark Lord's voice, and Severus' lips thinned for a second.

'I spun him a tale of deep remorse. I feigned regret over my choices, and because his fault is fooling himself in seeing the best of people, he welcomed me with open arms, believing me to be his loyal, regretful man' he let out a faux scoff, his eyes glinting with amusement. The Dark Lord's mirrored his own as his mouth stretched in a mocking smile, clearly finding what Severus knew to be true feelings ridiculous.

'Yes, Dumbledore has always had a weak spot for teary-eyed remorse and fairy tales. If you are telling the truth, Severus, then you won't mind me ensuring it, I presume' he said coaxingly, and Severus merely nodded, compliant. The Dark Lord would not go easy on him. Severus had expected it, but it still proved difficult to keep upright as he split his head open like a damned melon, his intrusion feeling like a hot knife twisting in his mind as he tried to catch him off-guard. Severus let him think he had. He imbued every memory of how he had thought the Dark Lord to be dead with pain and shame, feelings taken from Lily's death and his self-loathing. He had already tampered with a lot of memories, ensuring his lies would not be detected.

Although, self-absorbed as he was, the Dark Lord probably mused over the unbearable suffering his followers had felt in the moment of his downfall, and the subsequent elation to find he was being revived.

Severus focused on weaving his memories so that they would underline a desire to serve and acquire more power. He envisioned himself doing his Master's biddings and rising amongst the ranks, for he knew the Dark Lord always rewarded those faithful to him. He occluded his disgust at the memories of raids and vile acts of murder and torture until only twisted pleasure was left. His father had been a Muggle, and he knew wizards ought to be given the freedom to put down such worthless animals; his only regret being that he had been unable to murder him himself. He was grateful his Master had seen potential within him in spite of his tainted blood, and wanted to prove himself.

When the Dark Lord's overwhelming presence left his mind, he found himself on his knees, his ears ringing with static.

'You remain loyal, Severus, and very valuable to me' he said, giving him a mirthless smile. The cauldron behind them hissed angrily. Severus thought he saw something move in the shadows. An animal, perhaps, was scurrying away from the scene. Or perhaps, he was just feeling the pangs of the torture and Legilimency, and his sight couldn't help but fail him. Besides, he did not dare look away from his Master.

'My Lord' he nodded, feeling dazed as he looked at his Master.

'Go now, Severus. Scamper back to Dumbledore, and tell him that you have my trust' said the Dark Lord before he disapparated. Severus let out a pent-up breath, his whole body trembling with suppressed pain as his Occlumency defences crumbled. His face contorted in agony, and he disapparated, longing for his potions, longing for something that would quieten the throbbing of every fibre of his sore body and mind. Longing for a peace he would not know for a very long time now that he belonged to the Dark Lord once again.

Some said there was light, some said there was nothing; some claimed they would reunite with lost ones. Lily Potter knew they were all wrong. It was darkness. It was pain, and fear, and horror. It didn't even feel like an afterlife, it felt like the burning flames of Hell. She wasn't supposed to feel as though her body had been torn to pieces and was slowly being put back together. She'd always been told that the killing curse was painless, that it spelled instant death.

So why did her body feel so heavy? Why did it burn, everywhere, as if she were on fire? Lily cried out, agony clouding her eyes, thinking that in all her life she had never wanted to die more than now. What was there for her to live for? James, her Harry-

She retched, her fingernails digging in the damp soil underneath her body. She set her stinging eyes ahead of her, trying to still the world before her drooping eyelids. There were tombstones, stone statues of gruesome angels, a hill with sinister yews… what kind of afterlife was that? It looked like the scene of a gothic novel.

She had thought she had caught a glimpse of two blurry figures talk a good twenty feet from her, but she couldn't quite recall their conversation, or how they looked. They were both gone now, though, the loud sound of Apparition telling her she was safe. The taller one, his limbs long as a spider's had had a voice colder than ice. The other had been strangely familiar, but Lily couldn't for the life of her pinpoint why.

Wasn't she dead? Why did it matter? She breathed in, wheezing, trying to prop herself on her hands and knees. There was an enormous cauldron full of a white potion that lay still inside it. Lily didn't recognise it.

'Harry' she called, her voice foreign to her ears, so broken and raucous that she felt like she hadn't spoken in years. Her mouth felt as though it were full of ash. Where was Harry? He had been crying. She looked around, scrambling to her feet, her eyes wild. You-Know-Who… he couldn't have-

'Harry' she called again, her voice desperate as she reached for a wand that lay forgotten in the grass, looking for that monster of a man who wanted to kill her son, who had killed her husband. There was no one in the dark graveyard. No bodies, no sign of James or Harry. She was alone with the dead.

