I dreamed I held you in my arms,
But when I awoke, dear, I was mistaken,
So I hung my head and I cried.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,
You make me happy when skies are gray,
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you,
Please don't take my sunshine away.
i.
The moon is bright and heavy in the black sky as her car speeds down the highway.
He can't look at her face.
He glances at his lap, at the dashboard, at her small hands gripping the steering wheel painfully tight and at the gold band that sits firmly, possessively, mockingly on her left ring finger. Here she is with him, helping him escape, saving him, throwing good sense to the wind for him, but she still belongs to someone else.
The thought makes him grit his teeth, and he wonders again why he's doing this.
She is not a part of his life. She hasn't been for years.
There is so much time and unsaid words and hidden regrets and old wounds between them, but all of those pale in comparison to the simple fact that there is a war between them, a war that defines who they are and how they can never be who they once were.
But then what is he doing?
Why did he agree to this?
And, more importantly, why did she agree to this?
His eyes flicker to her stomach. He can't look at her face and he quickly realises it's also a mistake to look at her stomach, but he can't seem to tear his gaze away. Her stomach was once a smooth plane. Now it's protruding and round and holds a whole other person. The sight is as painful as the ring on her finger, and the same man who put that ring on her finger put that baby in her stomach. It makes him sick to his stomach to know, to acknowledge, to imagine.
"Where are we going?" he finally asks, nearly snarling. This is ridiculous. The entire thing is ridiculous.
"I don't know," she murmurs. "Away. We're going away. Far away."
"It won't be far enough," he tells her scornfully. Does she really believe it will be? Does she really think this will work? Does she really hope that this will change everything or even anything? She does, he knows. She's always been an idealist.
The car swerves off the road so abruptly that he grabs the door to keep from flying out of the passenger seat. She shifts the old Chevy into park and then turns her dark green eyes on his, forcing him to face her. He tries not to look too closely, and it isn't difficult with the darkness — only dim, dancing shadows light her face. Still, he can see the set of her jaw and the wrinkle in her forehead.
"If we're going to do this, then you need to be all in, d'you hear me? Because I'm giving up everything for this, and if it's not going to mean anything, if it's not going to change anything, then tell me, and I'll turn this car around and go home." Her voice is firm and fiery and it reminds him of the rose-coloured past and too bright sunshine and a giggling girl with unruly curls and dirt under her nails, who says with a voice too loud and an attitude too large, "Oh, Sev."
He knows it's wrong. He knows it's all so wrong. He hasn't changed the way she seems to think he has and she still doesn't really comprehend that his affection for her is entirely outside his feelings for Mudbloods and Muggles.
They are filth.
The Dark Lord is right to fight for the domination of Wizards, of the better blood, and Snape is both smart and proud to serve the powerful wizard. But she doesn't know that. She doesn't understand that. She doesn't see how different she is. To him, she isn't like the rest of them. To him, she is beyond human. To him, Lily Evans (not Potter, never Potter) is an angel and she is, without a doubt and beyond all understanding, his only hope at salvation.
It's wrong, but he can't let salvation leave him. He can't lose her again, even if this is the only way to keep her. It's wrong, but it's the truth. "I'm all in," he says softly. She stares, and he sees tears glistening in her eyes. Are they for him? Or are they for the man she's leaving behind to help him?
"Okay," she whispers. Her eyes flicker forward again and she shifts back into drive, directing the car back on to the road. He swallows thickly, trying not to look at her face or the wedding band on her finger or the hand resting softly and protectively on her pregnant belly.
He doesn't know much, but he knows this: he, Severus Snape, is in way over his head.
ii.
They drive all night and all day and at eleven o'clock the next night, she pulls into a dirty Muggle motel. She pays for the room and then orders pizza, and he sits disdainfully on the one bed, trying to remind himself why he's doing this. She's barely spoken at all to him in the last twenty-four hours, but she's cried more than once.
Cried for her husband, the absolute brute who never has and never will deserve her.
The pizza comes and they eat in silence.
