A/N: While not necessarily the best piece I've written, this one is probably my favorite.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Lily Evans/Potter, and all these other people are characters belonging to J.K. Rowling. I claim no rights to them, their surroundings, or their situations. Much to my sorrow.

---

"Why are you staring at me?"

The boy opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out.

And for the next seven years--with one exception, which would haunt him for the rest of his days--that was how it would remain.

"Hello?" The red-haired girl waved a hand in front of his face, wrinkling her pretty nose up perplexedly. "Earth to black-haired kid. Have I got something stuck in my teeth? Or dirt on my face? What?"

He swallowed hard. His mouth had gone dry as sand. "N-n-no," he stuttered weakly, trying to tear his eyes away from her face with a spectacular lack of success. "Sorry. It's just--"

You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen and I want so much to ask your name, but I can't make my mouth work right and you must think I'm a complete prat...

"Sorry," he repeated lamely, wrenching his eyes from her lovely face and fixing them on his well-worn shoes.

"Well, you shouldn't do that, you know. It's rude..." She didn't sound angry, though; merely puzzled and a bit amused. After a moment, she went on, "Kind of quiet, aren't you? Well, don't worry, I daresay we're all nervous. I still can't quite believe I'm really here. My mum and dad almost didn't let me come. They thought it was some sort of prank at first...did you know you were a wizard, before you got your letter?"

He was saved from another stuttering fit by a stern-looking witch with funny square glasses, who introduced herself as Professor McGonagall. She spent a few minutes explaining about Houses, points, and the House Cup. None of this was news to the boy, whose ancestors had attended Hogwarts as far back as their extensive family tree went, and he only half-listened. His sole concern was working out how to convince the Sorting Hat to put him in the same House as that girl.

Nothing he'd ever heard suggested that the Hat was susceptible to bribery, blackmail, or threats. Perhaps if he begged hard enough? It wasn't as though anyone else would know...

Preoccupied with this sticky problem, he followed McGonagall and the other First-Years into the Great Hall, oblivious--for the moment--to the whispers and sneers of the other new students at the state of his hair, his threadbare clothing, and his most unfortunate beak of a nose. He'd heard all that before, too, and had learned that the surest way to protect his thin, sallow skin was simply to keep to himself.

Having friends couldn't possibly be worth the kind of trouble it took to make them.

But that girl. He'd never seen eyes like that before; hadn't known eyes even came in that shade of green. Too young to be "interested" in girls as yet, still he had seen enough ugliness in his brief life to appreciate beauty when he saw it, and he suspected it was very rare to see so much of it in just one person. It wasn't just the way she looked. She could have backhanded him for his insolence--he'd suffered worse in the past, for less reason.

Of course if she'd done that, he would have been obliged to hex her. So he was doubly pleased that she had spoken kindly to him instead.

The girl stepped up to the Hat, and he privately kicked himself as he realized that, lost in thought, he had completely missed her name. His heart sank further when the Hat was placed on her head, and promptly called out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Gryffindors were supposed to be brave, noble, and heroic. He was no coward, but the last thing anyone would ever accuse him of being was a hero.

The Sorting Hat was in complete agreement with this assessment, and placed him accordingly.

Later on, sitting with his fellow Slytherins (most of whom made a point of ignoring him,) he screwed up his courage to tug at the sleeve of a neighbor, and nodded toward the Gryffindor table. "That red-haired girl--what was her name?"

The large, slightly pudgy boy, who had a rather dull look about him, scowled at him and then at the girl. "Uhhh....Evans. Lily Evans. Never heard that name before." He shrugged dismissively. "Probably a stupid Mudblood. Gryffindors are all stark raving nutters anyway, everyone knows that. I'm a Crabbe--Vincent Montgomery Crabbe the Third," he added haughtily. "What's your name?"

"Snape. Severus Snape." He considered offering his hand, but thought better of it; Crabbe's were covered with grease from the turkey leg he'd just devoured, and the larger boy looked burly and stupid enough to break his own slender arm by accident.

