Disclaimer: I obviously don't own the Harry Potter Universe, otherwise I wouldn't be on a website called Fanfiction.net. Seriously, the clue's in the name people: Fan-fiction.

A/N: Everything in this one-shot is canon with all the HP books + epilogue except for two minor changes: Lily & Hugo (although the latter hardly appears) are only one year younger than Albus, Rose, and Scorpius. It just worked out better that way. And Lily has green eyes, just because ... well, just because this is fanfic land and green eyes are awesome so I think two Potter kids should have them instead of only one. I thought I would write that there in case I had any well-meaning people telling me that I've read the Epilogue wrong :)

Apologies in advance for making Albus a bit of a prat (to put it lightly...), but the story kind of needed it. However, I really didn't enjoy writing him like that so if I ever write another Next Gen fic then I promise to make him at least tolerant, if not nice. Although I did make James nice to try and make up for it.

Oh, and I feel I need to mention it now: There is a reason why this fic is in the "tragic romance" category :( Although ... well, if you don't like the way it ends then read the note at the very end ;)

I am lying on the ground, bleeding, still conscious but only just. I can't seem to remember how I got here. My back is on the ground, my body has twisted around me like that of a broken doll's and there is a searing pain ripping through my chest. I can feel warm blood escaping from not only the deep gashes in my chest but bubbling up from within my mouth, where it has mixed with bile. I don't need to see the grass around me to know it's been stained with crimson red. I shudder, as the pain slowly ebbs and a chill that penetrates to my very bones turns me numb with the shock of impending death. I feel the weary pounding of my heart in my chest and I know, with a vague, disconnected sort of knowledge; that it won't hold out much longer. Through my hazy vision I can just about make out the leaves swaying in the cold night wind on branches high above, silhouetting the two figures leaning over me. But they are becoming little more than shafts of light dancing in the growing darkness. There are voices in the air, floating about, but they are just out of reach. Loud then soft then loud ... I think they are directed at me but I can no longer make out their words and I am indifferent to even trying. All I want is to sleep. I feel so tired, so terribly tired. I want to drift away, far far away; away from this body and all of its hurts ... and this is when I feel it coming. These last few moments stretch before me like endless lifetimes. Images flash before my eyes as my rattling lungs fight for their last few breaths. In these moments I see my life, I see in my mind everything that matters, everything I'll miss, everybody I love.

This is when I know that this is it. This is the end.

And I try to think back to the beginning. I try to remember where it had all gone so wrong..."

I was ten years old. It was the start of Albus's first year and I was standing with Mum and Dad on platform Nine and Three-Quarters whilst my older brothers and cousins said their last goodbyes. I felt miserable. Albus was about to leave me and the thought of being stuck with only my boring, clingy cousin Hugo for a whole year wasn't exactly exciting. Desperate for some distraction, I had cast my eyes around the rest of the platform, at the other parents and the other children ... and that was when I first saw him. Even at that early age, there was something about him that made him stand out from the crowd. Maybe it was the nonchalant expression, the subtle arrogance in the tilt of his pointed chin, or was it the effortless stride, the casual way he ran his fingers through his silver hair? But what interested me all the more was the ready-made scowl Albus had in place for him and the way Uncle Ron took Rose aside, telling her to be wary of this boy and to beat him at every test. I didn't know it then, but they were warning the wrong child.

The students returned home for the Christmas holidays, breathing life back into our quiet house. James ruffled my short red hair and laughed about the pranks he'd pulled. Albus talked with immense relief about how he and Rose had been sorted into Gryffindor and then chattered non-stop about the adventures he'd had with his new friends. Their stories couldn't help but fill my ears with wonder and the most desperate longing. Often enough Albus's stories would feature him, although never in a kindly light, and I couldn't help but listen more intently whenever they did. I wasn't sure why he fascinated me so much. Curiosity, I supposed. Maybe I should have listened to that saying, the one about curiosity killing the cat.

