Disclaimer: I got the idea for this story from "mauraders till death"... another fanfiction author.

Also, anyone I didn't make up, I don't own, as well as the pot and all that...

And, I feel the need to apologize/explain. I think I deserted this story for around two or three years, maybe more. Anyway, I realized that the writing was absolutely horrific, but I liked the idea so I intend to rewrite all that I have written, changing tons of things and, of course, then finally updating. So if you're reading this and it's way different from what you remember, or you read so many chapters and all the sudden names are changed and the story makes no sense - well, sorry about that. Just ignore them and hopefully it won't be the case for long.

Upon July's commencement one fateful year, Lily Potter gave birth to two children, Harry James and Charmaine Lilian Potter.

Just over a year later, on Halloween, the lives of the family - and many others besides - would be changed forever.

But let me start from the beginning, though I'm sure you already know most of what I'm about to tell you...

Voldemort. Or, as many prefered to refer to him as, The Dark Lord, or He Who Must Not Be Named.

He was on a mission this Halloween night...

"Nice costume mister!" a trick-or-treating muggle boy complemented Voldemort enthusiastically.

But upon seeing Voldemort's snake-like face, the boy stumbled away, terrified of its slits for nostrils and blood-red eyes.

Voldemort briefly considered getting rid of the boy - but no, he had more important things to do; a more important boy to silence.

He arrived at the Potter house, smirking to himself. The feat couldn't have been made any easier. How foolish the Potters had been when they had put their trust in Peter Pettigrew.

He peered into the nearest window and quietly watched James Potter shoot puffs of smoke out of his wand for his children's entertainment. The two adorable toddlers were laughing, scrunching up their tiny noses and squinting their eyes in oblivious, carefree glee. Then James noticed his silent observer.

The color drained from James's face in record time; his eyes widened in fear as he jumped to his feet, scooping up his twins as he shouted to his wife, "Lily it's him! Take the twins and run! I'll hold him off!" he shouted, shoving the two now-silent babies into her arms.

Lily appeared and took them worldlessly; clutching them to her breast, hugging them so tightly, it was a wonder they didn't suffocate. Her face was stricken, her manner jerky, as she turned and ran up the stairs. James bolted into the hall, meeting Voldemort as he reached the door. He thrust his hand into his pocket - but alas, James Potter had left his wand on the couch.

He looked up to meet Voldemort's terrible eyes, horrified.

Voldemort laughed; high, slow, raspy, and cruelly; he was enjoying this immensely. The mere thought that the kin of this fool could have had the chance to defeat him was hysterical and offensive.

"AVADA KADAVRA!" he shouted; pointing his wand at James. James crumpled to the floor, instantly dead.

Voldemort stepped over his body and calmly walked up the stairs, his feeling of excitement increasing. After tonight, he knew, there would never be another being ever to threaten him and his power. No one would stand in his way. He entered the last room in the hall.

It was a cute and quaint little room; it was decorated with blue and yellow polka-dotted wallpaper and polished wooden floors. Two rocking chairs sat idly on either side of a rather large wardrobe. Two cribs furnished the other side of the room.

Lily shoved the twins into Harry's crib and spun around just as Voldemort came in the doorway.

She threw herself in front of her children.

"Move aside, you stupid girl!" Voldemort snapped. Killing her was not part of his plan.

But Lily Potter didn't move; on the contrary, she tried to use her body to cover her children as best she could and began pleading with Voldemort.

"No! Not my babies! Please! Take me instead! Take me!"

"Move aside!" Voldemort snarled. But Lily only continued to plead hysterically, "Not them, not them, please not my babies!"

But Voldemort's patience had worn out.

"Avada Kadavra!" he growled. Lily's body fell, dead before it hit the ground.

One of the babies had begun to cry, the other whimpered pathetically.

Voldemort turned on the closest one. Both twins were blantantly unaware of what was happening, but they knew that this man was not their father.

Voldemort raised his wand, pointing it at Harry.

"Avada Kadavra!" he said for the third time that night, his voice triumphant.

But Harry's body did not fall, limp against the bed.

Instead, Voldemort was hit with the worst pain he'd ever felt. His soul was ripped from his body. Pain, utter pain, terrible pain, scortching, searing pain, pain beyond imagining...

Then he was gone.