And then she stretches out on the couch, her stomach like a mountain reaching for the sky as she lies flat on her back. Unfamiliar guilt flushes his frame. "You can take the bed," he says, standing.
"It's okay," she murmurs sleepily. The lack of blankets doesn't seem to faze her: she's pulled a large sweatshirt from her suitcase and slipped it on over her modest pyjamas, and it occurs to him that the sweatshirt belongs to her husband. It makes bile rise in his throat.
"Take the bed," he insists.
"I'm fine here," she assures. Her eyes are closed now.
"Take the bloody bed, Lily!" he shouts angrily. Why does she always have to be the martyr?
Her eyes fly open and she awkwardly sits up, her hands clutching her belly. The shame is already beating his brow. He should say something but he doesn't. "Why does it matter?" she asks. "Why do you care so much?"
"Wouldn't he give you the bed?" he asks, his lip curling. He's not sure why he does this to himself — or to her. But he can't help it. He's angry, always so angry, and sometimes the anger is all he can feel, it grips him and chokes him and eats away at him.
"Yes, he would," she answers. "But you're not him."
The anger flushes even deeper. "Then why are you —?"
"You've never been about the chivalrous, Sev," she carries on. The nickname is enough to pause the flow of anger, and he can hear her even over the thudding of blood in his head. "James is always about being chivalrous, about taking care of me and protecting me and treating me like a princess. Our relationship was never like that. We were always on equal footing."
The anger recedes far within him at her simple, straightforward words. He feels a kind of superiority over Potter, although he knows she doesn't mean it the way he would like. He wishes she meant that Potter treats her wrong and he treats her right, but that's not the case.
She means to say that Potter treats her as his girlfriend, as his lover, as his wife, while as he has only ever been her friend. Doesn't she know he wants to be more? That he's always wanted to be more? He finally looks away from the wall to face her and he can't help the smile that plays across his lips.
She's fallen asleep already. He ignores her stomach and this time looks at her face, a face that haunts him with unimaginable pain but is still the reason he greets the day each morning. It's the reason he agreed to this.
He doesn't know why she met him that day in the park. It was probably for the same reason that she agreed to run away with him. But she did, and he saw her for the first time in well over a year, and it broke something within him to see her as beautiful as ever and pregnant. The conversation had been tense and painful and drawn out by long pauses, but at one point he hadn't been able to contain himself.
"Don't you think I would leave if I could?" he demanded. "Don't you think I know that I'm fighting in a war against you and there's no way out? Don't you think I would drop it all for you if I could? But I can't! I'm trapped by the choices I've made, Lily, and I can't undo them."
She's always made him say things he would never say otherwise, never say to anyone else. She brings out a part of him even he doesn't understand. And when he shouted those words, not even sure from where they came, she told him if the only way for him to escape the Dark Lord and his obligations (she misunderstood his words, but maybe he meant her to), was to run away, then she would run with him.
He still can't believe she actually has.
He goes to bed strangely calm.
The anger returns when she whispers James in her sleep.
iii.
They get a cheap breakfast she picks up in a Muggle gas station the next morning and start out on the road again. It's silent for a long time, until finally she punches on the radio, spins the volume up, and starts to sing along.
He delights in her off-key voice trying to keep pace with the terrible Muggle songs that play. He shouldn't, but he does. He starts to smile at one point, and she somehow knows, because her eyes bounce to him and she returns the smile in a way that makes his chest explode. Before he can think of something to say, her eyes are back on the road.
He thinks about the Dark Lord.
Will he be sought out and punished? He hasn't betray the Dark Lord . . . not really. He's simply left. But Lily won't let him do magic, just in case it can be traced. And he can feel the dark mark burning on the inside of his wrist; he knows if he lifts the sleeve of the ill-fitting Muggle shirt Lily gave him — "you can't wear robes on the getaway in the Muggle world, Sev," — the dark mark will be glowing black.
He can't do that, though, so he stares out the window and listens to the sound of her high-pitched voice and tries to pretend that he's not run away at all, that Lily and he are simply having a drive, and that James Potter doesn't exist.