"Pleased to meetcha," Crabbe grunted, clearly more interested in the contents of Severus' plate than in Severus himself. "You gonna eat that?" He pointed at an untouched slab of roast beef.

"No," Severus said absently. Never one to eat much, he paid no attention as the big clod plundered his dinner, watching from the corner of his eye as the beautiful red-haired girl laughed and chattered happily with her new Gryffindor Housemates.

Lily Evans. She was only a few meters away; but sitting at the Gryffindor table, she might as well be on the other side of the world.

---

Mudblood. Mudblood. Filthy little Mudblood!

The echo of his own voice rang mockingly in his ears as he stumbled into the lavatory, which was thankfully empty at the moment, and retched bloody soapsuds into the first sink he came to. Then he peered into the mirror and groaned, wishing he hadn't.

Not satisfied with merely humiliating him in front of the entire student body, James Potter had finished working out his frustration at Lily's rejection by punching Severus square in the mouth. He'd knocked a few teeth loose, which wasn't going to improve their appearance any (but probably wouldn't make matters much worse, either, he thought cynically.) More to the point, it hurt like hell.

He wondered whether he should go to Madame Pomfrey, but decided to wait and see whether the swelling had gone down by morning. If it didn't, he'd have no choice. Skipping a few meals wouldn't bother him so much; but if he couldn't speak clearly, he couldn't cast a countercurse. And then he would most definitely end up in the hospital wing.

Mudblood. He'd called Lily a Mudblood. That thought sickened him more than the soap suds. But she had given him no choice. There had been Slytherins in that crowd, watching just as gleefully as any of the others, but with a far more sinister interest; to be seen accepting help from a Muggle-born--a Muggle-born Gryffindor--a Muggle-born Gryffindor GIRL...

Well, he might just as well go back and politely ask James Potter to body-bind him and drop him in the lake. He would no doubt be happy to oblige, and it would be a quick and painless end by comparison to what his own Housemates would devise for him.

That thought struck him for a moment as overly melodramatic; but on further reflection, it really wasn't. He was fairly sure he had caught sight of Bellatrix Black in that crowd, among others.

To be a Slytherin was to invite unfriendly attention at the best of times, but in recent days, the flame of anti-Muggle sentiment in the pureblood population had been fanned to a raging inferno. Several members of the House, of less influential families known to harbor moderate opinions on the subject, had not returned to school this year; the official explanations were neat and plausible, and believed by no one. Bellatrix and her cronies, once eager disciples of recent alumni such as Lucius Malfoy, were now undisputed rulers of the House; they made it quietly known that these unfortunate missing persons would best be viewed as object lessons.

Severus paid more attention than most of his fellow students to the happenings in the outside world, and he suspected things were only going to get worse. Beyond the school walls, the bigoted terrorist who styled himself Lord Voldemort was taking control, and the Ministry of Magic's efforts to stop him grew more ineffectual by the day. Even now, Hogwarts was no longer a sanctuary--at least not to dissident Slytherins.

He rested his forehead against the cool porcelain of the sink, trying to blot out the memory of the look on Lily's face at the vulgar epithet. He'd cruelly hurt her, the most beautiful girl he had ever met, and the only one in the entire school who had ever shown him a moment's kindness.

It was for the best. Better she should think him an ungrateful wretch, than that she ever learn the truth. She would never return his affection; and even her sympathy, if he appeared to accept it, could put them both in mortal danger.

Not for the first time, he found himself wishing they'd both been sorted into Ravenclaw, or even the pathetic House of Hufflepuff.

At least then he could smile at her, and the worst he'd have to fear would be her scorn.

---

No one really knew what had happened, other than himself, Dumbledore, and those thrice-cursed Marauders. He was bound by his word to tell no one, and Potter's bunch had closed ranks--Sirius Black's carelessness notwithstanding, which puzzled him no end. Lupin was as much a victim that night as he was--how could even a werewolf, especially a werewolf, forgive that kind of betrayal?