Lily's head spun, black splotches appearing in her vision as she bent forward, gripping a tombstone for support. She retched again, unable to breathe. She grasped her chest, the point from where everything burnt and sizzled. Lily gazed down at her naked chest, looking with horror at the scar on her sternum: it was the shape of a lightning bolt, with thin, eerie white branches that spread in every direction up to her clavicles. It was searing, enflamed. If she had been hit, then…

'Harry!' she screamed desperately, her knees buckling, her eyelids heavy with grief. She groaned, forcing herself on her feet, shouting her son's name. Harry needed her, he couldn't…

She closed her eyes, panting, her chest heaving, the air piercing her lungs like tiny splinters. Godric's Hollow. Godric's Hollow. She thought madly, the square, her house… suddenly, she felt the familiar twist in her stomach, and a moment after she was hurled in the small square. She tripped, falling on her hands and knees. She stumbled on her feet, dimly registering the blood that was dripping on her naked calves. Not splinched. Just a few cuts. She couldn't even feel them, the adrenaline pumping in her veins, making her head throb and her eyes burn as her gaze darted around her surroundings.

'Harry…' she croaked, looking around. She watched with confusion as the obelisk in the middle of the square morphed into three figures: a man, a woman and their infant in her arms. Lily gulped, recognising James' unruly hair, and her own frame next to him.

What…

'What the fuck…' she murmured, backing from the odd memorial, her knees almost buckling. Were they… dead? All of them? Lily faltered to the square, her face and neck damp from her tears. She looked at the old, consumed house, ivy growing on every corner of it, the right side of the top floor, where Harry's room had been, had been blown up, and some of the cottage's skeleton was visible. It looked like a relic from a horror movie.

Lily walked to the door, opening it, the creaking of the old frame shrouding her shuddering breath as she looked at the stairs.

James…

Her trembling fingers traced the wallpaper, a burnt stain the horrid sign of her husband's death. She wondered if he had suffered like she had. Why was she the one still there? She bit her lip, her eyes shimmering with tears. She looked up at the door at the end of the corridor, her heart in her throat.

'Harry?' she yelled, her voice echoing in the dim corridor. There was no answer. Lily bit her lip hard; hard enough to draw blood. The door to Harry's nursery was ajar, and Lily walked in, observing the empty crib, looking like the ghost of what she remembered. It was burnt on a few of the bars, as if it had been hit by lightning.

Lily felt no air in her lungs, but as the cold breeze of the night hit her naked skin, she turned around, looking at what could only be described as a blast that had destroyed the entire wall in front of Harry's crib. The killing curse couldn't be stopped. She knew that. Even if Harry had managed an instinctual Protego, there wasn't any way it would've worked. Then what…

Had that monster kidnapped him?

Lily's knees gave way at the thought of what would be done to him, and she fell on the ground, feeling like the world had just crashed at her feet. Her shoulders hunched, wails of misery pouring out of her and she screamed until her throat was raw. She flicked the wand she'd found, tears gliding down her face, uncontrollable sobs shaking her small frame. A blueish mist feebly formed in front of her, the figure of a doe stilling near her face.

'Find Dumbledore- Tell him that- James is… and Harry- Harry's not… You-Know-Who found us' her voice cracked as she recalled the sickening thud of James' body dropping on the stairs, the door opening…

She had died, she could remember the green light, the cold laughter when she had pleaded for her son's life. Lily could not recognise her own voice anymore as another strangled cry of pain and grief tore through her. The doe disappeared along the deserted street, and Lily's view was obscured by splotches of darkness, until she passed out, her mind succumbing to a dreamless limbo.

Her throat was parched, her temples throbbing. Lily swallowed, opening her eyes, her field of view moving in and out of focus. A high ceiling, white curtains drawn around her. A deafening ringing in her ears.

She sat up, blinking, swallowing back a dry heave and taking deep breaths. She remembered that place… it was the Hospital Wing. Lily closed her eyes, concentrating on the faint pulsing of blood in her throat. The heaving of her chest, the sensation of heaviness in the muscles of her legs…

She was alive, she thought, hoping it had all been a horrible nightmare.

She tossed the sheets from her body, standing on her feet. A powerful surge of nausea took hold of her, and she swayed, dropping on the soft mattress. She closed her eyes, clutching her throbbing forehead with her hand, the pain behind her closed eyes strong and unwavering.

It means I'm alive, she thought with a rush of adrenaline. Lily stared at the curtains in front of her, specks of nightmarish visions engulfing her mind in a panicked fog.

Green light coming from under the door. A thud on the stairs. Screams. Her screams, pleas for Harry's life. Another blast of green light and silence. But she couldn't recall anything, until she'd heard those two men. She had been immersed in a blazing hot liquid that had scorched her skin, and then it had disappeared and she had been sprawled on the ground. There had been someone with her, she was sure of it, but even as she racked her brain for a speckle of a clear memory, she couldn't remember anything.

Her house had been old, abandoned. The ivy, the creaking of the stale wood, the dust… Where the hell was she?

