The Night Lily Died

31st of October, 1981

Hogsmeade. The one place that still kept their warmth intact even when the darkness of the dark magic hovered over them. Sunlight scattered throughout the streets. Students stood crowded around stores waiting for friends. Men and women in cloaks stood around talking. Chatters and laughter sounded along the streets. Moments like this made one forget the darkness. Moments like this felt unreal in the darkness. 

Not long did the laughter last as a shrill scream echoed through the street.

A moment of silence before scrapes of leather shoes and panicked whispers were heard. Cries of some third years, whose parents had done a very good job of hiding them from the rumors of darkness. Muffled noises of footsteps as people made use of the only defense they had, to run. Anyone who didn't live under a stone, would know what was coming. 

Death Eaters.

Anyone who wasn't foolish knew fighting death eaters were as good as waving to a hungry lion. They left no one out other than their allies. Like, the snakes marked on their arms, they were ruthless. Torturous, they were.

Soon, hooded men and women filled the streets. Wands in the air, ready to attack; and attack they did

Left and right hexes, jinxes and curses were thrown. Much to surprise, some did choose to wave their hands in front of the hungry lions, the foolish ones. Brave but foolish. Their basic spells couldn't compete with the ones of darkness. Their skills were almost considered incompetence before the expertise of the Death Eaters. But they fought. Brave but foolish.

And among the crowd of duelers, in one of the corners, was a fight. One death eater against 3 wizards. In the rush of the game of tug of power, the death eater did not notice his hood falling off; revealing a man with shoulder length, black, oily hair. With a crooked nose and a curl of lips, he, without a spec of doubt, looked evil. His ease with which he carried himself with even in a duel against three only made him scarier, almost as if he enjoyed what he was doing: attacking.

Though not long did his ease last, before his opponents started to fight back—harder. Spells almost hit him, if it wasn't for his quick saves. But he was not the one who would let them win or let himself be open to the shame of losing. He wouldn't. He propped his wand. His counter spells and attacking ones, now, more rapid. He took to muttering the spells replacing the ease he held with the non-verbal ones.

Fortunately for him, his opponents were skilled, but not the way he was, at least. Unfortunately for him, they were a stubborn lot. If their skills didn't show before their opponent, their determination definitely did. Standing up to fig

And in the end of course power won over stubbornness. With a final jerk of his wand the last opponent fell to the ground. Just as he looked around to see—

"Severus!" a voice called, they were leaving, the attack was over.

And with a final pop, he dissaparated.

As the death eaters, each one by one dissaparated off the village—a village not minutes back was filled with the smell of bread and sounds of laughter — all they left off was a large ground of still bodies, the faint metallic whiff, silence and a looming sign in the sky: the dark mark...

༻❁༺

31st of October, 1981

Rosier Mansion. Vast was one word to all it. Grand was another. Dark another. The Rosiers were elated to give away the mansion to the Dark Lord to make it his headquarters; thinking it would raise them in ranks. 'Fools!' Severus had thought. 

He apparated back to the mansion, a pop sounding, followed by multiple others.

As he began to walk towards the stairs, he felt a piercing pain in his ankle, stumbling over his foot. He scowled at the bruise one of his opponents given him—'by accident of course, probably a foolish wave of the wand,' Severus thought— the only wound they gifted him. Severus had made sure to return double the pain; would be unfair not to, really. Behind him he heard Bellatrix Lestrange—heard, yes, heard—smirk. 

"Is that a wound I see on the mighty Snivellus' foot, oh my..."

She was yet one of the only people who still called him by the offensive term. It was a fact that she enjoyed the grimace that fell on his face every time she pronounced the word.

Pulling out the wand from under his sleeve, he gave it quick flick; the bruise started to heal rapidly. Bellatrix continued tsking at his inability to hold a duel against three.

He more or less ignored her and walked on towards the grand stairs, and walked up. But of the corner of his eye, he saw the smirk still on her face, surprising him. Of course, Bellatrix was no one who would let him get the satisfaction of getting to her, but this time there was something eerie about her smirk, something knowing...

And Severus was no person who would let that go without being spied upon to say the least. 

He walked into a dark room, the mystery behind the eerie smirk still torturing his curiosity. He waved his hand, lighting the only source of light in the room—other than the window, which was pretty much as useless as the walls, being blocked from outside by a menacing tree—the torch

The light brought into view a basin almost like a pensieve; only, filled with water. Severus moved towards the basin, bringing forth his hands to wash off the dirt—

A movement.

In no time, his wand was out in the air, pointed at the tree branches. He crept closer, the rustling growing louder and louder. Half a spell left his lips, before a silver animal flew into the room, through the window, between the branches.

'A Patronous,' he figured.

A voice flew off from the silver form. Severus identified the voice as Dumbledore's.

The words registered. 

And finally, it all made sense. Bellatrix's weird behaviour, Dark Lord's missing, the meeting he had called for later that day.