That entire year passed with painful slowness but finally I turned 11. Finally I received my letter; finally it was my turn to board the scarlet steam train. Standing on the platform again, I caught another glimpse of that silver-blonde hair. He saw me this time, grey eyes meeting green. A moment of recognition later and a smile - no, a wicked scowl - played on his lips. I was a Potter, I saw him realize. My hair was red like James and my eyes were green like Albus; there was no room left for confusion. And that was all he needed to know about me to judge me, to hate me. I forced myself to scowl, resolving to hate him back, continuing the game of hate our ancestors had begun, puppets dancing on the strings of those who'd gone before us.

But then the tables were turned. When the sorting hat was placed on my head, I'm not really sure what I had expected. I suppose I always assumed I'd be sorted into Gryffindor, the same house as the rest of my family, the same house that Weasleys and Potters had been sorted into for generations. So when it yelled out "SLYTHERIN!" I blinked for several moments, utterly dumbfounded. I looked to the rest of my family, to where they sat beneath lion banners. Shock from Albus, an almost-smile from James, disappointment from Hugo, but something I didn't recognize from Rose - mistrust? My sorting sent a ripple of whispering through the students (I was the daughter of the famous Harry Potter after all, I suddenly remembered ... it was so easy to forget that at home...), and had even perked up some of the dozing professors at the staff table, who looked at me strangely as though only just seeing me for the first time. As I sat myself beneath green and silver he caught my eye again, only this time a flicker of amusement seemed to have replaced the blind hate. Looking down, my face red-hot, I felt confused: was I still supposed to hate him now?

The term passed reasonably well. I slowly made friends with the rest of my dorm-mates and didn't do too badly in any of the new subjects. At home for Christmas, mum and dad said it didn't matter, that it made no difference: Red or green I was still a Potter, I was still their daughter. But it was the others who troubled me. I would sometimes catch Uncle Ron staring at my Slytherin scarf as though it was a Dark Mark. The boys' conversations would end when I entered a room, as though they feared betrayal of their Gryffindor pranks. Rose, Victoire and the other girls were not unkind, but there was a sad distance between us that hadn't existed before. Nana Weasley seemed to take it better. She knitted me a green sweater for Christmas and said how appropriate it was that it matched both my eyes and my house colour, but even her smile seemed strained.

I didn't see much of him that first year, almost surprising given that we sat at the same table in the Great Hall for meals and did our homework in the same common room each night. But looking back, I realize that despite my early curiosity, I honestly didn't give him much thought. I was still too young, still at that tender age where girls hate boys and a year's age difference seems an unbridgeable gap. Albus saw plenty of him though. His hospital visits were frequent, as were his. They'd often come into the Ward on the same day, with similar duel-style injuries, throwing each other identical glares, but giving Madam Pomfrey entirely different excuses.

One day after leaving a Potions class, I was pushed over by a couple of fourth-year Gryffindor boys, scattering my books and parchment all over the corridor. I thought it might have been an accident, until I heard them say, "Slytherin scum," as they walked away, laughing. They didn't look at my face, only the green badge on my robes. "Hey! That's my sister!" I heard Albus yell after them. Where had he come from? It turned out those boys were friends with James. Sheepish apologies followed. I gave my brother a thankful smile as he helped me pick up my things. He smiled back, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Second year came. The Slytherin team hosted Quidditch try-outs. I'd played on toy brooms since I was old enough to stand and had excelled at the flying lessons during first year, loving the adrenaline rush as the wind smacked my cheeks. Stepping onto the pitch for the try-outs, I saw him, he saw me. Curiosity flickered in his eyes, a playful smile snaking across his pointed features. The Potter Girl, I could almost hear him say. How could I have forgotten that he was a Chaser? I won a place on the team with ease, my small build and natural skill made me a decent Seeker. But despite seeing him twice a week at Quidditch practice, we still barely acknowledged each other. He would make the occasional sarcastic comment, usually in reference to my brother or the rest of my family. I might be a Slytherin but I was still a Potter, as he would often remind me; as though I'd ever forget. But I wasn't one to take anything lying down and when I started to return his comments with quips of my own, I noticed that he started to act differently towards me. It turned into banter between us, a subtle game of each trying to outsmart the other. Sometimes I actually enjoyed these games but would never have admitted it.

