Author's Note: This will, eventually, be SSHG. But it has to start with Lily, doesn't it? I cannot guarantee on updates, I will warn you now. This is going to be a few little glimpses at first, until around the final battle, when it will hopefully, assuming I keep writing, blossom into the tale it's supposed to be.

I do not in any way, shape, or form own Harry Potter, aside from awesome merchandise. I am merely playing with them, and, frankly, this damn story's been in my head too long.


He knew he hadn't been invited. But this was didn't matter if she married him or not. It mattered that she was happy.

And, selfishly, he wanted a place in her life again. He wanted her to be in his life again. Something, anything, for someone who wanted him. She'd wanted him, once...hadn't expected anything from him, wanted anything... he'd ruined it, but he could fix it.

He'd watched the people enter the church, stared at the heavy wooden doors across the street as the faint strains of music filtered out. It didn't surprise him that she'd embraced so much of her muggle upbringing on this day. She'd talked for years about her dreams. He'd even chosen the card in his hand specifically.

He'd been working so hard to get her approval. Even if she'd given up on him, he thought...he'd thought that maybe he could finally fix things, now they'd been out of school a while. It wouldn't do to go into the church and watch the ceremony, no matter how his heart hurt. He needed...needed to hear that prat promise to protect her.

Lucius wanted him to join Him. Oh, he'd thought about it. But he could still fix things, couldn't he? So he'd worked harder. He'd accepted Lucius' offers to fund his apprenticeship. And he'd breezed through it. He was the youngest Master in centuries. Surely that had to count for something? It didn't matter that no one else had cared or congratulated him for it – surely Lily would.

The bells pealed, and he rolled his sleeves up, nervous. He would smile, smile and congratulate them both. That would do it, wouldn't it?

The doors opened and – oh, she was radiant, so beautiful, but not for him, not for him, she's his now and that's alright, she's happy – and she looked up, saw him...

He smiled tentatively. He didn't even look at Potter.

And so much anger and shock and hatred and rejection filled her eyes he was taken aback. She still hates me.

She hates me.

She hates me.

She hates me.

He swallowed, his face going blank as his Occlumency walls slammed into place, nostrils flaring and teeth clenching, refusing to cry or show pain in front of Potter. Dropping the card he'd crinkled as his fists clenched, he turned and disapparated with a crack.

She hates me.

That night, he would drink. Drink like he'd sworn he never would. Drink like his father. Anything to numb the pain, to make the memory stop replaying behind his eyes.

It would be Lucius who would find him, pour him into his shabby bed in his shabby house.

It would be that hurt, that rejection, that fucking bottle of liquor that weakened him, made him cave.

No one wanted him. No one respected him. No one thought him worthwhile.

No one except the man calling himself Lord Voldemort and selecting, as Lucius put it, only the best.

And the Dark Lord wanted him and his skills and he had the perfect gift for Him, to show Him he was worthy.

All his fault. Oh, Merlin, all his fault.

Let me die.

Please kill me. I don't deserve this.

Oh, please kill me, end's more than I deserve. Please, please just kill me...

Severus finished placing the last of his memories in the pensieve. The boy would be coming today. He couldn't let anything show. He had to hide it.

He'd hidden everything successfully from Albus thus far, and he would not – could not – risk this now. Anger was easiest. It was expected of him by now.

Deep breath. Walls up. He kept them up day and night, now. Not a single crack.

Fucking boy, going missing with a troll on the loose... Potter would be the death of him.

Fucking Quirrel.

His walls held, and fear raced through his blood as he mouthed the counter.

Why the fuck did I leave my wand in my quarters? Oh, it's just a Quidditch match, no need to bring it... if something DOES happen, Albus won't let anything happen to his precious Potter...

Fucking Quirrel.

Merlin, he needed to blink.

Don't blink. Fucking Quirrel.

How the bloody hell was Quirrel, of all people, maintaining this power? Quirrel wasn't this strong.

Fucking Quirrel. Fucking – Fu-FIRE!

His walls held, even as he stamped out the flames and looked back to the stadium. The boy was fine, thank Merlin.

Relief, swift and bitter and agonizing. The boy was safe.

His walls held.

It was over, for the year... Potter would go home, be safe behind the blood wards, if unhappy.

A tentative knock on his office door and he glanced up from the parchment he was hunched over.

"Excuse me, please, Professor Snape."

His eyes narrowed and he straightened consciously. "What is it, Miss Granger?"

The bushy-haired girl smiled at him nervously. "Thank you for teaching us, sir. I really enjoyed your class."

She bit her lip, smiled again. "Have a nice summer, sir."

His lips twitched into a near-smile, and he was certain he looked rather shocked.

His walls shattered.


Let me say now – this is not going to start when she's under age. Romantic feelings won't come into play for a while, on either side. Here's to hoping I'm motivated to write more soon. :)

EDIT: I suck at apparently checking that didn't eat my chapter layout. Oops.