When they stop that night she manages to get a room with two beds. They still haven't said a word to each other all day, not in the car, not when they're eating dry sandwiches from the motel lobby counter, and not even when they both settle into bed. But then she winces a little.
"Baby," she says, her hands stroking her belly as she looks down at it, "didn't we talk about violence against the bladder?"
It's too much for him, her lying there murmuring to Potter's spawn inside of her.
"Did you marry him because he got you pregnant?"
Her head snaps from her belly to him and he's pained at the sight of all her thoughts and feelings flashing across her face in the next instant: bewilderment, disappointment, a tinge of self-righteous anger, and finally sad acceptance. (That's the worst, the sad acceptance. It's the look she gave him at the end of fifth year when she made clear the end of their friendship — a friendship that was supposed to last forever. It's the look on her face that floats in his dreams, taunting him for mistakes he can't take back.)
"No," she replies. "I married him because I love him and I want to spend the rest of my life with him." She pauses, as if to force her words to sink in. He wishes she weren't speaking in present tense. "The pregnancy came after." She leans back across the pillows of her bed, her thin arms wrapping protectively around her stomach.
"I suppose he wanted to assure you couldn't ever leave him."
It's as if he's possessed when talking about James Potter: he can't stop the spiteful words that spin out of his mouth.
Her face pinches. "Stop it, Severus. Just stop it."
But he can't. "Why did you marry him? You can't possible love him, Lily, you can't. I know you better than anyone, and you can't love him." At some point his words went from dark and snarling to a kind of plea. He's not sure when. He can't be bothered to care.
"You know me better than anyone? No, Sev. You knew me better than anyone. Not anymore. Not in long time. Not since I stopped knowing who you are." She stares at him with a locked jaw. "And you don't deserve this, but I love him because if he had been in the car today, he would have sung along."
It's quiet. "That's it?" he hisses.
"That's everything, Sev. That defines who he is. But you want more? Fine. I love him because he talked to my stomach every night before I left. I love him because he puts cheese on every single thing he eats. I love him because he's absolute rubbish at chess but he never stops trying to beat Remus. I love him because he's always hungry. I love him because when he's angry, he says so. He yells and screams and he doesn't brood by himself or ignore me or resent me or act as if I've mortally wronged him. I love him because he's scared of sharks.
"I love him because I walked into our house after seeing you and told him that I needed to leave to help you, that I needed to take my car that same night and drive to God only knows where for God only knows how long with a man he absolutely despises and who until this point was fighting against us in the war, and he said okay."
The silence this time is a thousand times worse.
"And, okay, I can admit that most of his reasoning probably has nothing to do with you — if I'm off on the road, then I'm not fighting in the war and Baby and I are safer. But in the end what matters is that he really let me leave with you. Trusted me completely. Can you — can you honesty say you'd do the same, if the situation were reverse?"
"He's fooled you," he replies hotly, because he can't not say anything. "He's fooled you just like everybody else, and one day you're going to realise it." She doesn't respond. She starts to stretch out towards the lamp, stops, glances at her stomach, and begins to climb out of bed without an ounce of grace.
He reaches out from the opposite bed and switches the light off, plunging them in darkness. He sits there motionless and listens to the sound of her manoeuvring back into bed and onto her back, and he feels a kind of deep, raging hatred for the child inside of her.
"One day, Severus," she murmurs suddenly, "you're going to realise that who you once were doesn't matter nearly as much as who you are now."
iv.
It's been over a month.
It's the same day after day, driving and eating cheap Muggle meals and sleeping in cheap Muggle motels. Her stomach grows larger and larger and he realises that she'll have the baby soon — it can't possibly grow any larger — and the idea terrifies him: what does he know about babies? Does she expect him to help her? Are they going to a hospital?
And, more importantly, will they continue driving no where once she has a baby in her arms, rather than her stomach? Or will she go home to Potter and play house with his child? The idea makes him frown, and he pretends he can't feel her eyes on his face as they drive down the highway.