But of course lack of accurate information didn't stop the rumor-mongers; where facts were unavailable, they substituted whatever idiocy came into their heads and cheerfully carried on.

None of them came anywhere near the truth. Remus Lupin was, after all, the least likely suspect for lycanthropy imaginable. But try as he might, Severus couldn't disguise the fact that he'd been badly shaken. He stopped eating almost entirely for a while, and his nightmares woke his dorm mates several nights running. Though they couldn't have cared less about his well-being, they resented the loss of sleep, and even in the face of his obstinate silence it didn't take them long to deduce that James Potter's gang was somehow responsible.

There were several Slytherin/Gryffindor confrontations as a result. He steered well clear of them, determined to stay in the Headmaster's good graces--and out of the Marauders' line of fire. James Potter would not hesitate to take full advantage of the Life Debt owed to him, and Severus had no intention of giving him the opportunity.

But then one evening at dinner, raised voices and a resounding crack echoed through the Great Hall. Lily Evans jumped up from the Gryffindor table and flounced angrily out of the room, leaving James Potter with an angry red handprint across his cheek and an extremely sheepish expression.

Severus had no idea what it was all about, until that evening, when a House Elf brought him a clue in the form of a small Honeydukes package and an unsigned note written in a graceful, flowing hand. The elf vanished when interrogated.

The note read: Whatever they did, starving yourself won't help!

Foolishly elated and fortified by Chocolate Frogs, he slept that night through undisturbed.

The next day, James Potter, apparently over his fit of Gryffindor nobility, hunted him down and mopped the floor with him. Honor demanded that he curb his own murderous reaction; unused to such constraints, he was easy prey.

Afterward, curled up in his dormitory in a thus-far unparalleled state of physical misery (sufficient to rouse the grudging sympathy of even his indifferent roommates,) he spent the sleepless hours of the night cataloguing his extensive collection of bruises and abrasions.

Ordinarily, he would have given a great deal of thought to a suitable reprisal. But somehow, that night, the necessary sense of smoldering resentment failed to materialize.

It had been worth it.

---

The addresses had been given (and everyone had stayed awake,) the last diploma handed out, the trenchers thrown--and most of the other Purebloods had already left, to avoid contamination by the proud Muggle parents in the audience. Despite the sense of foreboding that had hung in the air for months, the atmosphere was festive. His own parents had not bothered to show up, so he could linger if he liked. He did so, shunned as usual by his fellow graduates, in the hopes of catching one last glimpse...

And there she was. Bubbling over with jubilation, Lily was systematically working her way through her classmates, crying unabashedly and hugging anyone who came within reach. She seemed unaware of the four-man honor guard that shadowed her every move, though every so often she turned to speak happily to her recently acquired boyfriend, James, who smiled and answered her lightly, scanning the surrounding crowd with the watchful eye of an Alpha Male itching to put down a challenger.

Caught between the hope that Lily would pass by him unaware and the hope that she would not, Severus pretended not to notice them until they were very close. He saw James try to steer her in a different direction, but Lily Evans had no patience with back-seat drivers. She released a friend from a somewhat damp embrace and turned, caught sight of him--and hesitated.

She had always tried to treat him decently and with dignity, in spite of the many good reasons why she shouldn't, and this was his last chance to acknowledge that. He would pay for it later, but for now, he summoned a smile. It felt strange and unnatural on his face, and he hoped it didn't make him look too ghastly. "Congratulations, Lily."

Her answering smile fairly glowed with delight, and he was awed to think that something he had said could elicit such joy. And a moment later he was very, very glad that he'd taken the time to scrub his hair carefully shortly before the ceremony, because Lily was hugging him.

