Severus Snape sat in the bleachers of the Hogwarts Quidditch stadium, hidden under an awning in the dim light of twilight. There was a lone figure on the pitch. It skimmed the field, running its long, Seeker-made fingers through the dewing grass, practicing some kind of foolish, no-handed broom trick. Severus knew the player all too well. From the dark hair and Gryffindor Quidditch robes, to the brilliant emerald eyes cloaked behind large, owlish glasses. Lily's eyes, Severus thought wryly. Out of all of Lily's physical features, her eyes had been the most beautiful, perfectly complimented by her fiery ginger hair.
The boy had skill, enough to win the school cup for his House team each of his previous years, despite Severus' own House team's valiant attempts. Severus could see that his skill came from his father. Everything of that boy came from his father. His unruly black hair, and the fact that neither Potter ever seemed to attempt to tame it, either. Both Potters were stubborn beyond measure, and had the hero-like complex that drew in admirers and friends like a moths to light.
As far as Severus could tell, Harry didn't know about his Quidditch practices being watched. Not this time, or the time before, or any of the other times Severus had hidden in the shadows, watching the boy fly gracefully, looking for anything that might remind Severus enough of Lily Evans Potter to ease the ache that had settled in his heart long ago, even if only for a moment.
And every time he stared into the emerald depths, it worked.