Albus, a Gryffindor Chaser, seemed pleased for me when I revealed my position on the Slytherin team, until the day came for Slytherin to face Gryffindor on the pitch. To make things worse it was the first game of the season, my first proper match. James gave me a pat on the back and told me good luck, and I was suddenly grateful of the fear of heights that kept him away from brooms in general and made him mostly neutral to the Quidditch scores. But Albus was hopelessly competitive. When the two teams stood facing each other on the field, I realized Albus was determined not to meet my eye, determined not to let any family loyalty cause defeat. I turned my attention to the stands and spotted James wearing a hat that was half red and half green. It made me laugh despite the tension. Gryffindor were in the lead at first but it was my hand that wrapped itself around the golden snitch. It was my hand that won them the game, and later on, the Quidditch Cup.

Third year came, and brought along with it Hogsmeade trips and extra subjects to juggle. I was pushed over in a corridor again, this time by sixth-year Ravenclaws. Since my first year I'd learnt this to be a common side-effect of being in Slytherin. The youngsters in other houses got pushed about too, but not nearly as often as the ones wearing green. Crouching down to pick up my things, I caught a glimpse of Albus further down the corridor. He had seen but was pretending that he hadn't. "Here," came a voice beside my ear and he was there, holding out a book that had fallen from my bag. I muttered thanks, wary of his sudden kindness, although he didn't seem to be mocking me. Still confused, I looked again in the direction of my brother. This time he didn't pretend not to notice but the glare that had appeared on his face hurt more than the indifference ever had. I'd spoken to him, conferred with his enemy. I'd crossed the line.

Not long after, on a snowy winter's day in Hogsmeade I saw him in an alley pressed up against a wall by a fourth-year Slytherin girl. I almost thought she was hexing him until I saw his lips lock with the girl's, saw the girl run her hand through his white-blonde hair. I forced my eyes away, angry at the tears I found in them. It was stupid to feel jealous and I had no right to be. He was a friend and that was all, if he was even that … a fellow team-mate, nothing more. But I had almost thought, in the corridor that day ... NO. I wouldn't allow myself to think it. I told myself off sharply and determined never to allow my feelings to run away with me again ... but of course, it's never quite that easy.

Fourth year arrived and seemingly from nowhere, my skinny tomboy body sprouted curves. Boys began to look at me differently. Wolf-whistles echoed after me in the corridors. I grew my red bob of hair out, down past my shoulders and it saw a brush more often than once a month. The general messiness of it, which I'd never bothered to notice before, was gradually settling down into gentle waves. A Slytherin boy in my year named Finley Goyle, who I'd previously never noticed, asked me out and we dated for a short while. Strained jokes flew around at home about me "turning to the dark side" and marrying a Slytherin "traitor." The painful thing was I knew that some of them were only half-joking.