It all made so much sense that it made him dizzy.

The Dark Lord was about to attack the Potters...

With another pop, he apparated again, but this time, with a sense of urgency.

༻❁༺

31st of October, 1981

Potter's cottage. A part of it was more or less destroyed. Winds howled louder that night. As if in celebration of some sort...

Severus entered the cottage through the open door in the front. His steps slow. 

'Lily, Lily' the sole thought filled his head.

He opened each door with caution, as if someone might jump out from behind it. 

Another room.

Another room.

Another r—

His eyes caught something, a picture, to say specifically. This time his steps quick, he scooped the the picture that lay on the floor, taking it in his hands.

'Lily, it's Lily' his mind talked.

A smile formed on his face.

'It's Lily'

She was smiling at something. He moved his eyes towards the other end of the picture. The earlier smile that was on his face, faded as he saw what she was laughing at, rather who she was laughing with.

Him. James Potter. And the kid.

His hatred replaced the smile.

No, no, he wanted it for himself, he, Severus wanted her happiness for himself. He wanted her to smile at him, like before. The way she used to when she was happy with him. 

Jealousy filled him.

He wanted her to smile at him, him, not James, not the kid, but him. 

The thought of James only added to his anger. The thought of the kid—

No, no, he wouldn't allow that. Not James and Lily together.

He tore the picture in two. One, of Lily—his Lily—smiling happily, the other, of James and the kid.

He threw the latter back where he took it from, and carefully tucked the former in his pocket.

He walked on, and on, opening doors, happy for he had a picture of hers. Smiling. 

He walked on until he saw the figure of a body lying on the ground. He knew it wasn't Lily. He crept closer and closer until the earlier fear of Lily's death faded slightly, making way for the happiness that followed the death of the figure before him: James.

A small smile crept into his face. Hope grew in his heart. Maybe now that James is dead, maybe the kid is too, maybe the Dark Lord kept his promise and now, maybe, maybe Lily and he can live happily.

The smile widened into a grin.

He walked on again. Up the stairs, he went.

His ears caught a faint sound, he walked closer towards the source. 

Closer

Closer

The kid!

Cries of a kid.

A little bubble burst in his head. 

The kid was not dead after all.

He walked towards the source, closer again, and this time, again, he saw a still figure lying on the ground. He knew who that was. The earlier hope he had, now in ruins. Collapsed under the view.

It was Lily.

She lay there as a kid sat in the cradle. Still, she lay. 

He ran over to her taking her in his arms, ignoring the child's loud cries. Drowning in his misery, he forgot to care for the kid who was now orphaned.

'My Lily'

He hugged her.

'My Lily'

He hugged her tighter, he didn't care she was dead.

'My Lily'

Anger flooded him. 

'Lily, Lily'

Towards James for not keeping her safe.

'Lily'

Towards the kid for being the reason she was hunted down.

'Lily'

Towards the Dark Lord for killing her.

He cried rivers and seas, of what, you'll never know.

Noises, that's what took him out of his reverie. Returning to reality, he saw the child in the cradle; hiccups leaving the child's lips, blood seeping from a scar on his forehead. Another thought struck him, something he felt foolish not to have thought of before, how is the child still alive? It was a mystery.

Cold air hit him. He looked around the room, almost as if to see if he would get the answer to the question from there, and finally saw where air came from. Almost half the room was destroyed. Sort-of hard to miss the detail, really, the room being half destroyed and all.

The mystery was killing him,

How could the child be alive? 

Where is the Dark Lord?

Where is the other half of the room?!

He almost swore in his thoughts. It was frustrating, the thoughts. 

And finally he decided, he didn't care, whether the kid died here or lived somewhere. 

He gave a final look to his love, on the floor she lay.

A light went off in his head.

Maybe, maybe...

He had a hunch of what might have happened here

All those months of having hunched up in the library paid off. 

The Sacrificial protection.

The only Counter-Curse against the Killing Curse. 

He had read enough to know about them. 

That would answer the question about the kid's life and Lily's death

And suddenly, all the anger he ever felt, towards James, the Marauders, his father, Petunia, all of it resurfaced, only directed at the child—who now was raising his hands, still in the cradle, at Snape, as if to hold him, as if the kid expected Severus to hold him the way Sirius and James did, the way Remus and Lily did. The child, Severus realised, was the reason his Love lay on the ground, still, dead. And he hated the child for that. He hated the one-year old for taking away his love from him. 

He hated the child that moment.

And he did what he thought anyone else would do,

He walked out the half-destroyed room.

He walked past Lily's dead husband, who sacrificed his life for Lily and the child.

He walked past the door, which not hours back was opened by a dark Wizard, with the aim to kill the child.

He walked past the child who held his hands in the air, waiting for Severus to hold him

He walked past the child his "love" sacrificed her life for; and into the darkness of the night he went.