What are they even doing, anyway?
Where are they running? How long will they run for?
He can never admit it to her, but he knows what he's doing, at least; he's waiting for her to realise that she can't go back to Potter, that she belongs with someone who will truly care for her and protect her and love her as she deserves. And he'll do anything, go anywhere, and run for as long as it takes to make this happen.
He doesn't think about what it means for his position as a servant of the Dark Lord, what it means that he left the Dark Lord and a new, greater world order for a girl. She's always done that to him — eclipsed the rest of the world and made herself his whole priority.
He tried to deny it and ignore it and prevent it before, and it cost him her. He tried to have the Dark Lord in his life despite Lily's disapproval, to have them both, but he couldn't. He lost her because of it.
He won't make that mistake again.
That night she shoves a book at him, some old Victorian novel he knows she's read a hundred times; he remembers it from school, from brighter days when she assured him that they would be friends — best friends — forever and a day. "What is this?" he asks sharply.
"A book."
"Yes, and what would you like me to do with this book?"
"Read it."
His lip curls at her flippant attitude. She laughs.
"Relax, Sev; it won't bite. But I've decided that Baby could do with some more external stimuli, and the best way for little he or she to have this is to be read aloud to." It takes him a moment to catch her line of thinking.
"You want me to . . . read . . . aloud . . . to your . . . unborn child?"
"Yes, please!"
He adamantly refuses, she pleads and prods and begs, he still holds fast, and she eventually gives up trying to make him. She reads aloud instead, and he tries not to take too much pleasure in the sound of her soft voice.
The next night she cuts his hair, having spent nearly a week insisting that it looks awful. He puts up a huge protest, but somehow she talks him into a chair and she takes the clippers to his head. She does a surprisingly good job, but when did Lily ever do something poorly?
A little over a week later they get a hotel room that's more of a suite, and it has it's own kitchen. She goes to the grocery store and buys ingredients to make something. Her whole face is alight as she cooks, an activity she's always loved and must have missed in their time on the road. "What do you think?" she asks, adorably nervous as she watches him take a bite of the chicken she's cooked.
"It's good."
"Yeah?"
He manages a small smile. "Best I've ever had." He thinks it's a rather weak compliment, but she beams, and he valiantly fights the pink that rises in his neck. Before he knows what he's doing, he offers to read aloud that night. She gladly accepts. He reads for nearly an hour. There's no point in even trying to hide the blush in his pale cheeks when she murmurs sleepily that he has a good reading voice.
He's a fool for running like this, he knows, but he's a fool with Lily right beside him.
v.
She lets out a blood-curling scream, and he stumbles out of the loo without a shirt on, his hair still wet, his fingers fumbling to button his trousers. "What —?" he exclaims, his eyes darting around the room for the enemy as he makes a lunge for his wand, lying on the bed in plain view of the entire room.
But it quickly becomes clear that no one is about to curse them both.
Lily is standing on the motel room desk, horror written all over her face as she stares at the far wall. He follows her gaze and sighs. It's a spider. Granted, it's a pretty large spider, but still. Weren't Gryffindors supposed to be brave?
"A spider?" he asks her unnecessarily. "That's why you screamed?"
"Of course that's why I screamed!" she cries, pointing wildly at the wall, "look at it, Sev! It's huge! It's a spider! It's a huge spider! That thing could eat me!"
He snorts, inadvertently amused by her reaction. He knows she isn't this way about all bugs: she used to giggle with delight when caterpillars crawled across her arm when they were younger, and she once tied floss to a beetle in order to make it her pet. For one reason or another, however, it seems she isn't so friendly with spiders.
He grabs a piece of hotel stationary paper, but as he reaches out to the bug, she shouts at him to stop. "What're you doing?" she demands.
He frowns. "What does it look like? I'm getting rid of it."
"You're killing it!" she exclaims. "You can't kill it," she tells him, aghast. "It's an innocent spider, Sev." He can only stare at her.
"I thought it was going to eat you," he says slowly.