Harry and Charmaine Potter lived on.

Outside the now caved-in house stood a tall, sinister-looking man with greasy black hair hanging in curtains on either side of his face. He had arrived shortly after Voldemort had entered the house, but he'd only come because of his extreme worry regarding the well-being of Lily Potter.

After hearing the anguished roar and seeing the roof collapse, Severus Snape's anxiety level shot up. But he knew that his worry was pointless; he was one of Voldemort's favorites, and Voldemort had promised him that he would not harm Lily or the extra child - he'd merely do what needed to be done and get out.

Still, the roar hadn't sounded like that of James Potter...

And Voldemort didn't appear.

Snape paced back and forth, worry tearing him apart at the seems. He was extremely tempted to enter the ruin. The only thing that stopped him was the promise of the Dark Lord's rage if he barged in, unbidden, on his business...

In the end, Snape's love for Lily Potter won out, and he entered the remains of the house. He entered the hallway and stepped casually over James Potter's body; indifference being the sole emotion portrayed on his face.

Voldemort was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he'd Apparated in the commotion of the caving-in house.

He slowly began to trek up the stairs expecting to find Lily alive, bawling over her son's corpse. He didn't know what he could possibly say to comfort her; all he knew was that he needed to be with her, that she would need someone now, in the epidome of her grief. He was determined to be that someone.

He heard and followed the sound of children crying. Suddenly he paused, his pulse quickening and blood congealing, the feeling of dread taking over his body as realization hit him. He wasn't hearing one child cry. He was hearing two.

Something had gone terribly wrong.

His pulse quickened, and with it his pace; by the time he reached the last bedroom, he was sprinting.

Upon seeing the devastation within, he froze.

Half of the room was, of course, caved in and blown away. But that wasn't what stopped him, wasn't what made his blood run cold, his breath hitch and a deep, firey stake of pain to be thrust into his heart.

He knelt down worldessly, his world instantly stripped away from him, taking the hand of the corpse of the woman he'd always loved. He brushed the hair out of her beautiful face with his other and stared into her lifeless, sightless eyes. Memories flooded his mindsight; memories of the two of them talking, laughing, comforting each other. Numbness coated the agony which was trying to sear his soul. He felt tears burn in his eyes, but wouldn't let them escape. His throat tightened, but he ignored it.

He knelt there for a long while, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, willing her dead eyes to blink, and the life return to them, willing her still mouth to open and scold him. He could have stayed in that position forever, or until he died, and joined Lily.

Then he heard a baby whimper.

He looked up to catch the eyes of Harry and Charmaine Potter, watching him intently.

The fact that they had been ceased crying when he'd entered the room dimly registered somewhere in the back of his mind.

He examined Harry Potter first; Harry already looked like his father, the arrogant fool. Severus Snape could never love James Potter's son.

He looked away quickly, not allowing himself to get angry.

He examined the second baby, Charmaine. His breath caught again, and Snape almost forgot the woman lying at his knees. Even at the young age of one year, Charmaine was a miniature, younger version of Lily. She had Lily's red hair, the young features of Lily's face. The only difference Snape could detect was her eye color - for Charmaine Potter had brown eyes.

Against his will, Severus Snape felt a single tear squeeze through the rim of his burning eyes and caress his cheek. It dripped slowly, slowly off his chin, and was lost amidst his rattling breath.

He couldn't look away from the young face. All coherent thoughts, inhibitions, memories existed no longer. The numbness he'd felt upon seeing the only being that mattered in the world - Lily Potter - dead and gone congealed with a nasty, bitter finality in his gut. Lily was gone. He was too late. There was nothing he could to to help her. Of course, she'd been gone for awhile; he'd blown his chances with her. She'd hated him. He'd failed.

Now something, perhaps instinct, perhaps the illusion of another chance, a fresh start, or perhaps just love, was captivating and luring him to the little girl.

He stood up slowly, shaking ever-so-slightly and stepping away from the utter and complete agony on the ground, and picked the baby up. He held her close to his heart; unfamiliar, unnamed, and neglected emotions coursing through him. Her whimpering stopped. He knew only two things. He had let Lily go; had made mistakes. He would never make mistakes, never let this celestial imitation of her go.

Without thinking, Severus Snape Disapparated with baby Charmaine still held tightly against his heart.