Sherlock watched him from the side, shook his head helplessly, and waited without urging him.
Snape stared at the small house in a daze for a long time before finally drinking the Polyjuice Potion.
His appearance changed rapidly. His hair became clean and smooth, and his face, once full of hardship, returned to how it had looked in his youth.
Except for the expression in his eyes, which did not match that of a normal teenager, Snape had returned to his seventeen-year-old appearance.
Climbing over the fence surrounding the garden, he walked into the front garden. He still remembered Lily's room clearly; it was on the far right of the first floor.
Before they fell out, they used to chat through that very window, imagining which House they would be sorted into after arriving at Hogwarts.
And this lawn—during the summer of his second year, Snape had once sneaked over to find Lily, only to be discovered by her sister, Petunia, who screamed that he was a freak and told her mother that he had trampled the lawn.
There was a small back garden behind the house. In the summer, he and Lily loved to sit by the wall and watch the stars. Although the sky was always pitch-black and foggy, based on the constellations they had learned in Astronomy class, they could always imagine what the starry sky above the clouds looked like.
Snape had never truly believed that he would one day set foot in this garden again.
Yes, he had fantasised about it many times, but only in dreams. Now, he had arrived here in reality, and the person he longed for day and night was on the other side of the window.
His eyes had become moist at some point. Snape sniffled, looked at the pitch-black window concealed by the curtains, and tapped gently on the glass.
The person inside did not seem to be sleeping deeply, as the slightest sound woke her, and the soft glow of the bedside lamp flickered on.
"Who is outside?"
Hearing the voice that had appeared only in his dreams over the past dozen years, Snape forced himself to remain composed and said in a trembling voice,
"It's me, Severus."
The person in the room seemed to pause for a moment. After two or three seconds, she got out of bed and pulled back the curtains.
It was a beautiful girl with long, wine-red wavy hair. On the other side of the window, she frowned and glared at Snape.
Looking at that face, Snape could no longer hold back. Tears slid silently down his cheeks. He opened his mouth and stared blankly at Lily, like a wooden puppet capable only of crying.
On the other side of the window, Lily seemed slightly flustered by Snape's expression and opened the window.
"What do you want, Snape?"
Snape, almost sobbing, leaned against the wall with both hands and apologised in a low, humble, and regretful voice.
"I'm sorry... I'm truly sorry... It was my fault... I shouldn't have called you that back then..."
Lily looked at him, pursed her lips, and watched him with an expressionless face.
"You've already apologised to me many times for this." Her voice was cold. "And I've already told you that I will never accept your apology."
Snape raised his head and looked at her with a pitiful expression. He had never begged anyone like this before, never pleaded so desperately for forgiveness.
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I only ask that you forgive me; nothing else matters... I don't want anything else... As long as I have your forgiveness, that's enough. Just that is enough..."
The words he had said to Sherlock before—about taking Lily away and taking revenge on Black and the others—had all been cast aside.
His wish now was painfully simple. He only wanted the forgiveness of the girl standing before him. Just a single word of forgiveness would be enough.
But Lily continued to look at him with those cold eyes.
"Do you really need my forgiveness, Mr Snape? Your talent in the Dark Arts is recognised by everyone, and the entire Slytherin House treats you like an idol. You have your own friends—Rosier, Wilkes, Mulciber—and your most admired senior, Malfoy. Even though Malfoy has already graduated and joined those people, you still keep in contact with him. Your relationship with them is excellent, so why do you still need my forgiveness?"
Snape wanted to explain, but he could not say a word.
Because everything Lily said was true. That word, Mudblood, had merely been the final trigger. Long before that, their relationship had already drifted apart because Snape had become obsessed with studying the Dark Arts and preferred the company of friends who leaned towards pure-blood ideology.
He could only continue making promises, desperately hoping she would trust him again.
"It won't happen again. I'll cut off all ties with them... I won't study the Dark Arts anymore... Anything you don't like, I'll stop doing!"