Potions was easily my worst subject, and my grades rarely ever exceeded more than a P or A. In preparation for OWL next year, the teacher decided I could use some extra tutoring sessions. Instead of doing it himself, the lazy bugger assigned an older student to be my tutor. When I found out that he had been selected for the task I was a little annoyed. He never went easy on me. He gave me gruelling two-hour long lessons for three nights every week and many times I came close to nearly whacking the textbook over his arrogant white-haired head. But after a little while, we would often drift off from the subject at hand and talk for hours about other things, silly things: like Quidditch and summers, likes and dislikes. He told me a lot about his family and I told him about mine. When he wasn't being a sarcastic prick he was so incredibly easy to talk to, even listen to, that I would often lose myself in those conversations for hours at a time. One evening we had been talking for so long that everyone else had left the common room for bed. I could feel something stirring within me as his eyes locked with mine over the top of our forgotten textbooks. I could feel my heart hammering away in my chest as I felt pulled towards him as though controlled by some unseen magnetism. Our lips were just inches apart when a loud noise alerted us to someone coming through the common room entrance. It was a prefect. She raised her eyebrows at us. "Shouldn't you two be in bed." She said. "Sorry, Zabini," he said smoothly. "We must have got carried away with our studies." I couldn't look at either of them. I nodded, my eyes on my things as I mutely collected up my books. In my haste, I dropped a quill on the floor and I could feel my face burning red as he bent down, picked it up and handed it to me, a smirk on his face. With my things in hand, I dashed up to my dorm without a single glance back. The teacher allowed us to stop the sessions soon after, saying that my current E grades were sufficient enough. I wasn't sure whether I was pleased or disappointed.

Dad came to Hogwarts a few times every year to give talks in DADA. It felt strange and awkward to have him standing there at the front of the class, to have him as my professor instead of my dad. I could tell it was hard for him too. He didn't quite know how to act towards me in that setting and would alternate between giving me special treatment and ignoring me entirely. I tried harder in those lessons though, determined to do him proud and when he taught an extra-credit class on patronuses I felt ridiculously happy when I was the first to get it right. The silver fox that shot from my wand swam playful rings through the air around me. Laughing, I couldn't help but look to my dad. He positively beamed when he realized I'd conjured a corporeal patronus but when he saw the animal it had become, his smile faltered. It was only when I related the story to James later on that I realized the possible significance. James said that when dad had taught Albus' year group last year, his patronus had been a fox. James looked at me curiously after that, whilst I mumbled about what a funny coincidence it was, feeling my cheeks turn a traitorous red.

My fourth-year was also the last for James. He'd decided to help Uncle George's joke-shop business when he left, something Mum and Dad weren't really thrilled about but they'd had to agree he had a flair for it. His constant pranks, and subsequent detentions, were somewhat testament to the fact. He could hardly wait to leave but I didn't want him to go. I knew I'd miss him when he left. I'd made a lot of new friends at Hogwarts but I missed my family: Rose and Hugo barely spoke to me anymore and Albus had grown increasingly cold ... or maybe he was just busy with Quidditch? With Albus as their new Captain that year, Gryffindor won back the Quidditch Cup, albeit only just.

It was the end of the school year and all thoughts of losing at Quidditch were forgotten amid the celebrations for winning the House cup. The floor of the Slytherin common room had been cleared into a dance floor and the Wizard radio was on, blaring a loud and upbeat tune. I was with the other girls from my dorm, we were laughing and dancing and getting slightly tipsy from the firewhiskey a seventh year had snuck in. I was completely lost in the rhythm of the tune and so I took a little while to notice him, the white-haired boy leaning in the doorway, watching me with fascination as I rocked my hips to the beat. But I was under the influence of firewhiskey, and so instead of turning bright red and running away, I called out to my friends and they started to drag the boys out onto the floor as I grabbed his tie in my hand and pulled him towards me. He looked amused; he must have been able to tell I was slightly drunk. The following morning I awoke sprawled out on top of my bed, fully-dressed, and I was grateful that one of the girls must have dragged me up the previous night. The splintering headache I had from the firewhiskey was nothing compared to the mortification I felt as I remembered my actions from the night before. I always denied any memory of that night and I made a silent vow to never touch firewhiskey again.

It was the start of fifth year. I passed him in the Great Hall one morning. I was arm in arm with a guy who had asked me out only the week before. He had already eaten and was lounging and laughing with his friends. But he saw me alright, eyes flickering back and forth between me and the boy linked to my arm. There was that look again, dancing in his eyes - amusement. Annoyed, I turned my head suddenly and kissed the boy I was with full on the lips. He certainly didn't complain, even if his face did look comically confused. I looked back at him. His eyebrows were raised but the look of amusement remained, mingling with a smirk. He leaned back in his chair, an ankle rested lazily on his thigh as he casually laced his hands behind his head. What are you trying to prove? Is what that look said, what he said without saying a word. I already know that you want me.

