Lily reminded Severus of a flower of some sort, the way her slim body swayed in the wind, the way her face was always turned up to the sun as if trying to drink it in, one glowing ray at a time. She didn't always wear white, but that was how he pictured her; in the plain white dress that she had been wearing when he had first seen her, up on the dandelion-dotted embankment. She had been sitting alone on the grass, skirt hem stained and eyes red from crying. Her shoulders had been shaking, but her face was set in a resolved expression, as if determined not to let the tears welling up in her eyes escape their boundaries. It was impossible, he had thought, to have a face more perfect than hers. Even after crying, with her almond shaped green eyes rimmed with red, and her small mouth turned down at the corners in a persistent frown, her face spoke of something happy, like a summer's day. At the time, Severus had not known the cause of her distress, but even so, he had wanted to destroy it, no matter who or what it might have been. After a few minutes of perfect stillness, Lily had raised her head from the place where it had been resting on top of her bent knees, tilting it up to the sky, her eyes closed in a serene expression. As he watched, she remained still, but all around her, the grass began to stir, and slowly, as if some invisible hand was picking them one by one, the dandelion flowers all around her began to detach themselves from their stems and float gracefully upward into the air, twirling as they went, creating tiny yellow cyclones all around her. They looked like miniature suns, each glowing subtly as they climbed into the blue of the midsummer sky. Suddenly, time seemed to stop, and the dandelions were left hanging, suspended in midair. Lily opened her eyes.

Always.