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It’s that moment you know things aren’t going to end well. Blood rushes behind your ears, heart rate escalates at astronomical speeds, palms become slick with sweat, lungs are suddenly unable to draw in sufficient amounts of oxygen.
Brain racing, you try to come up with words; anything that could potentially spare you. You think of the words you’ve already said, the ones that were rejected as they fell from your lips. It’s then, in your moment of panic, that your brain suddenly clicks. You realize the Dark Lord knows just as much as you do. He’s put together the pieces, probably far before he’d let you in on the secret, far before you’d figured it out yourself. This was a death sentence, something you wouldn’t walk away from.
“My Lord—let me go to the boy—” (655) You try, voice steady compared to the shaking of your insides.
Everything feels on edge as your words are disregarded completely. You honestly didn’t stand a chance, but you just…you needed to get to the boy, to get to Potter. He had to get the message from Dumbledore, he had to know he needed to die by the Dark Lord’s hand. This was one of the most crucial pieces of information Dumbledore had shared with you, but now…now, things were different. The Dark Lord had you cornered, and as much as he trusted you, as much as you appeared to be on his side and faithful…you were disposable.
You raise your wand as the Dark Lord admits your impending death. You cry out to him, a wild attempt at mercy from a man who has none to give.
“It cannot be any other way. I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last.” (656)
His words are calm and casual, as if discussing the weather. You feel the weight drop in your stomach though, knowing the following actions will be anything but as the Dark Lord raises his wand against you.
How could things end like this? You had more to give. These memories…these moments of truth, of information that was shared with you…they were never for you benefit, at least not directly. You had never intended to use these things, these bits of information that at times made no sense to you. You were just the messenger, someone to pass on the information in hopes that her son would live—that Lily’s son would live. Lily.
The Dark Lord’s wand comes down and you’re left momentarily unharmed. Relief crashes through your system, along with shock at the idea of mercy being granted in the name of Lily Evans. Her face floats in your mind for a minute, smile stretched across her lips as her red hair floats in the breeze behind her.
Not even a half breath later, relief is replaced with panic, putting ice in your veins. Instead of a spell, you turn to find Nagini, whose protective cage had been kept close to the Dark Lord, barrelling towards you.
Whether the scream actually emitted from your lips or not is something you have no idea about until, after a seething hiss, you feel fangs sink into your flesh. Burning pain takes over, pulling a scream from your lungs as your knees give out at the force of the bite. It seems like hours pass—or maybe even days—before the snake is pulled away and you slump to the ground.
Your heart rate has picked up again, a burning sensation flowing through your limbs as the venom spreads. You start feeling lightheaded a moment later, fingers grasping at the wound where the warm liquid escapes your body. The world around you blurs, spinning a bit as you struggle to breathe.
Turning your head, you’re suddenly lying in the grass of a park you once frequented near your childhood home at Spinner’s End. Confusion radiates across your brain as the grass and sky spin together. Before panic sets in, a young girl, maybe 12 years old, falls down in the grass beside you, giggling.
“Sev, what part of spinning in circles on the swings was a good idea? I’m so dizzy,” Lily laughs as your world stops spinning.
Your heart beats painfully hard in your chest as you look around to find that you’re also 12 years old, and instead of the worries of war and the Dark Lord lingering over your every breath, you’re just a kid at the park.
“Hey, what’re you thinking about?” Lily asks, rolling onto her stomach and lifting her head to look at you, her wild hair falling in her face despite her attempts to brush it out of the way.
You just shake your head, finding it nearly impossible to come up with words as you look into her green eyes, finding a yearning so deep and powerful, it hurts.
“Well, if you’re wondering about what’s going to happen next week when we return to Hogwarts, I’ll tell you what…we’re still going to be the best of friends. We managed being in different houses last year and I don’t imagine that’s about to change now,” she flashes a smile at you.
Everything spins, the burning sensation moving to your head as your body convulses with the pain. The park you frequented as a child is now gone as the next moment you catch your breath, you’re leaning against the wall just outside the potion’s room in the dungeons. The period is just about over as you stare at the torch on the wall opposite you. You watch the flames, watching them move freely and openly.
After a couple minutes, the bell sounds. You push yourself forward, moving to the wall opposite the door. You take a couple steps to the side, away from where the flow of students usually move. You are trying hard to avoid Potter and his gang—not feeling like the open mockery—but are unable to leave the door as you need to talk to Lily. Or at least try to.
The stampede of people out the door makes it easy for you to get lost from sight. It leads to the quick departure of Potter’s crew and a quick clearing of the doorway, beyond which you can see Lily slowly packing her things together. Her eyes are focused on what she’s doing and for a moment, you can only stare at how calm and relaxed she seems.
