The sky was a menacing black, yet soft with clouds like an old sweater.
The students had long since retired to their beds, and the Hogwarts staff were each preparing to do the same.
All but Snape.
He was fixing himself a cup of tea.
His greasy, long hair swung in front of his sallow face as he searched for a non potion-stained cup, for some reason forgetting to use magic.
Finally finding one (though it had a horribly chipped rim) he directed a jet of boiling water into a pot.
Then he ripped a few slightly moldy leaves off a nearby plant and dropped them into the water.
He sat, waiting for the tea to steep.
His eyes fixed on a slimy green potion on one of his shelves.
It reminded him of Lily's eyes.
He cried.
After Snape had gotten over his overwhelming spring of emotion, he dried his eyes and got up from his chair.
In his fit of sobbing, he hadn't noticed the kettle had started whistling.
The tea was an unappetizing grey.
Like his life.
The thought was so depressing that...
He cried.
Again.