The greasy-haired Slytherin pivots. His eyes alight on the crib, at the rustling of fabric from small hands and feet within. A grimace overtakes his facial muscles, and Severus can feel it growing by the second.

That dratted boy. He had almost forgotten about the unwitting little witness to his most agonizing hour in living memory, but now there is no circumventing cold hard truth -

Harry will die if he is not taken away from here. *Lily's* Harry. Her sacrifice, all for naught.

Severus strides back the way he came. He grabs a blanket off the rocking chair in passing, some god awful Chudley Cannon orange color no doubt in spirit of the current holiday.

Severus bloody hates Halloween.

He stops just short of the crib as he remembers another thing - he bloody hates children, too. They're vapid, cruel, dirty little creatures, and not even the great Albus Dumbledore can convince him otherwise (no matter how many times the wily old coot attempts to offer him a teaching position). He's even more unnerved by their infantile counterparts, never having had the "pleasure" of squalling siblings while growing up Snape. But there's nothing for it now; no time left to waste. The Dark Lord's followers have entered the house, so Severus puts aside his reservations and snatches up the child, swaddling it loosely into the bright neon eyesore.

'How to proceed?' Severus hesitates, the bundle in his arms warm and entirely too real all of a sudden. There's a wave of discomfiture as he realizes - this is another human being. A completely defenseless human being, wholly dependent upon him for survival. *Him*. Severus T. Snape, double-dealing Death Eater extraordinaire!

The idea is risible. Absolutely bonkers.

Harry nuzzles closer and Severus immediately wants to drop him, but of course, must resist that knee jerk reaction. He *will* do this. For her.

Always for her.

The way forward is much less of a sure bet, now. He'll have to be doubly as careful. Severus shoulders his burden with one arm and uses the other to complete his disillusionment, this time including Harry under the spell as well. His footfalls are like leaves sailing on the coattails of a stiff October breeze. He maneuvers swiftly and silently, only faltering once, and that was over the prone form - still where he left her, still achingly and sempiternally beautiful, even in death.

They escape the oppressive nursery to an even more distressing scene of destruction in the hall beyond. There are craters forged into the floor, the walls, the ceiling. A thin layer of dust and drywall blankets everything like freshly fallen snow. There is much more, too, that Severus missed during his initial mad dash. A banister, buckled directly in its center. Photographs, torn asunder much like the family they depicted, scattered pieces of color and glass littering the mauve carpet. The orange calico, trembling behind a torn tapestry. It bolts like a skittish colt when Severus draws near.

And then they come upon him. He who would have been impossible to miss, crumpled as he was at the base of the stairs like some macabre puppet with strings cut short. Severus didn't linger the first pass through, but a sick sort of fascination steals over him this second time, and he stares unashamedly into the vacant face of James Potter.

It's strange not to be immediately met with vile rebukes and a derisive sneer.

'Oy, Snivellus!' the pompous bastard would shout. 'Stare a little harder, I might just feel charitable enough to correct that pelican beak nose of yours!'

What's even stranger, is not to feel the surge of bitterness and spite that usually accompanies all thoughts of his schoolyard tormentor.

Severus isn't sure how exactly he feels, looking upon the splayed figure. No vindication, even though once upon a time he would have thought this man got what he deserved. No shock. No sorrow. There is just... nothing.

Well. Perhaps it does feel a bit unsettling, to be cradling James' son while gazing at his dead body.

Severus shakes himself from reverie and begins walking once more. He shouldn't waste time on a man so insignificant, he scolds himself. 'You have a mission! Don't get distracted!'

Of course, that's when it happens.

The cat from earlier appears out of nowhere, bumping headlong into Severus' disillusioned leg. It rears back, yowling like a banshee. Severus swears, which is probably a new record for him in this short a span of time, and kicks out at the infernal feline. It doesn't run; in fact, it just gets louder. Fur bristling, eyes bulging, the cat looks positively manic, and it is gearing up as if for a fight when the three Death Eaters round the corner.

Severus tries to sink into the shadows, praying his disillusionment is strong enough to cloak he and the boy, and that the cat's cacophonic howls will continue to keep the Death Eaters' attention.

"Aw, look, it's a wee puss," a thick Scottish brogue issues from the largest man, whom Severus knows to be the brutal Rodolphus Lestrange. He curls his lip in disgust. He does not like to be in Lestrange's company - *either* of the Lestranges, for that matter - if he can avoid it.

"Just leave it alone, Rodolph," the second intruder protests, and there is an irked undertone to his words. Severus can't quite place the voice - Avery? Whoever it is, they are young.

"You don't want to 'ave a spot of fun?" Rodolphus leers, flicking his wand so that the cat finds itself trapped within a Jelly-Legs Jinx. He jerks the stick once more, and begins to viciously knock the poor creature into a wall, over and over. The piteous noises it makes are incredibly hard for Severus to block.

"I'm saying we have other reasons for being here than to play with goddamn cats!" Maybe-Avery hisses, and the lurid smile that stretches Lestrange's face taut is truly despicable.