"You've said all this before." Lily remained unmoved. "But after every promise you make, you never change. By the summer of our fifth year, I'd already thought about our relationship for a long time, Snape."
Lily looked calmly at the dishevelled Snape. She did not even want to call him by his first name.
"Back in our fourth year, when you dragged me into studying the Dark Arts with you, I should have realised it. You're just like your friends. You enjoy those cruel things, you admire that man's theories, and you never hid your admiration for him. That word was simply your true feelings slipping out."
"So our friendship ended a long time ago, and there will be no future for us. You don't need my forgiveness, and I won't go against my heart by pretending I don't blame you. There is no relationship between us anymore."
Snape's face turned ashen. His eyes became hollow once more, and he was so overwhelmed with despair that he could not utter a single word.
After discovering that he had returned to the past, he had imagined that if only his apology were sincere enough, Lily would forgive him. But they had all been nothing more than fantasies.
The things he had done and the mistakes he had made could not simply be erased with an "I'm sorry" or a promise.
If Sherlock had brought him back to 1975 or earlier instead of 1977, Snape might still have had a chance to make things right. But by now, he had already made every mistake he could.
He had even planned it while riding on the Knight Bus. If Lily were willing to forgive him, he would immediately find a way to replace his younger self.(TN: Downright psycho.)
After graduating from Hogwarts, he would take her far away from Britain, change the future, and tell that damned fate to get lost.
But those dreams could remain nothing more than fantasies.
"It's very late. I'm going to bed," Lily said indifferently, before moving to close the window.
Snape hurriedly grabbed the window frame and looked at her.
"You don't have to forgive me, but you mustn't be with Potter! Being with him will put you in danger! It will cost you your life!"
Hearing his words, Lily's expression darkened with anger.
"We aren't even friends anymore. You're overstepping your bounds! Who I choose to be with is none of your concern!"
"No! Believe me, Lily! Please believe me! You really can't be with him! That person will kill you! He will kill you!"
Their argument became loud enough to wake Petunia, who lived upstairs. She opened the window and shouted down shrilly,
"If you keep arguing, I'm going to wake Mum and Dad!"
"Bang!"
Lily slammed the window shut, drew the curtains, and switched off the bedside lamp.
Snape stood motionless beneath Lily's window, like a shell that had lost its soul.
In the pitch-black night, a man consumed by despair stood completely still.
At that moment, Sherlock sighed softly and walked over to Snape's side. Looking at his state, he could not help but shake his head.
He took hold of Snape's arm, as though leading a lifeless marionette, and guided him away from the Evans' house.
"Let it go, man."
While Snape had been talking to Lily, Sherlock had remained leaning against the wall nearby, hearing every word they exchanged.
On the dark, silent roadside, Sherlock walked aimlessly, pulling Snape along beside him.
He knew that what Snape needed most right now was certainly not comfort. If comfort had been enough, Snape would not still be burdened by regret more than a decade later.
As they walked along the road, Sherlock spotted a Muggle bar that was still open and immediately led Snape inside.
The town was small, and few people ventured out at night, so the bar was almost empty.
Sherlock led Snape to an empty table and sat down. He tossed a Galleon to the owner, who had been wiping a glass, allowing him to confirm that the gold coin was genuine.
He had brought Muggle money with him for emergencies, but the banknotes were dated from the 1990s, so they were obviously unusable in this era. He had no choice but to pay extravagantly with a Galleon.
"Whisky, rum, or tequila—any strong spirit will do."
The owner quickly confirmed that the coin was genuine and promptly returned with two bottles of whisky.
"If that isn't enough, sir, just let me know."
Sherlock waved him away, indicating that they needed no further service.
He placed two glasses on the table and poured a generous measure into each.
Snape stared blankly at the glass before him, still unable to escape his hollow state.
"There's nothing left to say, Severus." Sherlock looked at him and raised his own glass. "Drink. Once you've had enough, you won't dwell on it so much."
Only then did Snape finally move.
He picked up the glass with a numb expression. The whisky reflected his pale, dishevelled face before he drained it in a single swallow.