Snape awoke: Lily was in his sturdy arms, breathing into his naked chest. Her pale lips were soggily attached to him, though at the corners of her lips was a distinct space left for breaths of air to enter and leave her. Her eyes were closed as she slept serenely. He stroked her hair, before an iota hit him: Lily was in his arms, in a real bed. Praise the lord almighty! He had sojourned there, in the warm queen sized bed, on the grand morning. To a normal human being, this would call for celebration of the most boisterous kind. But Severus, being the brooding, austere and unique figure he was, slid out of bed and ambled to the window.

The morning was bleak. Minute, shimmering drops had dotted the windowsill. Below there were dwarves hoping about, cussing and smoking grass, and the herbal scent floating through the cracks of the window on the second floor. One of the dwarves spat putrid, thick sputum onto the pebbled ground. When those buggers weren't being watched by humans, they were nearly worse than a cantankerous skrewt...nearly. But it was their own sordid affair, and he had to hold his tongue, keeping his hands at his side, for this was nothing for him to get worked up about.

After cleaning a cast-iron frying pan, he cracked three large, brown chicken eggs and proceeded to making scrambled eggs. He had not cooked in a very long time, and had been slightly apprehensive in trying to create anything elaborate for breakfast; at a later time he would experiment with various, possibly exotic foods. He whisked the eggs as silently as he could in an attempt to not wake Lily up. The stove's red flames danced as he put the pan on its cindering heat. He carefully added two slices of Muenster cheese into the cooking eggs. He put the eggs on two sparkling clean plates and hurried over to Lily, who was turned on her side, still sleeping. He placed the eggs on the bed, on the rumpled, frumpy side where he had slept.

Walked around the bed, and then kneeled beside Lily, her hot breath on his skin. He placed the palm of his hand onto her cheek, his hand shaking from the anxious ardor coursing through every artery, every vein—every capillary of his person. How could he wake her? He recalled a story that Lily had told him long ago; one of a fair maiden who had been cursed by a witch to sleep until her true love would come and kiss her awake. Lily had told him this story on his tenth birthday, when both his parents had forgotten about the day he came barreling into this accursed world. He was disgusted with himself. How could he remember something so…sentimental? More so, how could he do it with the daft smile spreading across his face, and his eyes—his damned, previously threatening vortexes glowing, nay shimmering with a glimmer that even Dumbledore would be proud of? Like a cancer, soft, putty-like weaknesses had spread through him.

'Only now, will I give in. Never again… I won't have a chance to give in later.' For every good thought, there is another detrimental insight, and a hopeless wish. It had always been this was with Severus.

Lily looked like a vision as she slept—a vision of pulchritude. Her lips were slightly parted, and her curly hair was spilling over her shoulders in every direction. He leaned into her, his lips latching onto her parched ones. He could taste her morning breath, but he did not care—in fact, even her morning breath was unsoiled divinity to him. Lily's eyes shot open; she nearly pulled away from him, but instead when she had noticed that it had been Severus, she pulled him into bed, his body on top of hers.

"Mmm," Lily began. "I can't think of a better way to wake up."

Severus was still on top of her, the covers separating them. His fingers were in her hair—how he idolized those silky, rubicund waves. "I made breakfast," he announced softly.

She loved the way he felt on top of her. She adored it when he would take the time to stroke her hair, and gaze at her so lovingly. It was only with her that he was like this, and Lily had known this all too well. She cherished it—honored it like no other, always holding it on the highest of pedestals. She only hoped that he thought of her the same way, with as much love, or perhaps even more. She was in a dangerous position; lethal as it was, for she was particularly vulnerable around Severus, especially when the only things separating them were a thin bed sheet, and even…thinner clothing. Want, yearning, lust…was gnawing at them both, provoking them…so wondrously.

Lily was holding herself back, just as Severus was. This was a blasted waiting game for the both of them… How long would it take before one or the other finally cracked? The timer had started counting the seconds eons ago. Just one move—just one spark could set everything on euphoric, pleasurable, addictive fire.

"Let's just stay here." 'For another hour, another day, the rest of eternity perhaps?' Her thoughts wandered off. Perhaps, she was getting ahead of itself. "Please," she murmured against his warming cheek.