"'ave it your way," he shrugs, raising the wand. The baby in Severus' arms suddenly shifts and comes to life, right at that most inopportune moment. There is pure horror in Severus' chest as he hears the child release a soft whimper.

Rodolphus pauses.

"What is it?" the third Death Eater asks, nowhere near as burly as his companions but with the similarly defining feature of sounding like a brute. A *dumb* brute. Given his stature, Severus is pretty sure it's Crabbe.

Rodolphus narrows his eyes, and Severus knows he is listening intently. He hates himself for it, but he pulls Harry in closer, hoping to stifle any further cries. Mercifully, the boy remains silent.

"Rodolphus?"

"Nothing," the man spits, shaking his head as a couple locks of unkempt brown hair spill out from underneath the hood. He jabs his wand in a cruel arc. "Avada Kedavra!"

The cat falls to the floor, motionless as Lily and James Potter. Its eyes are still wide and pain-filled. Severus swallows harshly and looks away, the image still too close to home.

"C'mon," Lestrange growls, gesturing toward the stairs. He nudges James aside. "Let's check up there. Clearly, this one here was putting up quite the fight. Trying to guard something?"

The three move off and Severus exhales breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

He also realizes he is still snuggling Harry Bloody Potter, and with a muffled exclamation, the former Death Eater disentangles himself from the baby, holding him at a rather more seemly distance because Severus Snape does not *snuggle*.

The man scoffs, feeling fairly ridiculous, that this whole damn thing is ridiculous. There is a terrible part of him that wants to leave Harry at the base of the stairs with his father; wash his hands of the whole mess and the child who brought it down upon them. But he owes Lily a debt, Lily who loved him where no one else did, and so he keeps going. He keeps pace with the shadows, re-positioning Harry in his hideous orange blanket so that the boy is back to being safely tucked beneath one arm, while his other holds the wand aloft.

They make it out the door without any further issues. Harry whimpers again - Snape shushes him. He glances both ways before gliding seamlessly down the front walk with his precious cargo. The night air is crisp; the kind that nips at one's extremities. Winter is definitely quick in coming; already, the sky looks like it could dump flurries at any given moment. This isn't the sort of weather to linger outdoors with a baby in.

'Where to now?' Severus deliberates for only a fraction of a second, then comes to a decision so swift, he wonders why his brain bothered to voice the question in the first place. 'Dumbledore.'

Of course. There is no feasible other option, really. Severus must bring the boy to Dumbledore. Though even as he thinks that, Severus recalls that his mentor, the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, is most probably otherwise occupied at the raid currently being leveled upon Voldemort's headquarters. He gnaws on the alternatives.

It would seem the best course of action is the same as before, the lanky young Slytherin concludes with grudging acceptance. 'The safehouse.' It's the only place, well, *safe* enough to shield both him and the newly minted savior of the wizarding world, until he can get word to Dumbledore.

With a plan forming in his brilliant mind, Severus skirts and darts to the other side of the street, and just in time, too. The Death Eaters, having found nothing besides the dead, exit the Potters' crumbling manor. Severus finds shelter in an alley between two brick houses, and peeks back around one last time to spy Rodolphus, Crabbe, and Avery making a vast sweep of the yard.

'Bloody vultures.' Severus grits his teeth, hoping to God they didn't desecrate Lily's body during their scavenge, or there'd be worse than incarceration in their future. As he fantasizes about retribution and murder, Harry gives another stir; a petulant low whine. Severus can feel a warm wetness leaking through the fabric of his robes, and he draws back, a bit startled.

Harry's face, barely visible from within the tight swaddle of the blanket, is covered in blood. His eyes are scrunched and his lips pursed as the child fusses, clearly in distress. Severus swears; one *more* thing to worry about, and they're not even out of the woods yet. Harry's forehead requires definite medical attention. The dark-headed double agent rummages around frantically, fingers scrambling for the key to their salvation within the heavy folds of his robes. His index catches against something small and smooth, and Severus breathes a sigh of relief, unclasping the object. He brings it out into the light, waxing rays from the moon revealing a minuscule metal pin, shaped like a flower -

A lily. Red, like the hair of the woman he left behind.

Severus taps the pin with his wand.

"Portus."

It glows fluorescent blue for a moment, then Severus begins the countdown.

"1..."

He squeezes the portkey fiercely in his fist, wishing they were Apparating instead - his preferred mode of transportation. But with Harry's condition, both as an infant and an invalid, Severus figures it best not to tempt fate. There's no point in further injuring the boy.

"2..."

He clamps his wand hand over Harry's forehead and the leaking scar, as if on second thought, in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. He grimaces upon coming into contact with the soft, slimy skin.

"3."

Severus takes one final look at the prowling Death Eaters, the ramshackle house, the foreboding Dark Mark. The window into the bedroom where she lays, a twenty-one year old for all eternity.

Then he closes his eyes as surely as his heart and lets the world fade away.

TBC