Years later, at some of the bleakest, most disheartening times of his life, he would cling to the memory of that moment as a talisman against despair. For those few brief heartbeats, all was as it should be--he was young, no more nor less worthy than any other living soul, and the future held infinite promise.

(That such perfect moments could exist, however rare, was what convinced him Albus Dumbledore was more than an idealistic old crackpot. It wasn't much, but some days it would be all that kept him going.)

It passed too quickly, as such moments do. Lily pulled away, and much though he wanted to hold onto her for dear life, he had to let her go.

"Best of luck with whatever you do, Severus. Take care of yourself," she said earnestly. Still smiling, she gave his hands a little squeeze...and then she'd spotted another friend, and whirled away laughing into the crowd.

The room was brightly lit, but he could have sworn that the light followed after her, taking with it all warmth; leaving him draped in the cold comfortless shadows that had becomes so familiar, yet had gone unnoticed until just now.

James Potter was glaring at him as though pondering which limb to detach first, but even he was intelligent enough to realize that starting a fight in the middle of Graduation would do little to polish the image of a hopeful Auror. The other Marauders hung back uncertainly, following Potter's lead.

"Well? What are you lot looking at?" Severus asked softly, his eyes still tracking Lily's progress through the throng. "You fancy yourselves bodyguards...be about it then. She won't wait."

And with that he gathered his robes around him, turned on his heel, and left. The celebration went on, but for him, no better ending to the night could be possible.

It had been noticed, of course. A few days later, after word had gotten around, Bellatrix Black came calling, and Severus experienced the Cruciatus Curse for the very first time.

---

He nearly got away with it. His only mistake had been failing to account for a werewolf's heightened sense of smell; but that was an error anyone could have made. In all other respects, the glamour was flawless, in spite of the two or three (or more, but who was counting?) bottles of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. Getting a name on the guest list to match the invented face had been somewhat problematical, but by the time they figured out that neither James nor Lily actually had a third cousin named Wilberforce, the day would long since have come and gone...

"Bride's side or groom's?" Lupin asked at the door, smiling pleasantly, but speaking through his teeth. His eyes glittered dangerously, betraying the predator within...practically daring Severus to give him an excuse.

"Bride's," he muttered, eyes downcast. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation. Any other day, certainly; but not here, and not right now. It had taken a hundred and sixty proof liquid courage just to get him to the door, as every instinct was shouting at him to break and run.

The Dark Mark, still uncomfortably new, burned and itched abominably. He thrust his hands into the pockets of the gray Muggle suit he'd acquired so as to blend in more effectively, firmly suppressing the desire to scratch at his arm.

"You're joking. You don't seriously expect me to let you in," Lupin growled in an undertone, steering him with feigned courtesy and an iron grip away from the other guests, back toward the outside entrance.

Severus groped for a persuasive rejoinder, but his saturated gray matter offered up only monosyllables. "Please?"

Lupin slowed, and then stopped, as it became apparent that his captive was perilously close to losing his balance. He turned and stared at the unwelcome guest, eyes narrowed, nose twitching slightly. Then he sighed. "Severus...you're drunk."

"Very," he agreed amiably, swaying a bit where he stood.

"James will kill you if he catches you here." It was not a metaphorical statement.

He nodded solemnly. "I know." He was risking his neck on more than one count. But he could no more have stayed away than he could fly a broomstick to the Moon. He had to see her, on this, the happiest day of her life, and that was all about it.

Lupin rubbed at his forehead, frowning irritably. Just for a second, Severus almost felt guilty. Ushering a large wedding with the full moon just two days off could not have been a walk in the park for the werewolf, who looked even gaunter and more stressed than usual.

"Give me your word you aren't here to cause trouble," Lupin said stiffly.

Severus swallowed thickly. "I wouldn't...I'd never spoil this day for her. Not Lily. Never. I give you my word. In the--in the name of Salazar."

The Marauder eyed him dubiously for long moments. Severus returned the gaze, a bit out of focus, but unflinching.

