a/n: This story was inspired by the absolutely lovely, heartbreakingly gorgeous In Another Life: Wake Up by lily-fox on deviantart. I was inspired to write and since we all would like a happy ending for our tragic Potions Master, I had to give him even a bit of happiness.

I own less than nothing. JK Rowling is the mastermind behind everything here.

Those eyes. As he slowly drifted, as the darkness began to embrace him and flatten his awareness down to two fine points, those green eyes were what he held on to. He had expected death to be cold, but he felt himself rather warm. Numb. His final sleep, the bliss of non-existence.

Warmth.

Humming, somewhere close by. A child.

Brightness.

The surface he lay on shifted slightly with weight.

He opened his eyes, shocked by the brightness. This was different than he'd expected. It took a few moments for his eyes to focus as he looked over towards the humming.

"Are you awake?" came the small voice. A young girl, staring at him intently. The streaks of sunlight settling on her auburn hair, making it glow. She stared back at him with familiar eyes.

His eyes.

He reached out a hand to touch her hair, feeling the smoothness of it on his fingers. She didn't recoil, she merely smiled at him. "Yes," he answered, his voice sounding far away from him.

"Mummy says pancakes are ready," she said, taking his outstretched hand in her own.

He couldn't stop looking at her, the freckles that adorned her face, the rosy pinkness of her skin, the beautiful familiar auburn of her hair and the unmistakable dark brown of her irises. He breathed in sharply, then rolled over to scoop her up without warning, upsetting the cat he hadn't seen that had been sleeping on the duvet.

She giggled, like the warbling of a songbird. She hugged him tightly across the neck as he placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

"What kind of pancakes did mummy make?" he asked, still running his hands through her hair as he left the bedroom he was in towards the smell of breakfast awaiting them in the kitchen.

"Chocolate chip," she whispered in his ear, as if the simple ingredient had been a secret no one else was allowed to know.

He smiled. He hadn't truly smiled in so many years. Once, foolishly, he considered that he might have forgotten how to. But the muscle memory was still there. He hadn't forgotten how to be happy, he just hadn't been allowed the privilege in so long.

He walked down the stairs of the flat, though he didn't really know where he was going. He heard singing in the kitchen and his heart nearly stopped as he turned the corner. Dressed in a long t-shirt and flannel pyjama trousers, her auburn hair done up in a messy bun, was Lily.

She turned and looked at him, spatula in one hand, and smiled. "Rosie, what'd I tell you about waking up daddy?"

The girl, Rosie, looked up at him and grinned deviously. He smirked and kissed her on the top of her head before setting her down. He stepped towards Lily as if the ground may swallow him up at any point, carefully, the longest five feet of his life. He latched onto her in a tight embrace, his hands caressing her face gently as he finally kissed her the way he'd wanted to for so many long, lonely years.

"Someone's feeling amorous this morning," she said, smiling as she looked up at him. Those eyes, how easily it had been to die with those eyes as his final comfort.

"I love you," he said softly, his voice nearly cracking.

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him again on the lips. As she pulled away, she cocked her head to the side, something troubling her. "What's wrong, Sev?"

He looked at her, at this scene before him. The smell of pancakes, the soft glow of morning sun, the young girl who was clearly their daughter at the table, doodling something with crayons. This was not his life, this was not the years of abuse, followed by torment, followed by broken hearts, shattered dreams, fear, and finally death. There was no way any of this was real.

But it was a gift.

"I'm just…out of sorts this morning," he answered, smiling slightly in an effort to calm her. He had no idea what sort of man he was supposed to be here, what sort of temperament she was used to. All he wanted to do was hold her, to feel her against him. But was this man the sort of man who was prone to such displays?

He figured, if any man had been lucky enough to be with this woman, he would be insane not to appreciate her every moment of every day.

"Well, you may be out of sorts, but I hope you're at least hungry," she said, turning away from him and back towards the skillet. She flipped a pancake, then looked back at him. "Everything settled with your lesson plan? You were up late last night."

Of course. Who was he? He hadn't seen anything imbued with magic since waking. In this life, who was he? A Potions Master? Something told him no. Something about the flat, about their daughter, hell even about the chocolate chip pancakes, told him that this world was not the same one he'd parted.

"I'm…I'm not sure," he replied, looking at her earnestly, soaking in the details and allowing himself this immense pleasure of company. It had been too long. He'd fought too hard with no promise of reward. He would allow himself this, even if it was just fleeting. The last pulses of a dying brain.

She looked at him again, smiling, then rubbed his shoulder. "I know you're nervous. But you'll be brilliant, Sev. I know it."

More questions. What was he supposed to be working towards? What was he nervous about? He hadn't been nervous about anything in years. Frightened, of course. Terrified. Saddened. No, not saddened. That wasn't a strong enough word. Heart ripped out? Was there a word in the English language to convey that feeling?

She obviously sensed there was more beneath the surface than just nervousness. Those green eyes, staring so intently, burrowing so quickly into him. "Are you all right?" she asked, concern leaking into her voice.

How could he answer her? The life he'd awoken to was not the one he'd been trapped in, and while he was cherishing every second of this, he feared it would be ripped from him at any moment. He wasn't all right and he hadn't been for years and now all he had was this. This morning, more than he'd ever hoped for with Lily, but different. They were clearly muggles and the things in their house, the things that surrounded them, were clearly from a later period in time than they had come from, even if they had been muggles all along. Not only did he not truly know where he was, he didn't know when he was.

He realised he hadn't answered her, and her concern was growing. "I don't feel particularly well," he replied, looking back at the girl. Lily pressed the back of her palm on his forehead and he leaned into the touch.

"You don't seem to be running a fever. What's wrong?" Her brow was furrowed. She had always been rather adept at reading his moods as children, but he no longer knew their history.

"James Potter," he blurted out suddenly.

She raised an eyebrow questioningly, but shook her head and laughed. "Sev, honestly. James Potter? You do realise that I married you, right?"

He shook his head, breathing in deeply. It was no good to be granted this gift of a new life if he was just going to go mad now. "I might have a lie down after breakfast," he said, trying hard to give her a reassuring smile.

She smiled back at him, though it didn't reach her eyes. There was still immense concern there and her hand moved to his face. He covered it with his own, then brought it to his lips to kiss. What sort of man did he need to be to keep what he had in this moment?

He would be whatever it took, no questions asked.

Is this something I should continue or are we good here?