"Up and out of bed. Now," he drawled demandingly as he slipped off of her and stood stoically, resuming his rigid disposition. He looked to his feet, disappointed. Why hadn't he given in? It concerned him. His own dispositions vexed him. He still burned, just as the feeling of his touch was still burning on Lily's flushed skin.

On the embroidered couch they sat rigidly. An antique gramophone—perhaps from the early nineteen hundreds—whose pavilion was made of oxidized copper was emitting a pleasant, yet nostalgic rendition of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata had provided room in Severus and Lily's minds for strict, unyielding concentration. They ate quietly, looking over their textbooks, though Severus was more so fantasizing while flipping through the pages at predetermined intervals, for he had already memorized each page, word for word, and could (even though it seemed slightly crazed) state each mistake made in the text without taking a single glance at its contents. Lily, meanwhile, was humming as she ate her eggs and re-read a rather concerning passage on charms.

Severus was transported to a place, exactly this day, however in his first life, where he had been isolated in his dank chamber, imprisoned as if her were a criminal, whose only crime was an overactive mind. At every corner there were books; on every square inch of granite tiled flooring were either notes, quills, bottles of ink, but most importantly every single book that he had owned (which at the time, was near three hundred ninety four volumes of pure, untainted, abundant knowledge). This room was one that he had created himself. This entity was the source of his pride for the months he had spent studying.

The craftsmanship was impeccable. There was a chair, with spindled legs and an emerald green seat cushion in the middle of the room where he had been sitting. Next to it was a bookshelf, made of ebony wood; books were stacked in it, leather tomes, buckled field notes, all hidden behind one another. The room was lit by a silver chandelier holding small, crystalline light bulbs. Severus, being that creative-minded person he was, had made the ceiling black, whilst the walls were painted to resemble a cliff side, so that every time he looked up, he would feel as if he were falling.

Yet neither studying, nor this extravagant room could keep him preoccupied. His thoughts would linger in places that should have been abandoned long ago. There was one word for it. One destructive name—two poisonous syllables—four inconceivable, hellish letters: Lily—and that was all. It was a shriek in the distance, a horrific nightmare, the devil in audible form. The dastardly temptress' flowing tresses, her black reaper's gown, the wanton smirk spread across her gorgeously pallid face, and those eyes—the enrapturing doom—oh how they taunted him!—how they mocked him with glee! A saint, he thought of her at a time. The archangel of all that is holy and good, he had envisioned her as. Let there be mercy upon this poor soul, this weeping, pulverized man. But forevermore would she be there, the apparition of the hollow, in the crevices of his mind.

The words, two words; entities which he had always repeated, for he knew no other thing to say, had been spoken. "Love me," and that was all. His world faded; black atop black, the crepuscular chill surging through his yearning person.

How things had changed, just by him coming back in time to fix his follies, and those of others. His hand was on top of Lily's, holding it softly. They had no idea of what was to come, the obliviously love-infested fools.

Outside, elves were scampering across meadows of wildflowers. Their faces were pale, but they had rose colored cheeks. Most were blond, however a few had distinctly chestnut colored, wispy hair. One elf had been playing a silver pipe, whilst a group was dancing in a cheerful circle, singing tunes of merriment. Bees were bumbling about, taking sweet nectar from the fragrant flowers in the meadow. The sky was a pale blue, and thick cumulous clouds filled it. Sparrows appeared to be circling around the shining, yellow sun. Children were locked in their houses, mothers were washing clothing just outside the doors, and even fathers were not too far away from their homes. It was a fine stage for a bloodbath, these scampering elves, the untainted meadow; all of it beckoned to be corrupted in a single second.

The man came, his black cape billowing and his long hair flowing in the direction of the wind. He briskly whipped his wand out of his left dragon hide boot. With an apoplectic flick of his umber colored wand, blood began to soak the flowers of the field. The music had died, its last few notes played with melodic dystrophy. The tip of his wand was emitting grey smoke, and he blew it out in one cold breathe.