"Yes, but . . . can't you take it outside so it can be with it's spider friends?" Suddenly they're little kids again, and he's her best friend, the one she turns to when the going gets tough — and as little kids, a big spider is as tough as it can possibly get.
He sighs as if it's a great burden before easily slipping the paper under the spider and carrying it outside. When he comes back inside, she's frowning at the ground as if unsure how to make her way back down to it. "How did you even get up there in the first place?" he asks.
"It just kind of happened," she shrugs helplessly. "You know, adrenaline rush and all." She looks over at him with wide eyes. "Help me?"
He strides towards her, and she's already reaching out to him when he wraps an arm around her back, her large, pregnant belly pressing to his chest as he helps navigate her onto the chair and then to the floor. When her bare feet hit the ground, she stumbles a little, clutching at him, and with her warm body pressed to his and her sweet smelling hair brushing his face and taunting him, he's a moment away from simply swooping down and taking her mouth with his.
There's a soft smile gracing her face as she looks up at him. "Thanks," she says.
The moment is almost frozen in time, and he even begins to lean down, when she abruptly tears away from him. His stomach drops, humiliation floods his veins, and he can barely even process the harsh rejection. But then he realises her eyes are trained on his arm, distaste barely hiding the gleam of terror that fills her eyes.
She's looking at the dark mark on his arm, glowing black and easily visible.
"Lily," he says. Her eyes fly to his face. He knows he's taken her by surprise, and his heart melts a little, realising she had rejected his embrace simply because of the mark. It's warm to the touch, he knows, and she was simply startled. He reaches for her. She steps back.
"Don't touch me," she breathes. "Not with . . . not with that. Not ever with that." She swallows thickly, her arms automatically circling her stomach. He turns quickly away from her, biting hard on his lip as he suppresses the urge to shake sense into her — how can she be so blind?
As he tears back into the loo and grabs the shirt he had discarded minutes before, his mind grabs on the judgement in her gaze, the judgement that settled when the shock and terror faded away. For the first time in nearly two months, she had looked it him as if he were another Death Eater. But he's different. Isn't his trip with her proof?
They're both exceptions to the rule, and she doesn't understand —
"Sev," she calls. He ignores her, pulling the shirt over his head. "Severus!" she shouts, panicked.
He steps back into the main room, frowning ever so slightly. She's staring at her feet, and before he can process what lies so clearly before him, she looks up, a completely different kind of terror written all over her face. "My water," she whispers. "My water just broke."
vi.
It all happens quickly.
"The front desk," she says, taking shallow breaths of shock. "Go to the front desk. Ask where the nearest hospital is." He doesn't hesitate. Before he knows what's happening, he's driving her car for the first time, and it's amazing he doesn't spin them into a wall as he speeds to the Muggle hospital a few kilometres away from their hotel.
All of it is a blur, really. Leading her into the hospital, talking to pretentious Muggle Healers, filling out papers the answers to which he must continuously ask Lily for, and shaking his head mutely when more than one person finds the need to ask him, "Are you the father?" — it all streams together in an evening that turns into night that starts to fade into morning.
He stays with Lily in her room as the hours pass and her pain seems to grow worse and worse. He tries to ignore when she winces and cringes and clutches her stomach, and he resists the urge to whip out his wand and hex the incompetent men and women who check in on her but do little to relieve her pain, only saying over and over again stupid, useless things like, "Six centimetres. You're doing well, Mrs. Potter. A little while longer."
He pretends not to notice when a Healer woman leaves — a nurse, Lily calls her — and Lily pulls out her hidden her wand and shoots a brilliant silver doe out of it. "Baby's coming," she whispers. "I'm at the hospital. Miss you. Love you." The doe circles the room and then disappears out of the room. She looks at him, as if to give an explanation, and then all of a sudden her head tilts back, her neck arching, and she lets out a tortured little moan, gasping.
He swallows thickly, returns the thin, half-smile she gives him a few moments later, and wishes he could do more.