At last, Lupin's expression softened slightly. "All right. I know I'll regret this, but...come on." He turned them back toward the chapel, unobtrusively keeping a steadying hand on Severus' arm.

"Just for the ceremony, though," he added quickly in an undertone, skirting around Sirius Black, who was busy charming the skirts off some overdressed old Muggle lady. Oh--she was the mother of the bride. "Not the reception. You want to sneak into that, you're on your own."

Seated alone at the very back of the chapel, he watched morosely as Lily Evans bound herself irrevocably to James Potter. Robed in purest white, her flaming hair cascading down in graceful spirals around her face, those glorious green eyes more radiant than ever, she was a breathtaking sight.

He'd always scoffed at the poets who spoke so pretentiously of love and its pitfalls. But now he discovered, to his great dismay, that the heart really was subject to breaking. It was a physical pain, fierce and unrelenting, lodged deep in the center of his chest. As the recessional played and the bridal party filed out one by one, swept off to their grand celebration, he struggled to breathe, his vision blurring; wondering for a few terrified moments if he was going to die, unnoticed, right then and there.

As it turned out, his affliction was harmless, and embarrassingly mundane.

It was just that he hadn't wept in years, and had quite forgotten what it felt like.

---

Beautiful.

The lovely green eyes were closed forever, and the smile that had driven back the shadows would never fall upon him again.

But she was still beautiful.

Not even you could take that away from her, you unconscionable bastard, he thought with a surge of vindictive triumph, staring down at her face--pale and composed in a cruel parody of sleep. Whoever had attended to her had done a magnificent job of erasing the look of frozen fear that must surely have been there at the end.

Severus knew. He'd seen enough victims of the Killing Curse. He was fervently grateful that he had not been present to witness the Dark Lord's handiwork on this occasion.

Coward. You should have been there. You should have stopped this.

He couldn't have, of course. He was no match for the power of the Dark Lord. Only one wizard alive had the capacity to thwart Voldemort, and Dumbledore could not have made it to Godric's Hollow in time, even if he had known of the betrayal.

Merlin knew that Severus had done what he could, and at no small risk to himself. It was a risk he took willingly, appalled at the depths of his own folly; eager to make amends in any way that he could.

Too little, too late. She had tried to protect him, years before, and when his chance finally came to repay that kindness--he'd failed.

Absently, he touched the spot on the inside of his left wrist where the ugly brand had been. It was gone now, vanished in the same instant as its creator. Somehow, Lily's tiny son--the child they were calling the Boy Who Lived--had been responsible for that.

It was the boy Voldemort had been after. The spawn of James Potter. Selfishly, uselessly, Severus wished that the plan had succeeded. He would have stayed in thrall forever, and the child be damned, before he had seen it come to this...

"I'm sorry, Lily," he whispered. "I know you would have wanted it this way. But it wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth your life."

Without so much as a glance at the second coffin, draped in Gryffindor and Auror colors, he turned and left the presence of the dead. He had new duties to attend now. His debts were not yet discharged. Life would go on.

For whatever it was worth.

Only one pair of eyes marked his going. In the days that followed, only one person noticed or cared that a part of Severus Snape was forever after missing. And Albus Dumbledore--the most powerful wizard of the age, who loved the younger magus like a son--was helpless to do anything about it.

Some wounds run too deep for the healing.

--- EPILOGUE

They filed in after Minerva liked a troupe of little black lemmings, all huge frightened eyes in pale little faces; he watched from his seat at the High Table, hiding a smirk, recalling very clearly the night that he had entered the Great Hall as part of just such a nervous flock as this.

But surely they're breeding them smaller these days, he thought, as he did every year. He couldn't conceive of having ever been so...little.

This year's Sorting, however, held particular significance. It had been ten years since the deaths of James and Lily Potter, and the faculty had been quietly abuzz since they'd arrived for the new term, chattering excitedly about a particular new student expected to arrive on this year's train.

