Broken whines could be heard from miles away, yet no one chose to hear them, because they were too encumbered by their own haughty dispositions. There was a piercing shriek, one that could be implanted in the listener's memory for decades. Rain poured mercilessly to the ground, the trees' branches were drooping in despair, and the lakes' water undulated with waves, waves that shouldn't have appeared on a lake. The water was murky, filled with pollution, but most importantly, and most enthrallingly, the memories of a young boy, a young boy who had long ago died.

But this boy had grown into a man—a man with a darkened soul, and a near-completely iced over heart, whose blackness was so dark that it seemed near impossible for him to be capable of love. The boy he had used to be was an oddity, an awkward, scrawny and twitchy little thing, who most pitied. But there was something endearing about him, perhaps it was the was an idiotic smile would spread across his face whenever he saw the faintest glimmer of red, or maybe it was the way he would stare dreamily at anything emerald colored, almost as if her were in a trance. But most people could swear upon this, that the boy that they had known long ago died one day, but he did come back, though completely different. Unrecognizable by attitude, and petrifying in demeanor, the townspeople had grown frightened of him.

No one would dare to visit his abode. Every new person who treaded the streets of Spinner's end would always be warned not to go near the dilapidated house right by the lake. Yet there was one woman—one woman who could defy their misgivings, and amble to his home, her head sunk low, and her hands stuffed into the pockets of her coat.

She had the audacity to visit him on several dozen occasions, though she knew she never should have. After marriage, Lily had told herself that she had to distance herself from her past, because she entered a new chapter in her life—a new chapter that was the beginning of a new book. But like with all series, references must be made, and those references can never be forgotten, because, just perhaps, they are the most important entity. This most important entity was a man, the exact man who she had been visiting for the entirety of her marriage. When people thought of Lily, they would always say kind, soulful words about her, which always described her as wholesome, and good-hearted. She wasn't the type to create an affair, they all said—she wasn't the type who would stir trouble, and shatter hearts. It was unorthodox, they said!

But in truth, Lily was no better than the man she had been visiting. The man, of course, could be no one other than the lanky, greasy haired, astringently predisposed person whom she had affiliated as her best friend—the person who had changed her very existence since their eyes met at the age of seven. From the moment his black, trapping eyes bore into her own emerald, otherworldly ones, she had been caught in a never ending spiral of ups-and-downs. How she adored it with virtually unparalleled ardor! He was her drama, her source of her humanly feelings, and most importantly the person who had taught her how to care, how love, and how to cherish all that she could. But still, she could cherish nothing and no one more than she could ever cherish him.

This man, however enormous of an anomaly he was, was called Severus Snape—not a pleasing name, but certainly a fitting one for him. Severus had never forgotten her. After their split in their fifth year of Hogwarts, he never put his feelings for her on hiatus. On the contrary, those feelings he had for her were the sole thing which kept his heart open to the barest modicum of love.

When she appeared at his doorstep so many months ago, he was speechless, but he took no time to let her in. They took even less time getting too close to each other. It wasn't even seconds before the unrequited love barriers they had set up, had all collapsed, and behind the dust was a scene, horrifically profound. I was the moment they seized—carpe diem!—when his thin lips latched onto her plump ones. Their hands had brevity, and wandered across each other's persons, their morals all gone, just for that single moment. Afterwards, they starred at each other, a tacit language being spoken between their tearing orbs. She left his home, and promised that she would never return. It was a promise she could never keep.

Now, she was in his home. The walls could not be seen behind the pine bookshelves, which were filled to the brim with leather-bound tomes and novels. A recliner sat by a smoldering fire, which was placed in a brick fireplace. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she took a step away from him, letting out that one horrific shriek which sent chills even down his rigid spine. She collapsed into the black recliner; her pale faced now reddening, her auburn hair capping her face. Her hands brutally shoved themselves onto her cheeks to wipe away the ears. She was uncomfortable on furniture—her pregnant body was not used to it. She turned away from him, unable to face him, for if she did, she knew all too well that she would give into her greatest vice of all.

"Please, leave me be. Let me leave. I—I will never bother you again."

He bent over to her, moving aside the chocolate colored coffee table, their glasses filled with cognac-colored liquid spilling over, though he did not trouble to him. His long fingered, soft hand came into contact with her aweing hair. His heart, for the first time in a long while, pounded with pain.

"Look at me," he whispered as warmly as he could, though it still managed to come off as abrasive. "Lily," he breathed, a voice much unlike his own had appeared—this one more natural than the last; it was deep, sonorous, caressing even.

She looked at him, his sallow face, his hooked nose, his slightly porous skin, all more than handsome to her. He opened his eyes, but he did not look into her mind, he need not use legilimency on her to know that she would become ensnared by him.

"Tell me," his hand was now placed on her protruding belly.

"It's—it's his—n-not yours," she croaked out without a bit of emotion in her once lovely voice. Her heart-shaped face became red.

"Don't lie to me."

She broke, her body collapsing onto his, almost limp, though fully alive. She clutched him to her tightly, kissing his bare, muscular and alabaster chest. Possibly, she could distract him. A low groan was emitted from his throat. Her hands threatened to undo his belt. He would have pushed her away if she hadn't been pregnant with what he was sure to be his child.

"I can protect you—the both of you. Stay…There is no need for you to go back to him. You don't love him, Lily!"

"How would you know?!" she sneered, "How could you ever know?"

"Because if you did love him, you wouldn't be here, always denying that you feel the way you do about me. You are ashamed, ashamed of loving a worthless man. Believe me; I know I am worth less than lead."