He walked through the lifeless field, elves beneath his feet, bones cracking in such a way that a "normal" person would have had chills running down their spines, and perhaps the debilitating feeling to vomit until the contents of their stomach was completely and utterly eradicated. Their thin, elf-sized, brown outfits were drenched in crimson liquid, thick and clotting. He reached an elf, farthest from where he had originally stood. Its face was battered, its clothes ripped open and its body placed in a crooked position—back strained upwards, his arms and legs both bent at inhuman angles. His eyes were still open, the pale purple, beauteous entities glazed over in shining tears. The body was surrounded by a pool of blood. The man bent over, and in a phial he collected the bloody, slowly letting it trickle down the sides of the glass.

"What a shame," he mumbled to absolutely no one. He spat at the ground.

He strutted into the forest, a crooked smile reminiscent of Voldemort's on his demented face. He was a soldier of evil, his uniform black and lacquered. His heart and emotions were unwavering and insusceptible. He jabbed his wand and the vermilion phial into his boot. 'It's time for the real fun to begin,' had been his last thought, before all was consumed by the sound of silence.

One…two…sixty seconds later birds wings flapped horrifically as they flew away from the trees, deer stampeded out of the thick shrubbery and the metallic scent of death was permeating from the trees, staining the ground and floating into the small village nearby.

The sky turned grey, the clouds covered the previously shining sun. The world seemed to become darker, colder, more encompassed by the same evil that was hidden in an iced over cave with carcasses rotting on the ground. A thin river of blood had formed, spanning the length of the forest. It was just the beginning.

Hours before, Lily and Severus had walked through the meadow, enjoying the sounds emitted from the pipe. Lily wore a striped dress and a sunhat. Severus wore a pair of dark trousers and a black t-shirt. Some things would never change.

"It's a beautiful day!" Lily exclaimed, as if she hadn't witnessed a more splendid day in her time on this Earth. She twirled several times in a circle, her feet kicking up dirt, and her dress lifted up, revealing part of her—Severus couldn't believe his eyes!—Slytherin green knickers. Severus gulped. That woman was something else, something inhuman. She was too provocative, but too innocent at the same time to be human. Would calling her an angel be possible? She wasn't quite…angelic; she was too much of a vixen. It was slowly becoming apparent to Severus that he had begun to truly wither away into a love sick fool.

The half hours had passed—or had it been longer? They couldn't tell: Time had seemed to become irrelevant as they danced through the quaint village of magical creatures and unobtrusive villagers.

They sat at the shore of a pond; its façade glistened in the mid-afternoon sun. Charcoal black water bugs hopped from molecule of water to molecule of water. Locusts were buzzing irksomely, but there was still the music of the elves twittering far away—both heard one another's names in the Aeolian tune; "Lily," Severus". Both were a faint whisper—a sign of the ludicrous daze they had fallen into. And yet, it was riveting—enchanting, but…poignant in a preposterous sense.

Lily sat to Severus' left side, her hip and shoulder pressed directly onto his. The side of her head lied against his. The sun was barely setting. What had they done that day? It was grand, but all done in a misty, love manifested haze. They recalled a few hours before, recounting the happenings of the day.

Lily had guided him to the small market, which she had discovered on her own audacious account. The market held a stocky man on a tan wooden crate, yelling over the crowd of people about the day's "promising" offerings—a pound of fresh caught and cleaned sea bass for just over three sickles, day old bread, supposedly great for making bread pudding with, green squashes and cucumbers all for sale, but none of it had mattered to neither Severus nor Lily.

There was a woman who looked much like Molly Weasely selling fresh baked cakes and desserts at a stand. She spoke in a thick Scottish accent. "Cakes for sale! All the sweets you could ever eat!" But if that were true, Honeydukes would have been long out of business. On the stand cakes frosted in white and sprinkled with chocolate shaving had been arranged in rows, like an army of sweet confections, all standing still, waiting to be consumed and digested.

Severus purchased the small cake; it was about three centimeters in diameter. Its blackberry filling was oozing out of it in the most delectable fashion. It was given to him with a wide grin spread across the woman's plump, rose-tinted face and was placed in a brown paper napkin. "They're you go young lad." He detested to be called young—deplored the word "young" with a fiery, devious and devastating passion, he did. He considered rudely telling her that he was not young, and that her assessment of his age was incorrect. It was then that he reminded himself that he was still in an eighteen year old man's body. He sighed inwardly, before facing Lily who was ogling the square. She had walked a few meters away from him, and was now standing in the middle of the crowd.