Several months later: Official Quidditch practice had ended half an hour ago but he and I remained in the air as the others dwindled back inside. It started with one of his usual cheeky comments that I returned with a quip, and before I knew it we were chasing each other on our brooms, laughing... until I looked behind at him and somehow lost my balance. It would have been a long fall, a deadly fall, but he swiftly cast a charm to slow me down and I landed softly on the grass below unscathed. When he flew down I was lying on the ground laughing, begging to have another go at slow-motion falling. He looked unusually worried, "You could have died!" he cried. But something snapped and the next moment he was leaning over me, kissing me hard on the lips, as desperate as if the world was ending. I found myself returning it more forcefully than I'd ever have imagined, surprised at just how right it felt. But then just as suddenly, he broke away - what was that in his eyes? Fear? Regret? Annoyance? He gave a hurried excuse and ran back up to the castle, leaving me confused all over again.

There wasn't any time to reflect on my feelings, however, as fifth year turned into a whirlwind of OWL study. Even the kindest teachers became unrelenting dictators and laid-back study time was turned into gruelling torture, dissolving many students into tears. Nerves ran so high during the last week that by the time the final exam was over, everyone felt strangely giddy from it all. The relief of the terrible exams being over became a peculiar type of euphoria, lowering inhibitions, causing us to do daring things, letting us believe that anything was possible.

It was whilst in this mood that I found him. He was on his own near the lake, lying on the grass, lazily gazing up at the clouds. I dropped down beside him. He propped himself up on his elbows, knowing what I wanted, silently daring me on. I kissed him then, admittedly hesitant, but when he returned it, a desire awoke in me that I had never before known existed. When it finally ended, the smile on his lips was one I'd never seen before - there was no mockery, no amusement, and no sarcasm. It was ... happy? It was the most genuine one I'd ever seen him give.

Back for my Sixth Year, which was also his Seventh, we didn't tell a soul about this new relationship. It's more fun this way, we insisted to each other. Sneaking and whispering in empty classrooms, stealing kisses in deserted library sections, talking for hours in the hidden caves by the lake. But the secret smile we shared whenever we passed each other obviously wasn't secret enough. I never found out who it was, but after only a couple of months, someone, somehow, must have seen us together and word spread like wildfire. It might not have bothered me so much if people hadn't stared at us as though we'd taken leave of all our senses. That was what made me mad. I wished they'd all just leave us be. What was so terrible anyway about a Malfoy dating a Potter? Professor McGonagall spotted a note being passed around in class one day. She confiscated it, read it aloud. It was about me and him. It must have been the first she'd heard of it. McGonagall's face paled and she looked down at me as though I'd transfigured myself an extra head. What's so terrible? I shouted in my mind, but said nothing aloud.

On the day before my seventeenth birthday, we were talking together down by the lake when he suddenly told me to turn around and close my eyes. I smiled nervously at the excited gleam in his eye but did as he said. After a moment I felt the warmth of his body behind me, and then the tickle of his hands at my neck as he fastened a chain there. "Happy Birthday," he whispered into my shoulder. "Now open your eyes." I looked down in delight at the necklace I was now wearing. It was a simple chain with a pendant of two silver snakes wrapped together with a single green gemstone gleaming in between. "It's beautiful," I gasped. "I love it." He stroked my cheek, allowing his long fingers to trail down my neck towards the pendant. His touch left me feeling lightheaded. "I thought it was appropriate," he said with a smile. "After all, we are serpents entwined." We both laughed. "Shut up and kiss me," I said grinning, and the rest of the afternoon passed in happy bliss.