She got up, staring down at her robes. They weren't hers, they were plain white and baggy. From a closer look, she appeared to be in a hospital gown. She gripped the wand tightly, wetting her parched lips. She flinched, realising her throat and face were damp with tears. She wiped them away, trying to occlude away the pain. It didn't work. No matter how much she had tried at the Order with Edgar Bones, she had never gotten the hang of it. And of course, Edgar had been murdered in August. That only brought her more pain, clouding her already distraught mind.

Be strong, she told herself, breathing deeply as she pulled the curtains open, readying herself to face someone who might tell her that the rest of her family was gone. There was no one in the Hospital Wing. It was supposed to be the first of November, so why was the sky clear, and the room quite warm? Lily peered from the big, arched window, staring with a frown on her face at the green grass and the full trees. There was not a soul to be seen.

How long had she been asleep? Had she been in a coma for months? It looked like it might have been May, maybe even June.

Lily felt overwhelmed, and her hand grasped the stone windowsill for support, her whole body trembling.

Harry… If she had been in a coma, or worse, then were was Harry? Was he even alive? Who had cared for him? Had You-Know-Who killed her son?

Lily felt a horrifying weight in her heart, as if her soul had been sucked out of her. She thought of Harry laughing and chasing their cat, she thought of the way the sun reflected in James' unruly black hair, the way his glasses always seemed to be dirty, always askew whenever he picked up Harry, who would try to take them off his face.

'Lily'

Her eyes snapped up, fearful as they set on a tall, old wizard. Dumbledore. Lily scrambled to her feet, faltering and leaning against the windowsill for support. His bright blue eyes were warm, glistening. She gulped, her eyes darting to his, panic crossing her mind.

'Professor, what happened? I don't know how, but he found us. Harry…' Lily couldn't make sense of the hundreds of questions that flooded her mind, and she swallowed, blinking, her eyes dry and puffy.

'Come with me, dear girl. There is a lot to be said' his voice seemed to crack slightly, and Lily wheezed, her eyes round with misery. Not Harry. Not Harry, please, I can't-

She repeated those words like a mantra as she followed the Headmaster through the corridors, her voice stuck in her throat, because it couldn't be real, Harry couldn't have died. Her baby couldn't be dead while she was still alive. She couldn't even say it, she couldn't make it true.

Let me die. Bring him back- bring him back, kill me instead… just don't let Harry be dead.

Lily found no strength to cry. If Harry was dead, then why was she there? It wasn't right.

'Parents should never survive their children, darling'. It was something her dad had told her from the "cancer chair", or so she had thought it to look like, a week before he had died. Lily had spent Merlin knew how many sleepless nights reading books, books that would help her to find a cure. She had asked herself why she would never be able to get cancer, and her father had. It wasn't fair.

She had created something like a hundred spells, and every single one of them had worked. For a time. It always came back, like a parasite, a curse. What was her prowess in Charms worth, if she couldn't create a bloody spell that would save her dad's life? She had tinkered with dozens of potions, given him just as many, but none of them seemed to work. Not even the ones she had tried to create.

She had never told James, but there had been times, dark times nearing her dad's death, when she had thought about him. About how bloody talented he'd been in Potions. About how, maybe, there was a chance he'd be able to help, of how he'd find a way where she'd failed. Except he had probably gone and joined his precious Death Eaters. For all she knew, he probably would have finished the job and hurt her.

And so her father had died, and she had remained alone in that awful world. She had barely been nineteen. With Petunia barely talking to her when they'd desperately needed each other, getting married to James had seemed the quickest way to fill that void.

But now here she was, once again completely alone. And Harry had lost his life before he had even gotten the chance to live it. Lily walked silently, in a trance, no tears left in her eyes. They were too young to die. All of them. Their lives had barely started, and yet they had been culled by the war.

She let Dumbledore lead her where he wanted, his thin hand on her shoulder as he gently guided her to a chair. Lily hadn't noticed they were in his office. There was a ringing in her ears, Dumbledore was talking, but Lily could hear nothing. She stared at him blankly, feeling inside a cage of glass, as though she was slowly sinking deep underwater, never to breathe air again.

A/N: I have decided to finally start publishing this story, which I have been working on for many years. A portion of it has already been written, I aim to post the next chapter in around two weeks. This story will follow both Severus and Lily as main characters. Neither of them are perfect, but there will be no character bashing, and the same goes for the other characters. I hope that this can be followed even in discussions that may arise in the comments.

My aim is that of portraying the characters as humans with both good and bad within them, and hopefully showcase their motivations, and their traits, whether positive or negative. I'm not a native speaker, so please forgive me for any mistakes or odd sentences you may catch in my work.

That being said, this story has been beta-read by Fyrelyght, who I thank for the continued support on this project and her insistence on wanting me to start publishing this story. I hope you enjoy the story :)