"Here, I bought this for you," he said when he reached her. "You look like you're going to faint," he said callously when she didn't take it. She took it out of his hand, though irately. "If the next words I hear out of your mouth have anything to do with 'I can't eat this,' or 'I'll get fat,' I swear I won't converse with you for the rest of this trip." He turned away from her. "I think you're too beautiful to be worried about weight gain," he uttered beneath his had heard those last few words, blushed and then decided that she would mention a single thing.

They reached a park, if it could be called that. It was more so a grassy land with a maple tree smack dab in the middle of it. From a bistre colored branch hung a tire swing. Lily sat against the base of the tree, and Severus followed. They took turns feeding each other the minute, albeit sinfully delectable cake.

"Oh, I believe you have some left there," Lily began, "let me…get that for you." She leaned into him before he had a chance to react. She liked the crumb of cake of his lip before kissing him with unrestrained force and fervor. A low guttural noise escaped from Severus' throat, though he had been trying to hold it in. Lily pushed him into further against the tree. His hand began to creep down her side…

"Daddy, why are you kissing the lady?!" Emma whined from behind a bush.

Severus harshly pushed Lily off of him; she landed on her back, one hand beneath her butt and the other on the back of her head. Lily could not believe what she had been hearing. A small child had called Severus—her Severus, "daddy". She started to feel sick. What was happening? She need to hide behind another tree, yards away, and expel the contents of her stomach.

The brown haired, brown eyed girl walked out from behind the leafy bush where she had once hid. Severus had begun to go red in the face—nay it was closer to the distinct shade of puce that Vernon Dursely had religiously developed when he had gotten into a rage like no other. Neither Emma nor Lily had seen Severus be any color other than sallow, pale or sickly pale (and perhaps the slightest iota of pink) in the time that they had known him. The world could have been ending and neither of them would have known it, for this an enormity far too cataclysmic.

"EMMA!" Severus bellowed in a now crackling, demented bass. His voice had lost its sonorous quality. It turned sub-human—no, not even that—it had turned to a voice that could have been taken as the voice of a creature, twenty meters tall, with lethal teeth and a mordant disposition more incalculable than that of Snape's.

Emma's face first turned red, and then the change had been followed by a well of tears and a cacophony of shrieks coming from her tiny mouth. Severus lifted himself from the ground and sprinted towards Emma who had begun to run away in fear, but her legs had not been long enough to out run Severus. Mid-sprint, he picked her up and brought her into a fierce, hopefully apologetic and forgiving hug. He sincerely apologized to her and asked her how she had gotten here.

After wiping away her tears she said, "Grandpa Albus gave me the port-thing and said that I would see daddy if I looked for him enough, and…" she took a note out of the pocket of her purple blazer, "to give you this!"

Severus snatched the note from her hand and stuffed it into his pocket, stowing it away for later. "Ruddy mastermind can't give me a warning. I swear I'll die of a premature heart attack before I finish this mission because of him!"

Lily had come up to them with consternation. Her heart was in her throat, beating rapidly. No. Yes. No. It couldn't be. This wasn't Severus' child. It looked nothing like him—yes, nothing like him at all. "Calm down. Breathe. There must be a reason why he didn't tell you, Lily. Breathe. One, two three, in and out. Yes, that's it. He wouldn't keep secrets from you, not secrets like these. Would he? Why is he holding her like that? Holding her…so…lovingly? Just breathe. You won't be able to ask him, unless you don't breathe." They were choked breaths which came from Lily—a struggle, each one of them as they were, she attempted to fully cognize the girl and her…she couldn't say it—father, no "daddy". Daddy—a verbal poison, corrosive, burning, hotter than a furnace, in Lily's ears. Were those tears on her eyelashes?

"Sev?" not a statement any longer, of who he was, but a question if he still was. "Sev?" but he did not hear her. "Sev!" yet all he saw was the small girl in front of him, wearing a white dress. "SEV!" There was a rapt pounding—it couldn't be her heart. Hearts did not beat that stridently. The piercing pounding became vociferous shrieks, the shrieks became prophetic messages, and the messages became satanic words. The words became nothing, but deafness—pure silence. The silence then became stark blackness. It became darker, more terrifying, and infinitely, enormously abysmal.