This, of course, only lasts until she looks up and sees you waiting. Her shoulders draw back in an instant as she pulls herself to her full height and her chin raises defiantly. She wishes Slughorn a good day before rushing out the door.
You hurry after her, jogging a bit at first until she realizes you don’t have a bag that will weigh you down this time.
“Lily, will you please stop and talk to me!”
“I don’t want to talk. I have homework to do.”
“Lily, come on.” She’s been avoiding you for days and you're feeling lost without her. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean-”
Before you finish your sentence, she stops dead and turns towards you. You narrowly avoid knocking into her and stumble back a couple of steps. You look into her eyes to find them molten in her irritation and anger.
“Listen to me loud and clear here, Severus. I am done. You can’t go around calling everyone but me a Mudblood and expect me to find it alright, because quite honestly, it’s not. I hate the stupid little games you play and I will not put up with the little gang of Death Eaters you hang out with. You’ve chosen that life, from early on, and I didn’t. So just stop. Leave me alone,” she growls, looking as if she wants to go on lecturing you before she shakes her head and storms away.
You open your mouth, closing it a moment later. Your eyes flutter closed, just for a second, but upon opening them, the heat that was spreading through your body had turned painful, like little pins being pressed into every inch of skin. You still have the green eyes before you, sparkling just the way you remember them from those moments with Lily, but it only takes you a second to find the eyes you’re looking at are framed by the looks of Potter. It’s the Potter Boy.
Hand falling from the wound, you reach blindly forward until your fingers find the fabric of Potter’s robes. You pull him closer, just a bit, as you focus on releasing the lock on your brain. You take down the barriers that keep your memories as your own, needing Potter to get the moments, the information you were meant to share. He needed to hear Dumbledore’s words, maybe hear more about how you were and why you have done what you have.
You encourage him to take them, keeping tight hold of the front of his robes in order to keep yourself present and make sure he gets all of the information he needs to succeed. He needs the information to make Lily’s death alright.
A ragged gasp and you’re in a dark room. There is just a sliver of moonlight peeking through the boarded windows of the old house. You’re standing as still as possible, hearing just a murmur of voices before the swishing of a cloak. Your body is shaking as you take a couple deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself. Being this worked up, fear attempting to overtake your body, will get you nowhere with the Dark Lord. You know that. You need the cool and collected mask…you have to pull yourself together and be ready.
Pulling your shoulders up, you take a shuttering breath. You release all the air in your lungs before regulating a series of small breaths that you can count.
One…two…three…four…five…
The numbers you count increase to the high double digits before any more movement is heard. Just a slight creak of the door lets you know the Dark Lord has come to speak to you, upon your request.
“Severus? What do I owe the pleasure?” Voldemort’s voice is cold. “Is there more you know?”
“No, my Lord,” You incline your head just a bit. “I know nothing more than what I have shared thus far.”
The room falls silent for a couple of moments as your words, though quiet, echo around the room. The dangerous edge of panic floats around you but you know you must just speak your words, and speak them wisely. You are trusted, you have shared inside information, and you can make a request.
“Then what is it, Severus? I have a lot to get on to,” Voldemort demands with just a slight change of tone.
“A request, my Lord,” You say carefully, focusing on keeping your breathing with your numbers, starting at seventy-eight as you no longer recall what number you were previously on.
“A Request? Of what sort.”
“Of the mother…Lily. Spare her.”
Your words have come off your tongue smoothly as your eyes focus on the dark figure before you. You are unsure what sort of reaction to expect, as you cannot see the Dark Lord’s face and it takes him quite a few moments before he responds to you.
“The girl? Why would I spare the girl? She is in the way of what I want, what I need and I will not grant her mercy—”
“No, my Lord. Take the boy and his father. They have no value to me. But spare the girl.”
More silence follows your request and you resist the urge to hit yourself. You sounded pleading. Pleading does not get requests met. It creates problems. You know it does and you fear where things will go from here.
“Just the girl?”
“Yes, my Lord,” you affirm stiffly.
A couple of silent moments pass and you find yourself holding your breath. You can hardly keep count of the seconds you go without oxygen, without being able to function, without knowing whether or not her life was still in danger.
“Very well. As long as I reach the boy, I will spare the girl.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” the words leave your lips as you breathe in again, feeling as if you’re breathing for the first time since you’d repeated the prophecy to the Dark Lord. You take another breath before you turn and head for the door. You slip out of the house, moving down the street almost immediately.
