The note fluttered up through the air, arcing gracefully over the windowsill to her lap. Her eyes found the photograph attached to her vanity mirror as she unfolded it – his eyes smiled out at her. I love you, Lils. I always will.
Her bare feet pushed her to the open window. I love you, he’d written. She leaned out, careful not to catch her curlers off the top of it. He stood across the lawn, bowing slightly on his front two legs, the antlers catching the moonlight. Then he bounded off, his form fading into the darkness. I always will, the note said. She shouldn’t have seen him. Not tonight. The dress slung over her rocking chair reminded her of it. It was white, and pure, and she shouldn’t have looked for him the night before she was to wear it.
She crossed the room slowly, a loose lock of her hair in her mouth. She hadn’t chewed on her hair in years, definitely not since she’d started Hogwarts. But tonight, she chewed on her hair.
The note was placed into the box on her vanity; it was not the first. Dear Lily, he’d write. My dearest Lily. To my flower, my Lils. It was then that the tears began, great heaving sobs that ripped through her. I love you, it said.
CRACK. The grass was bitterly cold beneath her swift feet, but they didn’t falter despite the slippery texture. She moved like a doe, all speed and lightness, but her hands tore through her hair, pulling the curls loose in a frenzy. The curlers were cast aside, dropping off into the darkness and, when the last was loosened and had fallen away, she used her arms to push herself even more quickly forward.
The ground changed beneath her, and a part of her brain cursed herself for not wearing shoes. Lily ran anyway, ignoring the pulse that thumped mercilessly in her chest. One. Two. One One Two. She ran to it, ran from it, ran towards the person it beat for, ran from the person it beat for. She pulled his ring off her finger. One two one. She ran.
There were houses now, or remnants of them. She didn’t have to see the numbers on the mailboxes to know what they read. 21, 23, 25.
31. It hadn’t changed, not even an inch. The gate still hung haphazardly, and might not have moved since the last time she’d touched it. The broken window pane from their last argument had never been fixed, the glass never cleaned up; a thick layer of dust held it in its place on the ground now, and then she was on his porch, at his door, and nothing of her surroundings mattered in the least.
She didn’t knock. Didn’t even raise a hand to. Instead, she lifted one of her torn feet to the railing, doubly secured since they’d reached the age where the world and adulthood weighed them down, and extended herself onto the trellis halfway up the first floor.
It hurt, but she climbed anyway, not sparing a thought to the nightgown that was her only barrier to the cold of the September night. Lily found the windowsill the same as everything else around her, still sturdy enough to hold her frame.
She lifted the window with her wand, not trusting her balance, then slipped in.
The bed was exactly where she remembered, and he was where she expected him to be. Three in the morning, and asleep, his jaw slack against the pillow. Her knees found the floor beside him, and she reached out a tentative hand. His cheek responded in kind, shifting into it, and for the first time that night, she smiled.
Then she was in his bed, nose-to-nose, and her hand gripped his arm, pulling it around her. He didn’t stir, but his breath was less steady now, and she wondered what he dreamt of, if it was the same as she’d been dreaming of for weeks.
She closed her eyes too, now, and her hand found his chest. She timed her breaths with his, and soon, the beat that thumped beneath her fingers matched the one that caught in her throat. Then her lips moved forward, pressing themselves perfectly against his own.
They stayed there an eternity, finding a small part of the comfort she sought out simply by resting them against his own. He reacted automatically, his hand urging her hip closer to his own. Feeling his hands on her was all it took for a moan to slip from her throat, and he stirred, his lips opening just enough to catch her own between them.
His breath was heavy with sleep and alcohol, but she kissed him, tilting her head into his and pulling at his love for her. He kissed her back, and when she pulled away for air, they moved slightly, kissing a dream girl she would never meet. Her hand glided through his hair, and then she heard it. ‘Lily…’
Severus dreamt of her.
A breath she didn’t realize she was holding swept out from her chest in a single, strangled sob, and she pictured the lovely white dress that she was to wear tomorrow. His chest was warm and his hands were big and he loved her so much he dreamt about loving her, and she deserved none of it.
It was like a mantra, an everlasting chant. It’d begun slowly, almost quietly, but now it thudded in her mind like her heart in her chest. You don’t get to be happy. You will never be happy.
How could it be that she loved them both?
For all its lumps and seediness, that bed was the hardest place she knew she’d ever have to leave. It called to her, pulled her back. She shuffled away from it, slowly. Their last argument screamed at her. How can you be with him, Lily? How?
She barely noticed the climb down. He might love you, I don’t know. She didn’t bother with the running – she Apparated on the spot – But he’ll never love you like I do – and found herself in her bedroom again. And you’ll never love him like you love me.
Lily had hit him then, the palm of her hand fighting a useless battle against his chest. He’d taken it, Severus had, letting her try to smack him away, to push away her feelings. But then he’d grabbed her, and kissed her, and damned if she hadn’t kissed him back.
The other box of letters lay under her bed. There were hundreds – seven years worth of owls flying from Gryffindor tower to the dank dungeons, of shared notebooks (without any hint of the school work they should’ve held) during Charms and Potions, of a hastily written ‘You’ve got ink on your face’ or ‘Did you get any sleep last night?’ passed between classes. Lily, he’d written, always. Never a variation, never a pet name or a ‘my love.’ From Severus, he’d write, always, his script legible but scratchy.
She hadn’t known he loved her.
Marry me, Lils?
Please don’t marry him, Lily.
Make me the happiest guy in the world.
You can’t be with him. Not then, not now, not ever.
I love you.
You’ll never love him.
Forever and always, Lils.
I love you, Lily.
She hadn’t known she loved him.
The sun rose with an unnatural uncertainty upon September 23rd that year. It peeked out from behind a cloud cover, never fully warming the day. The ceremony was spectacular, and everybody invited came, and laughed and drank and celebrated. The bride wore a white dress, her red hair cascading down the nape of her neck gracefully, and in her vows she read from the first letter the groom had sent her. It didn’t speak of love, but of friendship and happiness, and all their guests agreed it was a lovely ceremony.
And some time that day, after restless dreams and a wretched hangover, Severus awoke to the cold of a September morning, and a lonely ring on the sill of his open window.