Chapter Text
LATE AUGUST, 1981
Above a filthy river, between banks choked with weeds and litter, an enormous smokestack — the crumbling remnant of an abandoned factory — rose tall and menacing against the storm-dark sky. There was no sound except the whisper of black water sliding past the shore, no sign of life… until a faint pop split the silence and a slender hooded figure appeared.
The woman reached the top of the embankment, where a row of rusted railings separated the river from a narrow cobblestone road. Slipping through a gap between them, she darted across the street.
The rain had intensified. The cloak that had once billowed behind her now clung to her back, soaked through.
Several streetlamps were broken. She ran through alternating patches of weak light and suffocating darkness before plunging into a deserted maze of brick houses. Finally, she turned onto a street called Spinner’s End, where the smokestack loomed overhead like a gigantic, accusing finger.
Her footsteps echoed over the cobblestones, past boarded-up, decaying windows, until she reached the last house — the only one where a faint glow flickered through the curtains of a ground-floor room.
The sky continued to pour as she knocked, breathless, inhaling the stench of the river carried on the night breeze. Seconds later, she sensed movement behind the door. It opened a crack.
A sliver of a man looked at her: long raven-black hair falling in two curtains around a pale face, framing eyes as dark as ink.
Lily threw back her hood, revealing rain-soaked hair plastered to her cheeks. Her green eyes locked onto the shadowed figure as he opened the door wider, then pulled her swiftly inside.
“Lily? What are you doing here? How did you even know—”
“Andromeda…” she murmured softly.
There was no need to ask who had told him.
The red-haired woman stepped into a tiny sitting room that resembled a dark, padded cell. The walls were lined with books, most bound in worn black or brown leather. A threadbare sofa, an old armchair, and a wobbling table sat gathered in a pool of dim light cast by a candlelit chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The place had the neglected air of somewhere rarely inhabited.
Severus gestured for Lily to sit on the sofa. She shrugged off her cloak, tossed it aside, and sat down, trembling from head to toe.
With an elegant flick of his wand, he dried her. With equal grace, he lit the fireplace before taking his seat opposite her in the armchair, hands resting on the armrests.
“Why the hell are you here?”
“The Order is tracking you.”
“And?”
Lily sighed in irritation. She knew very well that behind his cold, indifferent façade beat a heart. One she had once reached — and then cowardly let slip away.
“The game you’re playing is dangerous. I have absolute faith in your abilities — and in Bellatrix’s — but I’m afraid you’ll get yourselves killed.”
As always, she had never been afraid to voice her opinion. But this time, beneath it lay something deeper: fear for him.
“I know the plan. It won’t work… which is why Andromeda and I have devised another.”
A flash of pride lit her eyes as she met his dark gaze. He did not appear impressed — or at least he refused to show it. His jaw was tight. Not even the shadow of a smile touched his sharp features.
“There are no alternative plans. And you know that.”
He tried to maintain his usual composure, but Lily was tired of his attitude — tired of the rubber wall he had built between them. Without thinking, she rose and crossed the room, kneeling beside his chair.
“I see your hatred. And I understand it. But this goes far beyond you and me… It concerns everyone involved. It concerns our friends.”
Her voice trembled with agitation. The Unbreakable Vow burned in her chest every day like a crushing weight, but she had accepted it — as they all had — if it meant bringing this story to an end, regardless of the sacrifices required.
“Do you think it’s easy for me and Andromeda?” she continued. “The story we had to fabricate? The lies we had to tell? Maybe we’re not on the front lines like you or Bella, but we suffer too. Narcissa is devastated.”
“No one asked her to fall in love with Malfoy.”
“As if it were that simple to choose who you love, isn’t that right, Severus?”
Until then, he had refused to look at her. Now he turned his head slightly — and it felt as though, after an immeasurable stretch of time, he could breathe again.
She bit her lip. Then, reaching up, she cupped his face, brushing her fingertips along his cheek.
“You married him. You had a child with him,” he said, the words measured but heavy with restrained fury — and deeper still, disappointment.
He pulled away from her touch. She returned to the worn sofa.
“What’s done is done.”
“You chose him,” he pressed, calm but sharp as a blade.
“No. I didn’t — and you know that very well. He wasn’t my choice. But you hurt me. You pushed me away. You gave me up. What exactly did you expect me to do? Play the grieving lady? Spend every day crying instead of moving forward with my life?”
Now it was Lily who burned with anger. Her cheeks flushed red, matching the fire of her hair.
“James loved me. The only thing your behavior did was allow me to give him a chance. And yes, I fell in love. He would never have been the love of my life, but he was someone I would have gladly shared my life with. I regret nothing. Not the marriage. Not Harry. I have nothing to reproach myself for. Do you?”
Severus swallowed hard as he listened. His gaze shifted to one of the dusty bookshelves; he could not endure the conversation any longer. He knew he had been a coward — and it was easier to hate her for it than to face that truth.
“And what is this grand plan you and Andromeda have come up with?”
The question was an attempt to change the subject — but in doing so, he gave her exactly what she wanted: the chance to explain why she had come.
A small, triumphant smile curved her lips, though it carried a note of bitterness.
“Love,” she said quietly. “The only magic that traps us all in its vast web — an endless loop of cause and effect. Everything is caused by love, and every consequence stems from it. Love given, denied, lost, sacrificed, dreamed of, kept secret… If its total absence brought us here, then perhaps reclaiming it might fill the void — and change the course of history.”