You walk, patiently waiting for the relief to settle over your body and remove the anxiety as you’ve ensured Lily’s safety, only to find it doesn’t come. As much effort as you’ve put in to tell the Dark Lord to spare her, is it possible it is enough? Is the Dark Lord’s word enough to save her?
Doubt starts circling your head and within a second, you’ve withdrawn your wand and disapparated, the sharp pulling feeling radiates around your neck as the rest of your body has started going cold, surpassing the pain and going straight to being numb. You try to remember what you’re focusing on, eyes moving to find the Potter boy has now withdrawn his wand and is collecting the memories you’re more than willing to give. You gasp for air, eyes fluttering closed as you try to keep your mind on tract.
Opening your eyes, you’re at Hogwarts in Dumbledore’s office. Sun pours into the room through the open windows, all but blinding you. Your breathing is ragged as the rumours of the night swirl around your head. You’d heard things…things about Godric’s Hallow, things about the Dark Lord…things about Lily. You couldn’t bring yourself to listen to them because they couldn’t be true, those horrible things. You had gone to Dumbledore directly, you had played his game in order to keep her safe. She had to be safe.
Dumbledore enters the room and you turn towards him. His eyes are grim, face pale behind his half-moon spectacles. He glides across the room, heading straight to the window. His eyes are set far, obviously not seeing much as his thoughts are elsewhere.
“Dumbledore…tell me she’s not…” you start but can’t go on any further. You can’t get the words out as your mouth dries up and your throat closes. It cannot be true.
“Dead?” Dumbledore turns, moving to stand near you. His eyes are piercing, a mixture of fury and great sadness reflecting in his features. “Lily is dead. As is James.”
You stare up at him for a moment before your breath leaves you. You try to gasp, to get it back, but it only makes your situation worse. Inhumane sounds escape your lips as the initial pain, the initial fire burning through your body fades. Numbness comes but you still can’t breathe. Your grip on the robes before you becomes weak as you blink your eyes to find Potter, the only piece of her left. His attention is intent upon the memories, the only part of her that remains with you, the only part you can openly admit to loving.
“Look…at…me.” (658)
The words barely make it past your lips, and for a moment, you’re unsure if the boy heard you. Seconds pass and he turns his head. His eyes, so like his mother’s, look at you.
A thrill runs down your spine; images, moments that you know are forever lost float behind your eyes. The announcement of Lily’s death, her wedding to Potter, the fleeting look she gave you at graduation, the apparent avoidance as she’d walk the halls with Potter in the late years of school, the shocked disappointment and anger as you’d called her a Mudblood, nervous first years standing together to be sorted, talking to her for the first time at the park, watching her swing a couple times before then, laughing every time she’d release the ropes and fly freely through the air to land on her feet a number of feet from her starting point…
Taking a breath, you find you’re on your feet again. Your fingers trail up to your neck, finding the skin perfectly intact. A moment of confusion takes over your mind as you turn around to find yourself in the very park it seemed like it all started. Looking down, you find yourself on the very swing that often haunts your mind. You feel the scream building in your lungs, something you’d seldom felt in your life, until you look up.
For a moment, your breath gets caught in your chest as you see the red hair and a glimmer of the green eyes you’ve missed so dearly. Lily raises her hand, fingers curling towards her palm in a wave before dropping back to her side. Your eyes take the time to take in her every feature, finding she looks exactly what you’d imagined her to look like at 38 year old. By the time your eyes make it back to her face, her lips, you find a small smile on her lips.
Thank you.
The words are easy to read from her lips and for a second, you’re confused. You have no idea why she’s thanking you when you should be thanking her. She’s the one who has appeared, in your death, after the years you’d dreamed of having her. You tilt your head, presumably with a confused look on your face as her smile turns sad. Her eyes leave yours and she reaches out a hand that you find belongs to James Potter.
Your stomach drops as their hands join. They turn away from you and start walking away, forcing oxygen out of your lungs as your chest constricts. Your vision blurs as the image of Lily and James Potter walking away becomes a mess of light and dark behind the tears. You don’t know why your heart burns at the image, or why you expected anything different. Your life had been full of not being enough, or being too much on the wrong side of things. Your choices had never led to the things your wanted, except at the same time…Lily recognized the effort. Lily appreciated the effort and things weren’t as bad as they were.
With a heavy breath, eyes squeezing shut tight, you release the ropes of the swing. You shift your weight forward, taking a moment to engrain the look Lily gave you, one you hadn’t seen since you were both in fifth year. It puts a warm feeling in your stomach, one that almost reassures you that things may change, before you’re falling.