Lily was standing stiller than an ice covered statue in the middle of the coldest winter night. It had been her demented imagination—only that. She let out a deep breathe. The girl was still there. She could deal with this, one measly step at a time. "Sev?" she whispered, a caress in her melodic voice, her green eyes wide and shining in the sun and her lips perfectly rosy-pink.

Severus faced Emma, then Lily, Emma, Lily, et cetera. Of all the moments this was to happen, it had to happen then. Just fine and dandy it was! His luck was that of betting heads on a doubly-tail sided sickle. He looked down at Emma. Curiosity struck her, and the innocence within her had possessed her to ask, "Is she going to be my mummy?" It was those seven words that had triggered something within both Severus and Lily. Ricocheting prolific and prophetic thoughts sped through them.

It was afterwards that Severus set the portkey to return Emma to Hogwarts within an hour. In that time, Lily introduced Emma to the glorious object dubbed the swing, one of which had made Emma giggle and smile more than she ever had before. Severus watched Lily and Emma frolic through the fields—frolic!—yes, frolic was a words in Severus' vocabulary. An iota that lasted a millisecond had made him ponder whether or not this could work, and for another millisecond he thought that it could. His thin lips were curled into a smile, and his black eyes shown warmly; so warmly that they appeared to be a deep shade of cozy brown, rather than black.

Emma had left, feeling as if she had been sucked into a great vortex. Reality crashed down upon them both. The forest was quite, its disquieting soundlessness tarrying far too long. Lily gazed up at him, her mouth ajar, and her eyebrows inquiring.

Before she let out a single peep, he told her a white-lie, as he called it. He told her of a story where his distant cousins had died in a car crash, and left was a small child (Emma), who had been placed in his care, as he was both of age and more fit to be a parent than his own father. Emma, suppressing her memories of what had happened, had taken to calling him her "daddy". At first, he had been opposed, bitterly so, but in time, with the deceiving encouragement of Albus, he had adapted to the child and learned for her.

Lily had quietly accepted this. They traveled to the inn, both smelling the scent of blood and one of them foolishly assuming that its saturated scent had come from the marketplace. Before they entered their room, the inquisition, "Is she going to be my mummy one day?" had resounded in their heads. They looked at each other with piety and covetousness, lust, unfragmented, purely white wanting for one another.

That night neither Severus nor Lily slept. Just before the stroke of midnight Severus had been greeted with his sultry, tempting surprise—one that had been the haunt of his dreams for the longest time. One kiss, two, three, a dozen and Severus and Lily were both lost. Human on human, skin on skin, sweat dripping, love being formed, made, the love each other shared being finally brought together and combined in a single night, in a minute, which lasted an hour. It seemed to be infinite, the times they had declared their love for each other.

He held her, her body in his strong arms, close to him. In the middle of the night beauteous entities had happened. Erotic, euphoric, blissful—but completely and utterly indescribable by human words, the act that they had done. There are many names for this act, most of them meaningless, uncouth, vulgar, but this time, one name had wrung true, wrung melodically: Severus and Lily had made love. But it wasn't that simple—not so easily said, nor done. It was a night that they had both imagined for so long, but Snape had imagined it for much, much longer. Had he planned it: It perhaps would have involved candles on a stormy night; however, this night had somehow been…the flawless moment for the act. He continued holding her, as if it would be the last time he ever would.

The doe bracelet he had carved for her so many years ago had still been on his ankle. He carefully slipped it off, and he then tied it onto Lily's dainty wrist. He kissed the back of her head, to which Lily let out a petite sound of pleasure. She opened her eyes, and saw the bracelet on her wrist. "I made it for you a long time ago," he told her.

"Never leave me. Never."

"I won't be leaving," he had carefully whispered. He would not be the one to leave—that was certain.

A/N: I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. However, I did make it lengthy for you, so I do hope that it makes up for the lateness. Saint Snape, I do hope that I have given you a worthy chapter. ExcessivelyPerky, the Emma scene was for you. All you other people who gave me review are amazing and you fuel my writing.