He had not expected that answer.
As Lily held his gaze — resolute, almost daring — Severus’s expression became unreadable. Confusion flickered there… but also something else.
Something dangerously close to awe.
Because no matter how hard he tried to bury it, his heart had never stopped beating for her.
CHRISTMAS, 1977
Lily was home for the holidays. It would be her last Christmas as a Hogwarts student; that year she would be sitting her N.E.W.T.s.
Her sister, Petunia, was seven years older and worked as a secretary for a drill manufacturing company. It wasn’t exactly glamorous, but Petunia was immensely proud of the rapid progress of her career — helped along by her degree in economics — and she had recently been promoted to an accounting position.
She was seeing a boy from the sales department — a bit pudgy and somewhat touchy — and though she could have aspired to much more, perhaps she had decided to settle for someone who, at the very least, saw her and appreciated her for who she was.
Content that the holidays would finally be about her and her achievements, she did not complain when the doorbell rang and her mother politely asked her to see who it was, while she and Lily were helping their father assemble the Christmas tree.
The tall, thin girl with her long, horse-like face nearly fainted when she opened the door to find a young man standing there — olive skin, deep coffee-colored eyes, dressed entirely in black.
She swallowed hard as he spoke in a courteous but flat tone.
“Is Lily home?”
“E-Ehm… y-yes… I’ll get her. J-just wait here…”
Shaking her head in disbelief at her sister’s strange friendships, Petunia informed Lily that one of her odd schoolmates was at the door. Confused but curious, Lily thanked her and headed to the entryway — only to widen her eyes in shock at the sight of Severus.
She stepped outside and quietly closed the door behind her, remaining on the doorstep. Light snow was falling. She folded her arms over her chest for warmth. She wore jeans, caramel-colored ankle boots, and an ugly Christmas sweater decorated with a reindeer’s face.
“Severus, w-what are you doing here?” she asked, genuinely surprised.
He looked her over from head to toe, the faintest smile touching his lips.
“I—I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas and… give you this.”
Awkwardly, he pulled a small package from beneath his dark cloak and handed it to her. It was carefully wrapped. Lily smiled, excited, already moving to open it.
“You’re opening it now?”
“Do you really think I could wait five days? I’m far too curious,” she replied, and without hesitation, tore the paper open.
Inside was a delicate silver chain. Hanging from it was a tiny emerald heart, coiled by a serpent.
“It belonged to my mother,” he said quietly. “I found it while I was sorting through some things and… I thought of you.”
Lily blinked back tears. She handed the necklace to Severus and turned around, lifting her long red hair so he could fasten it around her neck.
When he was done, she touched it gently — and yes, the flush rising to her cheeks was not entirely from the cold.
“I don’t even have words. I—I didn’t get you anything.”
“You weren’t supposed to. It’s not even really a gift.”
“It’s so much more than that. Is this… your heart?” she asked bluntly.
He hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then he lifted a hand and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. His long, slender fingers traced the line of her jaw, slid down her neck, brushing the chain.
“It’s yours. You know that.”
“Then ask me,” she whispered urgently.
She closed the distance between them, pressing her hands against his chest, looking up at him with open hope.
“I did give Potter a chance, it’s true. And… I like him. But I love you. Ask me. Ask me to leave him. Ask me to be yours and I will be.”
There had never been anything tangible between them. Half-spoken confessions. Looks that said more than words. Hugs heavy with unfulfilled dreams. Fingertips brushing.
Nothing more.
They had talked about their feelings — what they meant to each other — and when that moment had come, it had been him. Severus. He had pushed her away.
Having her this close hurt. It took every ounce of his willpower to place his hands on her shoulders and gently move her back, when all he truly wanted was to taste her lips.
“After Hogwarts… you know I’ll leave.”
“So?”
“So?” he repeated, drawing himself up stiffly.
“I highly doubt Miss Perfect would give up the brilliant future waiting for her. You have beautiful words, Lily, but you’ll never renounce the life Potter can give you. For who? For Snivellus? I can already hear Black and Lupin laughing. And you? Would you be fine with that?”
She looked wounded. The hands that had been resting against his chest now pushed him back.
“How dare you? You talk to me about prejudice? Me? Shall I remind you how you treated me for so long? I never stopped looking past your insults. I always had the strength to see beyond them.”
“And yet you never truly condemned what your precious Potter did to me.”
“I never agreed with the way he behaved — you know that — but he has acknowledged his mistakes.”
“In front of you. Do you really think he means it?”
“Are we seriously discussing what James has or hasn’t done? Is that what this is?”
Her voice faltered, heavy with disappointment. But she did not forget what he had just implied.
“You’re a coward, Severus. And on that, James was right. The only mistake was mine for not believing him.”
She said nothing more. What was left to say? She was too hurt.
With a sharp movement, she tore the necklace from around her neck and threw it at his feet before stepping back inside and slamming the door.
Only then did Severus allow the tears to fall — bitter and silent — carving pale tracks down his face.
He bent down and picked up the necklace, swallowing the despair lodged in the center of his chest. The cold air burned his lungs as he inhaled.
“Coward.”
The word hurt worse than a Cruciatus Curse. It made him bleed more deeply than any Sectumsempra ever could.
He squeezed his eyes shut, pressed the chain to his chest — and with a soft pop, Disapparated.
The snow continued to fall over the pristine white quiet of the neighborhood.
And over the ruins of his broken heart.