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She loved him, that he knew. It was just a natural thing, he supposed, and if it had been his son, or even someone else’s, not Potter’s, she probably would have loved that boy too. Or girl. Some other child that could have been created if things had been different, if momentary decisions had been withheld or long, meandering thoughts had guided her down a different path. Mothers usually loved their babies - some were better at it than others, but he never doubted that she loved hers, and that she was probably the best at it.
It irritated him, because surely he had no personality at that point, babies were all the same, really, all of them wrinkled and shapeless and loud, and the fact that he could have been replaced (babies occasionally got swapped at birth, didn’t they? No one ever noticed) and loved just as much with some other imaginary child he invented up infuriated him. But then that was so very like Lily - she would love anyone, could love anyone, and that was the quality he most admired in her (for the brief happiness it had given him) and most despised (that she had decided, out of everyone, to love Potter the most).
She’d let Potter call the baby Harry, he’d heard, and he was sure, somehow, that it was Potter that had come up with the name. It felt like a Potter name - on the surface common and friendly and non-threatening, but when you stopped and thought about it, it was usually still just posh boys that were called things like James and Harry and Thomas and William and John and Richard and David and Edward. Kingly sort of names, princely - royal. Just as pretentious as Latin, but with the added sanctimony of an attempt at approachability or equality.
He was sure that if Potter had truly understood Lily at all, he would have let her choose the name, and no doubt she would have gone for something more interesting, something with depth and meaning, something more thought-through than a nickname for Henry. Lily was considerate, and thoughtful, and she had a way of seeing beauty in a way that he had never managed. That was how he knew Potter had been the one to insist on Harry.
But nevertheless, even if it was a personality-lacking, mewling, dependent infant with a dreadful name foisted upon him, he had no doubt that Lily loved him fiercely, despite the death sentence he had given her. He found it hard to imagine the little wretch as anything other than deathly - he tried, sometimes, to imagine the joy Lily must feel when she looked upon him, that radiant smile he had seen so many times, that inherent happiness and willingness she had when she loved. But no one would be happy looking at their own gravestone, surely, and it was irrelevant whether the babe could control it or not, whether or not he’d asked to be targeted - the fact was that Lily may as well have died in childbirth, because Harry Potter was probably going to kill her anyway.
He had to stop this. He could feel his heart beating in his throat, could almost taste the sourness on his tongue, and he was sure that his face was pallid and clammy. He paused outside the house, clearing his mind, his deep breaths echoing in his head. He felt as though molten steel was slipping over his organs, coating them, smothering his heart and his mind and his lungs. Finally he was ready, and, with a nod of approval from the two masked men standing guard, he entered.
The large wooden doors swept open onto a long, flagstone hall, dominated by a dark wooden table. At the far end, on a slightly raised platform, Severus could see the flickering glow of a fire in the grate, and a shadowy figure sitting in the armchair beside it, staring into the flames.
His footsteps echoed as he approached, his mind carefully guarded but not locked away entirely.
‘Severus,’ came the high, soft voice as he approached the dias. The pale figure in the chair turned his head slightly to look at him. The light of the fire catching in the vivid red eyes.
Severus dropped to his knees, his head bowed. ‘My Lord.’
He heard the Dark Lord rise from his chair, and suddenly in his vision all he could see was the slightly dirty floor and the soft, black leather of a pair of shoes stepping forward. ‘Your information was most valuable to me, Severus. I must confess, I was not expecting you back so soon. Surely you have not come to warn me of another prophecy?’
‘No, my Lord,’ Severus murmured. The Dark Lord said nothing, merely waited, and in the quiet of the menacingly crackling fire, Severus summed up the courage to speak. ‘I… I have heard that you have decided, my lord. Now that the summer has passed, you have decided to whom the prophecy must refer.’
‘I have,’ said the Dark Lord coldly. ‘From where did you receive this information?’
‘From Rosier, my Lord…’
‘Indeed? I must remind him of the importance of keeping my secrets…’
Severus had no time to care of whatever consequences Rosier might face. ‘He informed me that it is the… the Potter child.’
‘This is correct. Have you information on the family?’
Severus hesitated, his breath catching in his throat, escaping in shaking, gasping pants. ‘I… My Lord, after the information I have given you… I… I came to ask… and my Lord, I… I wish only to serve you…’
‘What is it that you want, Severus?’ he drawled. ‘Lord Voldemort is beginning to lose patience.’
‘That the boy must die is natural, my Lord,’ said Severus quickly. ‘I ask only that the mother, Lily… Potter… be spared. If this is possible, my Lord, I would do everything I could to-’
‘Spare the woman?’ His voice was dangerous - suspicious. ‘The mudblood? I hear she has talent, but there are certain characteristics I cannot look past.’
‘I do not think she would join us, my Lord,’ Severus admitted. The Dark Lord was silent, but Severus saw those feet slowly approach him further, felt the figure looming above him. He resisted the urge, as natural as breathing or blinking, to cower.
‘Then what, Severus, would be the use in sparing her at all? She has made her choice.’
‘I… I want her,’ he whispered, staring at the Dark Lord’s feet. He felt it immediately, felt the prying, and he dragged his head up to look into the strangely cold scarlet eyes, and, to his humiliation, allowed his worst fantasies and most shameful dreams to float through his mind, the imagined panting breaths and swinging deep red hair and darkened green eyes and dewy, porcelain skin-
The Dark Lord laughed. ‘But my word, Severus, I thought you better than that. There are many women, better women, worthier…’
‘Yes,’ Snape agreed, his mouth dry. ‘But I…’ He took a shaking breath, and bowed his head once again.
‘You lust after her,’ said the Dark Lord, sounding at once both bored and faintly amused. ‘Very well. It is a common weakness. Once the task is complete I see no reason why she could not have that purpose.’
Severus closed his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he breathed. ‘I… I would be grateful, my Lord-’
‘Lord Voldemort rewards his most loyal servants,’ he said, still sounding amused. ‘You are not the first to request being rewarded with women, though I think it unusual to be so preoccupied with one in particular.’
Severus was not really sure what to say, but perhaps the long seconds of silence helped when he finally decided upon, ‘she ought to have been mine many years ago, but… the blood traitor Potter…’
The Dark Lord laughed once more. ‘Very well, Severus. I make no promises; my priority will always be the destruction of the child, above all else. But should the opportunity arise, I will leave the mudblood for you to do with what you will.’
‘Thank you, my Lord,’ Severus gasped, his heart thudding. Unbidden, the thought of her rose, and she was sobbing and afraid, trapped somewhere dark and cold and scrambling helplessly to get away as he advanced upon her.
Lord Voldemort was too amused to notice the anguish that rose in Severus at the thought of such cruelty.
Such a victory, he decided, as he left the manor house, would not be worth the cost of that to Lily. She would not be allowed to live normally, to move on and recover from the deaths of Potter and the baby, she would be handed to him and there would be expectations, expectations he could never inflict upon her.
For her to be Lily, for the victory to be worth the cost, he knew he must speak to Dumbledore.