This was all too much for Severus Snape to bear. He had killed Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of all time. He had completed the task that Voldemort had been longing to complete for a lifetime, and he didn't feel the least bit satisfied. He had just killed the only man in the world who had trusted him one hundred percent. The only man he could confide in, the one who had given him a second chance at living his life the right way.
He knew that Dumbledore wanted him to kill him, it was he who ordered Severus to do it in the first place, but that didn't make it hurt any less... if anything it made the hurt more intense. Snape hated him for making him do what he did. He could now not only call himself a Death Eater, a spy and a potions master, but he could also give himself the title of the murderer of the most adored wizard in all of England. Not exactly the honorable title he'd had in mind.
Everything that had happened after Snape had shot the fatal curse at Dumbledore was a blur. He remembered the silence that followed after he killed him. Everyone was watching as the beloved shell of the former headmaster plummeted to the ground like a leaf. While everyone was watching his lifeless form, Snape was both fighting the urge to vomit and thinking of a way to get himself and the silly Malfoy boy out of Hogwarts safely.
He ran with the boy, harder than he'd ever run in his life. Of course the stupid Boy-Who-Lived had followed, trying to the hero yet again. He made his getaway much harder, but in the end Snape escaped. He left Draco with his wretched Aunt, Bellatrix, and made his way to his cottage on Spinners End.
All of these events happened weeks ago, but Snape still could not get the image of Dumbledore falling from the tower out of his head. It played over and over, like some sick horror movie. He couldn't escape it.
He now found himself at 12 Grimmauld Place, and the traps put up by Moody did not aid in Snape's attempt to move past what he had done. He had began walking around, thinking of all the past memories of the dead the house held within it's walls. He thought of all the Order meetings he went to... all the meetings in which he had to endure the biting comments made by Sirius Black, calling him a coward just like his pathetic godson. The remembrance of Black and Potter's insults had triggered a rage that Snape had not felt since he found Harry Potter in his pensieve.
He lost control of himself, and began blasting the rooms to shambles, but when the use of magic did not satisfy the beast inside, he resorted to doing some damage physically. He went into random rooms and threw the belongings of Sirius Black to the floor, tearing apart his books, ripping out his drawers. He finally made his way up to the motherload, Black's room, but before he could really do any major damage he found a picture of Lily in one of his drawers.
It was a picture of Lily, James and Harry. All three of them looked so happy in their cozy little home, which caused mixed feelings of hatred, guilt and longing to burn from deep inside of Snape. Hatred at the fact that it was James Potter and not him smiling next to Lily. Guilt due to the fact that it was technically his fault that Lily was dead. If he had kept his mouth shut, she might still be alive right now, but his hunger for power and acceptance got the best of him yet again. He was longing to hold Lily just one more time, to have her look at him with those beautiful green eyes.
He gazed at the picture, his focus completey on his precious Lily. He stared into those eyes... those brilliant green eyes. They were the only eyes that had been full of warmth and genuine affection when they met his. He noticed her soft lips, the ones that spoke so kindly and compassionately to him. He could almost smell the lavender scent of her luscious red hair.
Not a day goes by where he doesn't think, "what if?" What if he stopped hanging out with the wrong crowd when she warned him they were bad news? What if he had the courage to kiss her all those times he had wanted to? What if he didn't call her a Mudblood? Would he be living out the rest of his days happily with her, instead of leading a dangerous, double life?
But all the "what ifs" in the world couldn't change what had happened and what he had done. He had lost the only woman that he loved to the man that made his school days a living hell. He had been the cause of the death of Lily. He looked at the picture of Lily and her family again, the guilt more pronounced than ever before. With tears running down his face, he looked at her smiling face, at how truly happy she really was. He had taken all of that away from her. His selfishness had put an abrupt end to what would have been a fulfilling, wonderful life. A life without Severus Snape.
He tore Lily out of the picture and put it in the pocket of his robes. He was about to close the drawer when something else caught his eye. It was a letter to Sirius from Lily. He read it through, and stopped at the end where she had signed, "Lots of love, Lily." He tore this part off of the letter, and stuffed that in his pocket as well. In his mind, he was taking back what was snatched from him by James Potter; Lily's love. He would carry the picture and her love with him where ever he went, a constant reminder of what could have been.
After a few more minutes of rummaging through the drawers looking for any other artifacts to remind him of Lily, Snape gave up. He drew himself wearily to his feet, wiped the forbidden tears from his normally emotionless face, and began to head towards the door. "Alas," he thought bitterly, "I made my bed... now I must lay in it."