Snowflakes fell like faeries outside the window, reflecting the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. Harry and Ginny and the boys sat around the tree, softly singing Christmas carols, while Lily slept in Harry’s arms. It was a miracle, Harry thought, his whole family together on Christmas Eve. Lily’s nurse Clara happily snapped pictures, and for this one night, Harry and Ginny had promised themselves not to think about the future, but to live in the moment, this one perfect moment, together as a family.

“Professor Snape? Professor?”

Snape tossed in his sleep. Those damn carolers were knocking at his door again. Go away and leave me alone he thought. If I’d wanted company on Christmas Eve, which I obviously do not, I’d have gone to the Potter’s.

“Professor? Professor Snape?”

Snape bolted upright. Not carolers, Potter. Disoriented, he hobbled out of bed. He’d gone to bed early with a headache and had no idea what time it was.

“Surely you aren’t here to try once again to convince me to join your silly holiday celebrations?” he inquired, coming hastily down the stairs. “I left that nonsense behind when I left Hogwarts…”

Snape stopped, mid-step, when he saw Potter’s face. “What is it, Potter? Is she…”

Harry cleared his throat. “She’s asking for you,” Harry said.

Snape stepped through the Potters’ fireplace right behind Harry. Ginny was holding Lily and speaking soothing words to her. James and Albus were in their pajamas, huddled close to their mother, abnormally subdued. Hermione and Ron, Snape noticed, were standing off to one corner, as were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Lily’s nurse was hovering, waiting to be needed.

Harry knelt down before his daughter. “Grandpapa Snape is here, just like you asked,” Harry said.

Lily looked over, meeting Snape’s eyes. He felt a jolt of recognition and his knees gave way, forcing him to sit suddenly on a foot stool. Harry took Lily and put her in Snape’s arms. Awkwardly, Snape cradled the girl. She was three-and-a-half years old, though she weighed no more than a two year old.

To Snape’s surprise, Lily reached up and touched his cheek. Something clicked in the distance, but he didn’t look up. He had eyes only for the little girl who stared at him through Lily Evans’ eyes, with unconditional love. He gazed back, unable to look away.

Her soft voice, when she spoke, was like a melody. “Granmama Wiwy is waiting for me.”

Snape felt the air crackle around him as everyone in the room stopped and stared. He looked up to see Harry and Ginny exchange a sharp glance.

“Grandmama Lily?” Harry croaked.

“Yes,” Lily said, “Granmama Wiwy says she’ll take good care of me. And Unca Fred too.”

“Uncle Fred?” Ginny repeated, clearly stunned.

“Unca Fred is funny,” Lily said, flapping her hands. “He says he has lots of jokes for me.”

Ginny let out a sob, but Lily had eyes only for Snape. “Granpapa?”

“Yes?” Snape breathed, his throat constricted with emotion.

“Granmama Wiwy says to tell you she’s sorry and she forgives you. Granmama Wiwy says thank you for keeping my daddy safe too. When he was at school.”

The silence in the room was absolute.

Lily reached up and touched Snape’s cheek again. “I like Granmama Wiwy.”

“Me too,” Snape said, taking her tiny hand in his.

Eventually, Snape handed the little angel back to Harry and moved to stand beside the fireplace. Bracing his hands against the mantlepiece, his head hanging low, he concentrated on his breathing as he listened to the conversations behind him. He could hear Harry and Ginny cooing over their little girl, asking more questions about Grandmama Lily and Uncle Fred. He couldn’t bear to hear her answers. He could feel to the core of his magical self that she was leaving them, saying her good-byes. Soon she would be what her namesake was, a horribly empty hole in his heart.

When he’d finally composed himself enough to turn back around, Lily looked peaceful in her mother’s arms. Save for the weeping that Ginny and Harry were doing over her small body, he would have thought she was sleeping. Snape closed his eyes as the world spun around him. When he opened them again, the nurse was hovering over Lily, Harry was weeping into Ron’s chest, Hermione and Ginny clung to each other sobbing, as did Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. The two small boys looked lost and desolate, tears streaming down their cheeks as well.

Slowly, Snape walked over to where young Lily lay. He placed a kiss on her soft translucent  forehead, bading her a silent farewell. Then he stepped into the fireplace and disappeared.  

Snape held the letter and accompanying photo in his hands. He didn’t have to look at the picture to see the image, it was permanently transfixed in his mind—Lily Potter’s tiny hand stroking his cheek, a too pale porcelain doll’s face framed with strawberry blond curls, a look of pure innocence in her startling green eyes. Six months had passed since her untimely death, and yet he felt as hollow and empty as if it had been yesterday. The memory of her touching his face, when no one had touched him in years, the feel of her tiny, helpless hand clutched in his much larger one… He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes against the pain, but the images kept coming. The image of Potter clutched in Ron Weasley’s arms, howling with pain. Comfort that Snape hadn’t been able to give, to the boy or to the man.

Potter. He didn’t come around anymore. The only thing they’d had in common was trying to save young Lily’s life, and once she was gone, Snape wasn’t needed anymore. Snape could understand that. He’d failed, after all. Failed to save Lily Evans, failed to save Lily Potter. Add to that how he’d treated Harry Potter at Hogwarts, and he’d pretty much failed The Boy Who Lived all the way around.

His vision blurred as he looked again at the letter, the photo.

He hadn’t wanted any of this. Hadn’t wanted to find out he had a son. Hadn’t wanted to meet his grandchildren. Hadn’t wanted the agony of loss. And yet there it was, an endless chasm of grief and pain and regret. His hand clenched the tumbler of brandy, an oily black slick staining its surface.

Professor Snape,

Ginny and I wanted to thank you for all of your help with Lily. We appreciate all that you did to make her life better. In the short time that she knew you, she had grown very fond of you. Included is a picture that her nurse took on Christmas Eve of the two of you.

Sincerely,

Harry

Lily, Christmas, ~2:15am. The words glistened beneath the photo. As he studied the image with rapidly blurring vision, young Lily’s words came back to him, echoing in the silence: Granmama Wiwy is waiting for me.

He drained the brandy in one long gulp, the black potion staining his tongue as it slipped down his throat. She’s waiting for me too, child.