Well. Most of the faculty. Severus had retreated to his laboratory and stayed there, emerging only when his preparations required it. He had no desire to join in the cheerful speculation over the renown, miraculous, oh-so-beloved Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry Potter had plenty of admirers, after all. It seemed only fair that someone should remember the one who had made it possible. He'd spent the previous night in his own company, toasting the memory of the Girl Who Died. Consequently, he'd spent most of the day hung over, and was in an even fouler mood than usual. The fact that the DADA teacher, Quirrel, was seated at his left, stammering neurotically and smelling oddly of noxious compounds he couldn't identify, did nothing to improve matters.

Nonetheless, he managed to keep up a good face as the Sorting commenced, watching with mild interest as the old Hat worked its way methodically through the new crop of dunderheads. Scattered among the inbred idiots (oh gods, not another Crabbe!) there were a few promising faces...a young lady with startlingly bushy hair, whose awkwardly attractive face exuded a quick, eager intelligence; the latest Malfoy, arrogant and smug like his brute of a sire, but perhaps not yet too far gone to be retrieved. A Longbottom, and a Parkinson, names he knew well.

"Potter, Harry."

He felt the breath leave his body in a rush as a skinny, solemn-faced boy stepped to the front of his class and approached the Sorting Hat.

Severus had expected he would react strongly to the appearance of the Potter youngster, but nothing could have prepared him for the whirl of emotions that struck him like a physical blow as his eyes first fell on the child.

He was the living image of his father James, this Harry Potter, from the madly tousled hair to the compact Quidditch-player's frame. Foreshadowings of the same rakish good looks, the glasses...even his height matched James' at that age.

He'd expected to hate the boy on sight. He'd expected the old resentment to come rushing back. He was ready for that. What he hadn't expected--and ruthlessly clamped down upon, so quickly that it barely registered to his conscious mind--was the utterly irrational stab of visceral fear. All-too-vivid memories of seven years at the mercy of the Marauders came boiling up out of the black pit where he'd banished them, and only the presence of Madame Hooch at his right prevented his hand from finding its way to his wand in the old defensive reflex.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Two things did set the child apart from his father: the prominent scar on Harry's forehead, and his large, brilliant, beautiful green eyes. Gifts from the man who had tried to kill him, and the woman who had given her life to prevent it.

The hat called out, "GRYFFINDOR!" Predictable.

Lily's son. Lily's child...the reason for her death. The last remnant of her life. Her hope for immortality.

There were so many things he wanted to say to the boy, things he would never dare to voice, at least while the spectre of Voldemort's return remained to trouble the world. He watched as Harry took his place with the House of Gryffindor, to a chorus of cheers that rocked the Great Hall.

Your mother was a remarkable woman, Harry Potter, he thought bitterly. Beautiful, brave, and compassionate. She died for you, and though you may think you suffer for it, you'll never fathom what you've really lost. You did not know her. You haven't the right to presume to miss her.

It was wrong, he knew, to blame the boy, and his own self-loathing deepened by the moment. To sully Lily's memory with such venom was unforgivable. But the treasonous thoughts came anyway, and would not be silenced.

You can't possibly hope to live up to what she was. There's too much of your father in you, I can see it already...barely even arrived, and already you're the center of attention. Soon you'll have a gaggle of followers, and set to making life miserable for those so unfortunate as not to have been born you. Your life makes such a poor trade for hers.

But for her sake, I will protect you. I owe your father a life, but I would do it even if that were not so. My debt to Lily is greater.

I failed her once. I will redress that failure...

Young Potter looked up and unexpectedly met his gaze, and his heart nearly stopped as those uncanny green eyes solemnly took his measure.

Then the boy clapped a hand to his forehead, for no apparent reason, breaking the contact. Severus exhaled, realizing only then that he'd been holding his breath.

...in spite of you, if necessary.

He picked up his goblet and drained it.

The next seven years would be long indeed.

FIN

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