He's almost dozed off when her screams abruptly triple and a woman says, "Page Dr. Collins. Tell him she's just reached ten centimetres." He's able to deduce that it's finally really happening; she's having a baby. He starts to walk out of the room, but he sees her fingers curling painfully around the sheets of her bed as she's surrounded by stupid Muggles, and he can't help himself.
He kneels beside the bed and takes her hand in his. She squeezes it . . . painfully. But he doesn't let go. A few minutes later, and he wishes he were anywhere else. As if the screaming weren't enough, as if watching the pain criss-cross her red, sweaty face weren't enough, she's started shouting for him and refusing to push.
"Mrs. Potter, you need to —"
"No, no, no!" she screams. "I can't do this by myself! I can't! I can't! James," she wails. She screams despairingly.
"Mrs. Potter —"
"JAMES! I want James — I need him — don't you see?"
It's as if she's not even aware that he, Severus, is right by her bed, gripping her hand. Her husband might not be there for her, but he is, and isn't that enough? He clenches his teeth. He can't be here. He starts to pull away, but Lily's grip on him is tight, and suddenly the nurse is talking to him.
"You need to calm her down and tell her to push," the small, blonde woman tells him. He doesn't respond. "Sir, you're the only one she'll listen to. You need to tell her to calm down and to push," she repeats.
"How am I supposed to do that?" he asks quietly as Lily screams beside him.
The woman looks a little annoyed but tells him patiently, "The man she's screaming for —"
"Her husband," he interrupts curtly. "He's not here."
"Yes, which means you need to do what he would do."
"What?"
"What would he do, sir? How would he help her?"
He looks back at Lily, at her hand tightly clutching his with white knuckles. He shouldn't have to do this. But he kneels back down again, covering their linked hands with his other hand. What would Potter do?
Lily looks at him, her eyes wide and tearful, despair and pain and fear whirling around within them, her nose running, and her cheeks blotched red and pink and white. The rest of the world fades away. Before Severus can fully comprehend what he's doing, he starts singing. He can't sing at all, but he raises his off-key voice, knowing that James Potter would be doing something equally ridiculous to help her, and in that moment, he can't be bothered caring what it means that he's consciously imitating Potter.
Lily's eyes catch and hold on him, and he knows he's achieved the wanted effect. "Sev," she murmurs tearfully.
He stops singing, taking a deep breath. "You've got to push, Lily, and it'll all be over soon."
It's not a lie.
A few minutes later, it really is over. The baby comes out and is immediately hidden behind the stupid Muggle nurses and doctor, who mention pulse and breathing while Lily takes deep gasping breaths, demanding, "What's going on? How's the baby? Is it okay?" She looks tearfully at Severus, and for the first time since they arrived, the pain is all but gone.
Cries shatter the room, and Lily gasps again. "What —?" she asks Severus, as if he'll somehow know. He looks over at the Muggles, ready to demand answers for her, but they've already turned around, and a squirming little baby is held in the arms of the small, blonde nurse.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Potter," the woman says softly, bringing the baby to Lily, who already has her arms outstretched. "You have a beautiful and healthy son." Severus doesn't know what to think as he looks down at the small, squirming, crying child. He really is tiny, tinier than anything Severus can imagine, his face looks mashed, his skin is all a dark pinkish, and his head has a thin layer a dark hair plastered over it.
Lily is utterly delighted.
"Hi Harry," she whispers, cradling the baby.
"Is that his name?" asks the nurse kindly.
Lily nods, but her eyes don't stray from the child. "Harry," she repeats, awed.
"He's . . .," Severus says, searching for something, anything, to say. " . . . Cute. He's cute." He clears his throat awkwardly.
"He's perfect," Lily whispers in reply, her hand tracing the tiny curves of her son's face. "Look at that dark hair." Her smile widens. "Like his daddy." Severus feels whatever strange emotion had been growing inside him abruptly evaporate. "Harry," Lily murmurs happily, "Harry James Potter."
Before he can change his mind, Severus turns and stalks from the room.
