Severus kept his composure until the headmaster flooed out of the settee, but as soon as the infernal old coot was gone, Severus's anger took hold.  He swore rather bodily and threw himself into his recliner as if he were thirteen rather than thirty.  The headmaster had informed him, in no uncertain terms, that Severus was to be in charge of the incoming first years this term.  Normally, Minerva took on the role of bringing the first years in to the sorting feast, but apparently she was planning to spend the beginning of this year in the country with one of her brothers.  Not that Severus could exactly begrudge her the time with her family—as Dumbledore had said, it had been an extremely long time since the deputy headmistress had indulged in a holiday—but there was something just not right about her being away during the first week of school.

Especially as it meant that Severus had to escort a group of sniveling eleven-year-olds into the sorting feast.

Frowning petulantly, Severus finally levered himself out of his chair and stalked across the room to cabinet.  From it he extracted a bottle of scotch and a glass, and was just getting ready to pour himself a serving—or five—when from behind him he heard the tiniest cough.  It was enough to cause Severus to whirl about, sending droplets of scotch splattering across his robes and the floor.  And there, standing in the middle of his settee, was Lily Evans.

 Severus froze.  He shot an imploring look towards his wand, which he'd left on the end table next to his chair, and then brought his eyes back to the scepter that could not be Lily Evans.  She was dead, he reminded himself.  She'd been dead for eight years. And yet she looked so real. He could even smell her lavender perfume wafting off of her. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to inhale her scent.  What did it matter if it wasn't her?  What did it matter if he was indulging in some drunken delusion?  It smelled just like her.

"I never did approve of your drinking habits," Lily's voice intoned, and it was such a Lily thing to say that it had Severus opening his eyes again.  Her expression, however, was much softer than her words, as if she were looking upon a wounded animal.  She said, "If you didn't drink so much, you wouldn't be quite so convinced that I was a figment of your imagination.  Although as you think that tonight, of all nights, when you haven't touched a drop, maybe you are too stubborn to see what's before you."

Severus cast an uncertain look at the scotch in his hands.  He set it down, along with the glass, and stepped away from them both as if they were diseased.

"Well, that's certainly a start," Lily said.  "You'll have to do more than merely set them down, though, if you're to have children in the house."

Severus was glad that he hadn't taken a sip of the scotch before setting it down, for if he had, he'd be choking on it right now.  As it was, he gave a rather unattractive cough and eventually managed to gasp out one word.  "Children?"

"Of course," Lily said.  "I'd have thought that you'd have figured that much out already.  Well, once you figured out that I wasn't a figure of your imagination.  There aren't many things that can bring the dead back to near-corporeal forms, are there?"

Near-Corporeal. The words whirled around in Severus's head until he was dizzy.  Eventually he gazed at Lily through bleary eyes. In an almost dead voice, he said, "Parentes Filius Custos Praesidium."

Lily beamed at him and clapped her hands together, exactly as she'd done when she'd tutored him when they were children and he'd grasped a particularly difficult concept. For once in his life, the action didn't cause Severus to smile back. Not even a little.

"Lily," he whispered, the words he was about to say causing him an almost physical pain, "I'm in no position to bring a child into my home."

"Children," Lily corrected.  "Two of them. My son and my nephew.  And of course you're going to bring them into your home, Severus.  You're not about to let them starve."

"That's not my problem," Severus said.  "I'm telling you, I'm in no position to take one child into my home, much less two. Ask someone else."

"I'm asking you," Lily said.

"Ask someone else," Severus repeated.  "Anyone else."

Lily crossed her arms over her chest.  "No."

"Then you are condemning your own child to death," Severus sneered.

"Children," Lily repeated.  "And I'm not doing anything. You know how the spell works, Severus.  James and I have already separated.  If we meet again, it will be forever, whether the children have been saved or not.  And since there's no way to get a message to him without meeting up with him, I have to stick with the first guardian I chose for the children. You."

Severus threw his hands into the air. "Why? Why would you chose me? James couldn't have agreed easily. He hates me.  And you… Lily, I'm not the same boy you knew back in school.  I've changed."

"I mentioned that I've noticed your drinking habits?" Lily asked.  "I have, in fact, been watching you."

"Then why, in Merlin's name, would you pick me, of all people, to raise two young boys?"

"Because," Lily said softly, stepping forward and pressing the palm of her hand against Severus's chest, "You are not what you have become.

Severus was for a moment intoxicated by the scent of her.  When he could at last pull away, he did so gruffly.  He said, "What is that supposed to mean."

"It means that you are a good person," Lily said, "Whatever you may think of yourself.  And I know that you would never allow harm to come to anyone I'd placed in your care. My trust matters too much to you. So my son and nephew will be safe in your care—as safe as if they were in my own hands. And maybe, in time, you'll come to realize the potential within you."

Severus turned away from her.  He couldn't meet her eyes, so sure of themselves, so trusting. He didn't deserve for anyone to look at him that way, much less Lily.  He wanted nothing more than to push away from her—to tell her again that he couldn't do this.  It wasn't right. It wasn't fair to the children. He couldn't handle it. 

Instead, the words that came out of his mouth, so quiet they were barely perceptible, were, "I'll try."