It had been another typically abysmal day, Severus reflected, as he exited from another futile session spent trying to teach mere babies how to prepare themselves against the Dark Lord. Too caught up in their own self-involved dramas, there was apparently no desire to learn the practical defenses he struggled to impart to them daily. They don't want to learn, why should I care whether they live or die when the Dark Lord makes his move? It will be on their heads, not mine, he told himself yet again, I can do nothing to make them care for their own necks. Still, he could not quite bring himself to believe it. Maybe if he just came down a bit harder on them next time, tried again to impress upon them the horror that awaited them, biding its time, he could get them to see. He, above all others at Hogwarts, knew that it was a desperate edge they balanced this everyday life upon, but all these students ever seemed to care about was getting between each other's sheets, and sodding Quidditch. Another dismal day, indeed.

In a foul mood as always these days, he swept down the corridors leading to his rooms, the only place he could ever seem to find peace. Peace away from his own dark thoughts was really what he craved, but such a peace could not exist for him. It was always alone he stood in this ongoing battle, be it between the Dark Lord and the rest of his world, or between himself and those self-absorbed cretins called students. He was ever alone. Perhaps it is better this way, came the tired thought, having no family nor loved ones to worry over when the Dark Lord was on the move, having only his own skin to save, isn't that so much simpler?

Too soon he would be forced to reveal his hand, irrevocably choosing the side he stood with, and when that culminating moment came and he plunged his killing blade deep into the enemy's breast, he would be forced to flee from those seeking vengeance for their misplaced trust in him. Here was no place for a loved one. But that moment was yet far off, for now he must wait. That changeability which allowed him to adjust to the ebb and flow, to please, for now, both light and darkness, this kept him going. This made him feel alive,was part of what made him Slytherin. This was work that could only be accomplished alone, and so much the better for him. In the end he would have none but himself to save. Yes. Truly it was better this way.

As he neared the entrance to his, no, it was now Slughorn's potions class, he was hit suddenly by a powerful blast of heat as the heavy door was thrust open, releasing the cretins from their studies. Heat and… Something else. Something indefinable. No… it was the smell of honey and warm, fresh-baked cookies with milk… Amortentia came the thought from a corner of his mind. The scent of it took him back, to a time and place he had tried desperately to forget these many years, to a woman he had loved secretly, and had mourned for even before she died. A vision of her swam to him through the mists, her eyebrows quirking in that funny way she had, her eyes crinkling in amusement; gorgeous, almond-shaped, brilliantly green eyes he wished he could die in… Lily… She was there, her long auburn waves falling gently down past smooth cream-coloured shoulders, shoulders he knew would taste faintly of honey and almonds. Slowly, a warmth he hadn't felt in years seeped back into him as he remembered that face, that voice… He swayed slightly as the students passed by him, oblivious to anything but his memories of her… A soft, twilit night when they had met together for the first time alone, she, in need of a study partner, he, of course hoping for more. He had always been in love with her. The memories came faster, clamouring unbidden in to his aching mind- Lily with the autumn wind whipping at her robes… Lily in June, sunlight streaming across her face, bringing out the golden highlights of her skin and hair… In June again, watching her near the lake with her friends after their O.W.L.s. With a jolt he remembered that fell day. She had been so full of life that day, with a light breeze tickling through her hair, her musical laughter drifting faintly up to him. Merely remembering the sound of that silvery laughter swelled something deep in that long-forgotten place in his soul where he could once feel her. Gone now, gone like his chances with her when she had stood up and defended him against his tormentors, but he, being the stubborn git he was, had spat foul words at her. Those words he had laced in spite, meant to hurt and enrage the only other man who loved her as much as he himself did. Instead they had torn a rent deep between Lily and himself, never to be healed. Mudblood. His traitorous mind whispered it to him. Filthy mudblood. How could he have been so callous? If only I had it to live again, he thought madly, if only there was a way. But all the dark arts in the world can't bring her back, and still I cannot escape the cursed memory of our parting.

It was worse than that. She had given him a second chance, had come to him in hope that he would take back those things he had said, but he hadn't, couldn't. James had been there again, hovering in the background, watching them. And he had once again turned away from her, too cowardly to admit his true feelings. How could he, when to do so would be to bare himself to the world, to be naked in front of his enemies? Oh, the hurt that had been there in Lily's eyes as once again he had let her down, she who had defended him against the man she was destined to marry. Her eyes, her sparkling green eyes… He was looking into those eyes, was nearly knocked off his feet by those eyes, as Potter rounded the door at a run and smacked into him. Bile rose in his throat as he was brought out of the Amortentia-enhanced daze. What was bloody Slughorn thinking, brewing a potion like that for his class? Of course, he thought, undoubtedly yet another bid for popularity…

Collecting himself, he looked up, halfway expecting Lily to be there still, waiting for him… Potter. Was staring at him. Was still there. Why was Potter still there? He stood like a deer frozen, clutching his ratty potions book. Did he sense it? Could he tell? Lily's eyes looked up into his, eyes that were swiftly darkening in loathing, the same loathing that he knew was reflected in his own. Brows drawing together in what he hoped looked like anger rather than the pitiful longing of moments before, he opened his mouth to dock Potter of House points for his carelessness, but he couldn't do it. Lily's eyes were staring back, full of hatred that was directed at him, just like that day so many years ago. His worst memory, his most painful regret. He was completely lost, he could not form the words. Once again he cursed his vile, betraying tongue, the tongue that had given voice to the lie…

He lurched away, but Potter moved to go around him at the same time, and again those furious green eyes bore into his. There was no escaping from those eyes, so hideously mismatched to that face, born of a pairing so profoundly repulsive to Severus that it chilled him to his core. Every time he looked upon the boy, so like his damnable father, his heart skipped; it was agony just knowing he existed. He should have been mine. I hate him, I hate him I hate him came the all-too familiar litany again into his mind, and he felt himself sinking back into the bitterness and despair that was his sad defense against fourteen years spent in grief. This 'boy who lived' was the reason Lily had died. And he, Severus, had led the Dark Lord straight to her. Suddenly nauseous, he fought back from retching. Swerving away wildly from the boy and nearly tripping in his haste, he made for his quarters at a near run. Desperate memories were gnashing at his heels, near engulfing him in their madness. Oh love, what had he done?