Lily has a baby.
She went into labour, and he took her to the hospital. He sat with her through it all. He held her hand and comforted her. But James Potter is the father of her son. From this moment onward, the bastard will always be a part of her life, if not through marriage, then through that tiny child.
And Severus dreads to imagine what the baby will be like when he grows older. Lily, his perfect, beautiful, sarcastic Lily, has brought another Potter into the world. It makes bile rise in Severus's throat simply to think about.
The hospital grows busier as an hour passes and the day is fully upon them. When Severus finally knows he can't wander around the hospital any longer, he returns to find Lily half-asleep in her bed, the baby no where near, and the room quiet and calm. He stares down at her pale, peaceful face, at her especially bushy, messy curls fanned across the pillow.
And then his eyes land at the opened packages in the chair by her bed, at the blue baby blanket, box of chocolates, large teddy bear, and box of pasta, all resting in torn brown paper. He frowns and grabs the pasta, his distaste growing when he realises it's dirty pasta, and scribbled across the box in thick lettering is the quick note: This is the only celebratory thing I had on hand. Enjoy. Happy Giving Birth, Evans. Give my godson a kiss for me. SIRIUS.
Severus tosses the box back to the chair, disgusted.
The other gifts must have come from other people, from her Mudblood friend Sadie, from Marlene McKinnon, from the werewolf Lupin. He doesn't want to read what they have to say, but even as he thinks that, he catches sight of the letter clutched in her hand. Careful not to wake her, he slips it from her grasp and reads it with growing anger.
Lily,
You have no idea how much I wish I could have been there and could be there now. I love you so much. As soon as you're ready to come home, I'll be waiting.
I love you so much. You know that, right? I miss you, too. Stay safe, and give our boy a kiss from his daddy.
Love,
James.
He makes the decision, then, as he lets the note float discarded to the floor.
He's going to leave.
He can't do this anymore. He's wasting his time . . . and hers.
There's no way she doesn't want to return to her husband and have her little family. There's no way she isn't resenting him more and more as each day goes by and he keeps her from the life she really wants, from the man she really wants.
"Sir?" Severus spins around to face the same nurse from earlier. "Severus, right?" the woman asks, smiling. He nods tersely. "Mrs. Potter said you were her brother, and that's why you didn't stick around for the afterbirth." She winks at him. He's not sure what to make of that, how to reply to it. He simply says nothing. The woman doesn't seem bothered. "Would you like to see your nephew?" she asks.
He can't seem to form the sharp response, "No," soon enough, and the next thing he knows, she's leading him down the hall to a room full of little infants, and little Harry, swaddled in blue, is being held out to him.
"Severus?" she presses.
"I don't know how to hold a baby," he tells her.
"Oh, it's real easy," she assures, and she shapes his arms to hold the baby even as places Harry in his gasp. "Now, you keep his head supported like this, and . . . yes, yes, like that. He's a beautiful boy, isn't he? Got a ten on the Apgar scale, too. Your sister did well."
He can't make himself speak. His eyes are trained on the infant, who blinks sleepily at him. The baby is tiny, but his eyes are large, the size of normal eyes, and unfocused though they might be, Severus is still amazed at their colour. "He has green eyes," he says.
"Yes, beautiful, aren't they?" replies the nurse. "Like his mum. Often babies are born with grey blue eyes that change, but I guess this one here was ready for green from day one." She smiles and goes on, but Severus stops listening.
It's occurred to him for the first time that although this child belongs to James Potter, he also belongs to Lily. He's Lily's baby. He's not just another Potter. He's made up of pieces of Lily, too. He has her green eyes. He could have her smile. He could have her penchant for silly jokes. In a few years, he could want to tie a piece of floss to a beetle, and he could look at Severus with big green eyes, asking for help.
They leave the hospital the next day, because Lily doesn't want to stay too long. Lily doesn't say a word about the gifts her friends and husband sent, and neither does he. He also doesn't mention his thoughts of leaving her.
They leave together, all three of them.
To Be Continued . . .