She looked up at him once more—his Occlumency shields had been put down. He would only put them down for her. Irrefutable it was, the way she knew she had felt about him. No longer questioning whether they could love each other through what had happened, there was nothing left for her to repudiate. Though there was a single thing which would always haunt her existence, because it would always mar Severus' skin with its uncouth repugnance. It was unambiguous as to how she had not only reviled it, but how mortified she was because of it. He knew how she felt about it all too well. So, he bandaged it up, sealing it away from her vision. He did not want to further damage her; she was too acutely sensitive.

He leaned into her; she could smell him—his musky scent, spicy and sweet at the same time, but he could smell her too—Sicilian lemons, the blossoming flowers in spring, the sun shining down on a dismal floor. He was now standing behind her, his hands sensibly wrapped around her waist, the baby within her kicking the spot right where the palm of his hand lay. She took advantage of his position. Before she could say another word to him, she had to conquer her fear, to shove aside her pettiness. She swiftly began to unwrap his concealed arm.

He hissed, "Don't!" but the aforementioned deed had already been done.

She saw the hideous skull, an oddly beautiful snake wrapped around it. Looking at it was nearly as abysmal as looking at a Dementor. No security came from it; she could not prevail.

"You told him—you told Voldemort about the prophecy. You think I can stay here! We'll all get killed—slaughtered like the swine he thinks we are."

In all seriousness, he began to utter words. They were the words he long ago should have told her. "If I knew it was about the child inside of you, I would have rather committed suicide, so in that way I would have assured that he never heard the prophecy. If I had known—"The rest had come out as chocked cries. "If I had known I wouldn't be here right now. I would be in whatever hell there is. If I had known I would have done everything in my power to make sure that, that horrid divination did not make it to his ears!" She had never seen him weep as he had that day. He wept like the pouring rain, of the most severe tempest, on the stormiest night, when all was dark, and there was no worth in searching for the light.

"Sev," she spoke his childhood nickname for the first time since fifth year. Then, the Dark Mark did not seem as nauseating as before. It didn't repel her. That which had consumed him, so terribly so, had made him stronger—had made him flourish into the most transcendent person. What a beautiful creature he was.

She put her dainty hands on top of his. She pressed against them; she wanted him to feel her, to feel how hard her heart had been beating for him, and to feel how much the baby kicked whenever she was near him. Then, a wide smile spread across her face. It was the contradictory of deplorable—that mark.

"The baby is yours."

"Really?" he asked, for the first time questioning himself.


There was no necessity for an apology on either person's part. He smirked, his face pressed into her hair. He placed a kiss onto her fine smelling scalp.

"Stay with me. I will keep you both safe. We will run if we have to. If it is at all possible, I will abandon the Death Eaters. I no longer wish to be affiliated with them. I no longer want to be the slave of an unrelenting master. I want to be yours Lily—only yours. I want to bring you happiness and safety. And one day, I may hope that we will stop running. But…the choice is yours.

"I beg of you, stay with me—not for an hour, not for a day, a month, or a year. I beg of you, stay with me for the rest of your life." It was a final plea—a dim light in the nearly impenetrable darkness. It would be heard, he would make sure of it. Severus would have rather given Lily his life, than have watched her walk away one more time.

Her breathing became deep; she closed her eyes, melting into him. What a dream it was—to be with him. On the run, they certainly would be. Could they survive a life like this? Would she find bliss with him? She knew she loved him—loved him more than she had ever loved James.

The lights in the room were off. Candles had been lit; smoke had circled their feet. The scent of roasting apples and golden caramel filled the room. Though, there were flaws. The room was colder than the snow in winter, and the sound of a grandfather clock ticking away was far too loud. But she could not complain. For there he was, his arms around her—and it couldn't have been more perfect.

Could it be?

"I'll stay. I'll stay forever," she gave him his answer.

That night, they did not have sex. They made love that night. Every night from then on, she was sure she would sleep with him. She told herself that she would stay with him forevermore. He told himself he would never flee. How hard could it be? How much different was it hiding with him, than it had been with James? There was one difference: She loved Severus, not like a brother, but like a lover, like a part of her soul that should never be detached—just as Severus had felt about her.

They lied underneath the charcoal colored silken sheets—body next to body, heating each other. His hands were on her abdomen, lightly caressing it with fervor. He slid closer into her. Her body fit perfectly onto his. He lowered himself to the crook of her neck, kissing her until she woke up, slightly startled, but Severus soothed her with the kisses.

"I need to tell you," he began, urgency in his voice.

"This late in the night? Can't it wait until morning?"

"There is no way that it could possibly wait."

"Go ahead."

"I love you," he told her for the first time since they had been together.

She turned to him, her mouth agape and her eyes glistening with the elated tears that had begun to form. She had thought that he would have never said those three words to her. He wasn't that type of man.

"Severus, I love you too," she said in a daze, still shocked by him. She was smiling like an impudent school girl.

"I'm sorry that I have to put you through this all."

"It's worth it—being with you."

They fell asleep, not knowing how many days they had left. But they told themselves they would spend each day with blind love, and as much happiness tha they could muster. There was fear, but fear is nothing when countered with love. They had promises—ones that they hoped to never break. But there had been most importantly, the final plea, still floating in the air, though said hours ago. It was days like these that would never slip out of memory.

A/N: This is a prize for the hundredth follower of The Light and the Dark; Essiekl. I do hope that he/she likes it.

If you, the reader, like this check out one of my other stories!

Do you think I should continue this? Does it have the possibility of turning into a multi-chaptered story?