8.

Snape breathed in the night air and felt the cold envelop him in thick, wispy tendrils. It was possibly the most dismal night he'd ever experienced in his whole, short fourteen-year-old life, but he ignored thoughts of hot chocolate and warm Hogwarts beds and filled his insides with a different kind of warmth.

That night was his night, his night to see his Lily. He missed her so much it hurt him, cut him truly. They hadn't talked much since third year, and whenever he did speak, he always said the wrong things, things about her idiot friends, things about his idiot friends, her idiot sister, the list of "those-are-off-topic-you-know-that-Severus" things he was supposed to remember, and the "well-they-wouldn't-be-bloody-secrets-if-I-told-them-to-you-would-they" answers he knew better than to question.

After weeks of not talking, Lily had finally agreed to meet him on the Quidditch pitch, at midnight, a few hours after she was to return from Hogmeade. With a sudden flash, Severus realised that it was probably so no one would see her with him (especially not James, he thought bitterly), but as quickly as the thought came, he dashed it away.

Who was he to question the boons His Lily would grant him?

He was arrested by an onslaught of intense, biting wind, and he shivered even as he approached her.

She would seem to all who did not know her to be relaxed, calm, and almost languid as she stretched back, catlike, in the Quidditch stands. She wore only a simple cashmere pullover and denim trousers. A berry-coloured scarf was thrown haphazardly around her neck, and her head was tipped back and her eyes closed. Snape knew she wasn't the least bit relaxed, however. Her eyes were scrunched up as tight as she could make them, and her hands tapped an asynchronous, manic beat against the wizard plastic of the seats. She was breathing rapidly, and as he approached, her dark red eyebrows furrowed and her eyes seemed to blink even harder.

"You're early, Severus." She said softly, her voice ragged with something.

Snape nodded and played nervously with the hem of his ragged, almost threadbare coat. "I wanted to talk." He said firmly.

"Well then." Louder. "Let's talk."

-- --

"I'll keep watch out for you love love love, my love dear, Master, Master Love, and Rodolphus shall silence the filthy Muggles." Bellatrix Lestrange hissed, her deep, throaty voice hoarse with lack of use, and the presence of Desire.

Voldemort looked at her, his hood shading any expression she might have found in his cold, red beautiful, oh so beautiful eyes.

"There is no need for such amusing playtime tonight, dearest Bella. Tonight we have arrived as revenge for Traitors, and for the murder of those who dare strike against the Dark Lord."

Bellatrix Lestrange smiled, and bit her lips so the blood poured from the wounds her teeth made, and she smiled harder against them, causing the incisions to tear and become befouled with the exposure to the Dirty Muggle Air. How she loved her Lord, her Master, he who had taught her that the only way, the only way to Rid herself of the Taint from the forever besmeared, contaminated Muggles was to kill them, to rip them open from the centre of their stomachs, to shred their intestines and feed them like worms through the sockets of their eyes, through the holes of their arses.

She could smell the Taint, could feel it radiating off of their skins, and could only just keep herself in check, sane (always a questionable word whenever it came to her), whenever she came even close to those Infected with It.

The Taint.

She kept herself pretty for her Dark Lord (but he was so white, so pure, so filled with the bounty and beauty of Magic no Taint, no foul infection, spoil, spoil, stained, RUINED FOUL NASTY LITTLE CREATURES HATE THEM HATE THEM not Dark, no, no not Dark), and she cut herself for him.

He loved her blood, her Pureblood, she knew he loved her too, and she did what he wanted because she loved him. So pure, white with the pureness of his Dark, no Taint, magic magic to the core…

He placed his hand on her shoulder and she jumped to attention, her eyes lighting up as his hooded lips creeping up in the barest notion of a smile.

"Rodolphus needn't kill any muggles today, love. Have him watch with you." Bellatrix eagerly nodded and filled to the brim with love for Her Lord her white, PURE BEAUTIFUL Lord, and grasped the hand of Rodolphus, her husband.

She loved Rodolphus as well, because he understood her perfectly!

He wanted the taint gone as well! Wanted them all erased, eradicated from the face of this, this world of pure White Blood!

Rodolphus loved the Dark Lord, and she loved him because they taught each other new, exciting ways to rid the world of the taint Each Day.

She smiled and waved at the retreating figure of her Light Lord.

Rodolphus smiled at her and waved as well, the two of them filled with unconditional love for her master. Then he fell upon her, and she felt his lips caress her own. And they were perfect, because they were not Rodolphus', but her Lord's, and she felt them touch her soul.

-- --

A/n—short…yes…I'm a slacker in this way. But this chapter was so difficult to write—not the Bella bit so much (mostly because I was supposed to be doing homework), but the Snape/Lily part (all 300 plus words of it) were written waaaaaay back around chapter five. I omitted it from six and seven, and I realised I would have to put it in this chapter 8, I did promise Snape/Lily so here it is, in all its glory. Oh yes, and my computer shut down twice while writing, and after it recovered the document, it shut down again and lost it. Yes. Good. I even wrote a Writer's Block guide for this chapter. As a matter of fact, I think I'll do one, even if I'm not exactly good at overcoming Writer's Block (--), but I'll keep it in mind.

AGH. I swear, I love rambling.

OK. Business time. Next chapter I will definitely reveal more about SUPAHUMAN (more like, super-wizard) Harry, and, uh, more shippy stuff?

Oh yes. Whoring Lily makes a return. Enough for this chapter's A/N.

Peaches,

Anya