Snape watched Harry leaving the potions room. His arms crossed across his chest and the general air of nonchalance hung over him. Practical to a fault. Harry was, on the other hand, rather obviously furious. Another day staying after potions to spend even more time with Professor Snape cleaning up yet another potions experiment gone horribly wrong. He glanced backwards at Snape, and his green eyes stood out all the more for his anger. If he'd have noticed maybe he would have seen the non-chalance drop for just a second. "Careful Potter" he murmured low and dangerous. Harry didn't turn around again, and exited the classroom in a whir of black robes as Ron and Hermione greeted him.
Why the hell did he have to have her eyes? It was easy to hate him at first, his fathers' unruly hair and features. The same attitude as James, that arrogant, narcissistic, attention seeking little prick that he was. But the eyes...the eyes belonged to his mother. How often I'd looked into those eyes. Too bad she never knew. I hated myself for liking her, hated myself for falling for a mud blood. Everyone assumes I'm mean to her son because he's also James' son. Everyone knew how I hated him, how he and his bullies tortured me.
No one understood the quieter torture I went through with his mother. The self-hatred I felt and the way I could never express myself to her with more eloquence then a few words about what a filthy mud blood she was. Yes, she was a filthy mud blood. And I would have gladly given up almost everything for her.
Snape walked into his office. His black robes swishing the ground behind him. Black shoes, practical and sensible. He was always practical and sensible. Professor Trelawney had been requesting a draught to cure headaches induced by the sight. While Snape usually declined such ridiculous requests he needed something to take his thoughts away. This is what had originally drawn him to potions he though as he sliced his roots perfectly and effortlessly. So practical and methodical. There was no room in the noble art of potions for emotion, potions was about exactness and following the rules.
Lily, why couldn't I reach out to you when I had the chance? Why do I continue to torment your child? Was it because you loved him? Loved him enough to protect him. Lord I couldn't even let you protect me. How I hated myself for wanting you to. I still hate myself.
The potion began to boil a deep and inviting shade of blue. Perfect. It was always perfect. Snape prided himself on that perfection. The rest of his life might be in shambles, but he was always on top of his work.
There never was another one after her. She was the only one who even made me consider caring about another human being in that way. But he got her, he always won everything. Perfect Potter and his perfect friends. Was it is elegance or style? Or the fact that I never even tried. No... even if I tried she would have just rejected me. Ugly Snape with the long nose was never good enough for any of that crowd. And I was happier for it. They've all paid in the long run. Sirius and James are both dead. Peter's a servant of the dark lord. Lupin is well...currently unemployed. And Lily...
No one was around for that one brilliant second when the cold and bitter potions master cried one brilliant sparkling tear. A tribute to the woman he never declared his love too in life. And was still afraid to in death. Then just as quickly it's gone.