He and Albus were still enemies but it seemed like nobody could even remember why anymore. Seven years of mutual hatred had become a furnace fuelling a fire with no end in sight, only seeming to intensify as the years progressed. But a hatred that strong combined with seventh year magic was just asking for disaster. I couldn't help but worry that one day their duels might go too far, that the consequences could end up worse than their usual blasts in the air or missing limbs, and it terrified me. I tried talking to my brother but it was useless. "Why do you like him anyway?" Albus spat at me when I tried, green eyes narrowed. He didn't mean it as a question. "Why do you hate him?" Mine was. "You don't know half the things he's done; you don't know what he's really like." "Oh and you do?" I laughed humourlessly. "You only see in him what you want to see, Albus." I was fingering with my new necklace, a habit I'd picked up whenever I was nervous. He grimaced then, staring at the thing around my neck as though it would strike out and poison him. "Of course, I should have seen it," he said, almost softly. "You've been in the company of snakes for so long that you've actually become one. Go and slither back to your viper then if you love him so much. You obviously deserve each other." Coming from him that stung, and I mean, that really stung. I walked away after that. I couldn't bear any more. Then I tried talking to him, but that was just as fruitless. He told me it was nothing to fret about, just a bit of harmless rivalry, a spot of mutual fun to take away the boredom. Then he distracted me with a kiss, making me forget everything.

It was Christmas-time. The whole extended family and I sat around an especially large table at my Grandparents' house. Nobody had mentioned him since we'd arrived back, but I knew they'd heard about it. The periodic glares I kept receiving from the younger members were proof enough and it didn't take long for it to bubble up from beneath the surface. "I'm sorry," Uncle Ron said suddenly at dinner but his voice indicated no remorse, "I can't take it. Merlin, Harry! Why are you letting her do this?" "Just because Draco wasn't that nice at school, that doesn't mean we have to paint his son with the same brush." Dad replied. "Not that nice?" Uncle Ron practically yelled. "He tried to kill us and he only switched over to our side to save his own neck, you know that!" Dad started muttering that maybe he was too old for me. "He's only ONE year older than me! It's the same age difference as you two!" I'd yelled in reply, pointing at my parents. And now it seemed like everyone wanted to voice their opinions. "He's a Malfoy, doesn't that mean anything to you!" said Hugo, taking after his father. "He'll only hurt you!" cried Rose. But I'd had enough. "At least he actually speaks to me at school; it's more than I get from any of you!" I finally replied. Rose and Hugo looked at each other awkwardly. Albus stayed silent throughout. I was dating his sworn enemy, what more could be said? Tough, I thought, standing from the table, my food untouched. Their warnings were too late, seven years too bloody late.

Mostly, the only communication I had with him during the holidays was through owl. In one letter, he said the rumours of our relationship had reached his parents and grandparents. I asked him how they'd reacted. He didn't say much; just that it had been "unpleasant." I found out just how "unpleasant" it had been when he arrived back at school. There was something different about him. He winced when he walked and his eyes seemed hollow and haunted. His skin looked paler than usual, even taking on a greenish tinge which made him look almost ill. I confronted him and demanded an explanation. He hesitated but said it was nothing. That he was just stressed out about his NEWTs. But I could see the lie. I asked him again and this time he gave in. He said his grandfather had no qualms about using unforgivables on someone if he thought they were trying to defy him. He didn't have to say any more, I knew then which curse he had received. It made my blood boil that they would do that to him: that Lucius Malfoy would stoop as low as to use the Cruciatus curse on his own grandson. But he forced me to stay calm, and insisted I didn't write anything to his family. He said it would only make things worse and in the end, it didn't matter. He was 17 and a half, after all, he didn't have to listen to them, he didn't have to listen to what his grandfather thought he should be, not anymore. He remained distant and distracted after that but I tried to give him some space. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt.

One day, near the end of sixth year, I stepped out of the Slytherin common room and was startled to find Rose waiting for me. She had never come down here before. I didn't even think she knew where it was. Wordlessly, she handed me a copy of that morning's Daily Prophet, carefully folded to a specific page. There was a hint of pity on her face. It made me nervous. Tearing through the words in the article was like trying to run through quicksand. My eyes worked sluggishly, trying to delay the inevitable but it was still too soon before I gathered the gist of it. "No..." I heard myself whisper, numb with shock. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, turning to flee the gloom of the dungeons, but I heard the "I told you so," hidden in her voice.

It was late evening and I was standing outside the castle, the scene illuminated with little more than moonlight. I was crying. People were staring but I didn't care. The crumpled newspaper from Rose was in my hand. "Is it true?" I asked him, not wanting to know the answer. The trapped look on his face admitted everything. I felt sick. The world was spinning. I was such a fool. "When were you going to tell me about this?" I yelled, throwing the paper at his feet. "When you'd already walked her down the aisle?" I could still make out the words that proudly declared the upcoming "Autumnal Wedding of Scorpius Malfoy and Veronica Bulstrode." I tried to restrain my tears but it was no use. "Grandfather forced me into it last Christmas," he said. "When I ... when I asked him if he would give me his consent to marry you. He laughed at me and said my marriage had already been arranged since birth to this other girl. I've never even spoken to her, I don't love her." His eyes were wide and desperate. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to run back into his arms and let him hold me and tell me that everything was just a horrible misunderstanding; but I couldn't, I wouldn't. "You're of age!" I cried. "He can't force you to do anything. Isn't that what you told me?" "I know," he replied. "And that's the reason why I haven't told you, because I have no intention of ever marrying her. I love you, Lily. I love you with all my heart." I could see tears trickling down his cheeks. Dragon tears, I thought back viciously, pushing him away. I'd let him ramble on for too long already. "Get out of my sight. I never want to see you again." My voice broke and I turned on my heel and ran. I didn't know where I was running to, but I ran until my legs burned and my chest felt fit to burst. It wasn't until a thicket got in my way that I realized where I was. I turned, suddenly afraid. Darkness surrounded me. The moonlight had been choked by tall, thick trees as old as time itself. I was in the forbidden forest.

Howling wind, rustling leaves, snapping branches; the forest had a way of turning ordinary sounds into things of terror. I tried to run back the way I'd come but nothing was familiar and I started to get the horrible feeling that the trees were rearranging themselves just to confuse me. I drew my wand, feeling safer with it in my hand. By then, the adrenaline had ceased its frantic pace and I could hear my own angry thoughts over the thumping of blood in my veins. How could he do that to me? I thought he loved me. I was so naive, just a stupid silly child. I fingered the necklace around my neck. A part of me wanted to rip it off and stamp it in the dirt but I couldn't do it. I hated him but I still loved him and the conflict was tearing me into pieces and leaving my heart black and blue. I sighed and collapsed in front of a tree trunk, burying my face in my hands. Everything was such a mess. The darkness pressed in all around me and I felt alone, so alone. But I wasn't alone.

A low growl came from behind a hedge in front of me and a pair of luminous yellow eyes appeared out of the darkness. I stood up and backed away instinctively, my senses on heightened alert as the creature started to tread out from its hiding place. It looked like a wolf, but not a wolf. It was too big and ... almost human-like in some ways. But it couldn't be a werewolf, it wasn't a full-moon ... I looked up into the sky for a second and registered, with horror, the full-moon peeking out at me from in between gaps in the foliage. "No..." I whispered, terrified. I tried to raise my wand but my fingers felt numb and heavy and I dropped it in my panic. I had just about resigned myself to death when a voice came out of nowhere.

"Petrificus Totalus!" It yelled and the werewolf fell like a statue to the ground. Relief flooded through me as I turned toward my rescuer, only to find him standing there. I didn't know whether to punch him or kiss him so I settled for a cold glare instead. "Please, Lily. Hear me out." He pleaded, his face twisted with anguish. "You don't know what my grandfather is like; you don't know what he's capable of." I turned my face away but he reached out a hand and gently tilted my chin up so I was looking him straight in the eye. The tingle of his skin on mine was torture because it reminded me of how much I still wanted him to hold me. "If I refused him outright," he continued. "I knew he'd come after you. He'd make sure there was nothing else left for me, no other option. All he cares about is keeping the stupid bloodline pure." He dropped the hand holding my chin and used it to reach out for my hand. I didn't pull away. I craved his touch too much. "But I've had enough now." He said desperately, taking my other hand as well. "We can run away together, to somewhere where no one can ever find us - not my grandfather or your family. We can be happy together, I know we can." It was a lot to take in but I didn't have a chance to reply before another voice cut into the air.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing with my sister?" It was a voice I knew far too well. Albus spat at the ground near his feet. "For your information, Potter," He replied fiercely, turning around to face my brother. "I just saved your sister from a werewolf." He pointed to the body on the ground. Albus gave a cold short laugh. "Don't expect me to thank you, Malfoy. If it weren't for you and your silly wedding, she wouldn't have been out here in the first place." "Like you even give her the time of day if you see her in the corridors." He replied. I could see him shaking with rage. "She's been shunned by your whole family for her house!" "Merlin's sake!" I yelled, irritated beyond all reason. "Stop pretending this is all about me! You hated each other long before I ever came along!" "Stay out of this Lily." He warned, his voice low. "Enough." said Albus. "Let's finish it here, Malfoy, once and for all. Man to man, wand to wand." "Alright, Potter." And with that, they began circling each other, wands poised, eyes wild. I couldn't help but see a resemblance to wild animals; but these wild animals were holding wands. "What do you think you're doing?" I yelled. "Stop this! You're both idiots, look at yourselves!" But it was no use, it was never any use. Stupid arrogant boys and their wretched pride, why wouldn't they listen? Why did they never listen? And I knew it then, I knew it with all the certainty in the world: This would only end with a death.

With both wands pointed at the other's heart, they yelled their curses at the exact same moment. I never heard which spells they chose, but I could see the blood thirst in their eyes. "NO!" I screamed for the last time, jumping in between them, thinking I could stop them. But it was too late for that. Both of their curses ripped into my chest, the force itself blasted me into the air by ten feet or more before I landed back on the ground in a crumpled heap. My world went dark then, a swirling abyss of black on black with blood splattered throughout.

And so we arrive back at the beginning, or is it the end? As I lie here, bleeding to my death, I know I only have seconds left. The pain is ebbing further away now, as more of my blood is drained. But now I hear a voice amidst my deafening silence and I can make out the words, "Lily, can you hear me?" I try to focus on that voice but it drifts away again. I try to reply but my mouth is thick with blood and bile. I feel a tingle in my hand and I know that someone is holding it. I try to squeeze it but there is no strength left. And now I try to breathe but I can't. A single tear escapes my unseeing eyes as my last breath is released, and my spirit flees the destruction of my body as my mind holds onto the last thought I will never say aloud:

Goodbye Scorpius, my serpent entwined. I will love you forever.

A/N: Just thought I should mention that "puppets dancing on the strings of those who came before us" is a shameless reference to A Song of Ice and Fire: my second-favourite book series.

And Yay for this being my first ever completed fanfic! :)

Please Review ... pretty, pretty please?

Additional Note: I'm torn in two about the ending. I hate to end it so tragically after getting so attached to the characters, but that was the way the story seemed to want to end. But there is still a way it could have a happier outcome. The thing is, the image of two "serpents entwined" is a symbol of healing and medicine ... so maybe that necklace Scorpius gave Lily has more power in it than a regular old piece of pretty jewellrey...? Hmm... anyway, just a thought. I'll let you make your own conclusion on where the story might end :)